I don't blog as much as I used to on this website. Part of the reason is that I feel as if I am always whinging about my lot, about how mucch I miss Butch and what we had. It isn't like I haven't moved forward and stepped into my new life. I just miss him with an ache I can't hide from myself and sharing seems to make me feel less like I'm marooned on an island on my own. It's such a quandry. As I blog I wonder if people say 'Oh, get over it already!' Not that I care what anyone else thinks about where I am on my grief expedition, I guess a part of me thinks the same thing....
I am so fortunate to have such great family support. I am grateful to my grandchildren who remind me that I'm meant to be here, I'm meant to enjoy my life and see the magic in it. Sometimes its nice to have a reason to carry on. I used to be so envious of widows/widowers with young children. It felt like they had a real reason to carry on with life. They had many distractions and love from their young families. Now I realise it's more about finding your way in life after someone you love passes.
This week I've been really weepy. The slightest thing sets me off. Thank goodness..or not..for my diary. Once again, my cellular body has remembered this was a terrible time of Butch's journey, that this was when my grieving expedition really began to speed up. I'd love to say that makes a huge difference and I feel better now...but, Nup!
Sometimes I really can't understand my emotions. I understand that losing Butch has rocked my world, that the world seems a duller and less promising place to be in. I understand you can't wipe away 25 years of love and happiness like cleaning chalk from a blackboard and I understand that being in love generally equates to being in loss.
It's not that I am measuring my expedition by others, but they seem to be coping better than me, they seem to be 'getting on' with their lives, they are swimming upstream while I am here treading water.
It's bizarre. I can feel Butch around me, and yet I still feel such an incredible sense of loss. Will it ever diminish? Will I ever be able to sing along to a love song without my eyes leaking and my voice cracking? Will I ever feel comfortable in my life? I don't know the answers to these questions, and because each grief expedition is unique to the adventurer, I can't expect anyone else to supply me with the answers.
So in the meantime, I will just have to acknowledge what I've accomplished, how far I've come and just keep moving toward the horizon one step at a time.
I am so fortunate to have such great family support. I am grateful to my grandchildren who remind me that I'm meant to be here, I'm meant to enjoy my life and see the magic in it. Sometimes its nice to have a reason to carry on. I used to be so envious of widows/widowers with young children. It felt like they had a real reason to carry on with life. They had many distractions and love from their young families. Now I realise it's more about finding your way in life after someone you love passes.
This week I've been really weepy. The slightest thing sets me off. Thank goodness..or not..for my diary. Once again, my cellular body has remembered this was a terrible time of Butch's journey, that this was when my grieving expedition really began to speed up. I'd love to say that makes a huge difference and I feel better now...but, Nup!
Sometimes I really can't understand my emotions. I understand that losing Butch has rocked my world, that the world seems a duller and less promising place to be in. I understand you can't wipe away 25 years of love and happiness like cleaning chalk from a blackboard and I understand that being in love generally equates to being in loss.
It's not that I am measuring my expedition by others, but they seem to be coping better than me, they seem to be 'getting on' with their lives, they are swimming upstream while I am here treading water.
It's bizarre. I can feel Butch around me, and yet I still feel such an incredible sense of loss. Will it ever diminish? Will I ever be able to sing along to a love song without my eyes leaking and my voice cracking? Will I ever feel comfortable in my life? I don't know the answers to these questions, and because each grief expedition is unique to the adventurer, I can't expect anyone else to supply me with the answers.
So in the meantime, I will just have to acknowledge what I've accomplished, how far I've come and just keep moving toward the horizon one step at a time.
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