I’m very excited again this week to join a talented group of women bloggers in an online, unedited flash mob free write. This week, the word-prompt given to us by our fearless leader Kate Motaung (whose wonderful blog can be found at katemotaung.com) is “weary”. My timer is set for 5 minutes; ready, set,
Once again, the word Kate has chosen is, for me, ironic. You see, I haven’t written on my blog (or participated in FMF) for over a month. Not because I don’t love the FMF group or love to write. I’ve just been so darned weary.
You see, 2 months and 4 days ago, I entered my 7th year of widowhood. The first year was rough; the second year was actually worse; the third year was almost as bad as the 2nd. But I’ve moved on from the sharp grief, with it’s ragged edges that scraped relentlessly at my heart and soul.
Somewhere in the past 3 years, that sharp grief faded away, although it comes back to life from time to time, like a horrible phoenix. I noticed it’s lessening; I noticed something else as well.
My soul, my heart are proof of what a very smart person (probably a scientist) determined long ago — nature abhors a vacuum. You see, when the gut-wrenching, mind-numbing grief departed, something moved right on in to the space left behind.
Like water dripping on a stone, weariness began to erode my spirit and my heart.
Oh, I put a good face on it. I go to work and even a social event from time to time. I smile and laugh and converse as if all is well. I’m really good at it. Heck, if I had a dollar for every time in the past 6+ years someone has told me how “strong” I am, how impressed at how I’ve soldiered on . . . well, I’m not sure how many dollars I would have collected, but it would be quite a few.
I even pretend that my days are filled with productive activity. When asked, and that rarely happens when you live alone, what I did all day, I can recite a list of activities that make me sound like a dynamo. But between you and me . . . my recitation is fabricated. Things are not getting knitted, the kids’ scrapbooks are not being created (really? look at all those reminders of what is no more?), books are not being written.
But enough is enough. I’m tired of being weary. I’m tired of just getting by. I want to wake up every day invigorated and excited to see what the day will bring. I want to go to bed every night, tired in a good way, in a way that speaks of a well-lived day, a day not just survived, but lived.
How do I get to that point? Sheer determination, one moment at a time.
Can I do it? I sure hope so.
Thank you for reading. I realize this wasn’t the uplifting, inspirational post you would prefer to read, but you stuck with me to the end. I hope I haven’t scared you off, that you’ll come back to see how my journey continues.