The hardest thing for me as a blogger is being transparent in sharing my struggles. Try as I might, it’s sometimes hard to get past “what will others think of me?”. Today’s post is a textbook example of that struggle, so bear with me if I meander a bit or, in my desire to avoid meandering, I’m too blunt. Hmmm . . . it appears I’m procrastinating a bit. Here goes.
The past 2 months have been especially difficult. Perhaps it’s because of the letdown after a pretty exciting couple of months — a semester in England followed by the flurry of activity that came with selling my house and moving to a new apartment. Perhaps it’s because my daughter moved into her own apartment (which is completely natural, and I’m happy for her), and it’s just me and Dazey here.
Whatever the reason, I’ve been enveloped by a new type of pain — an impenetrable blanket of loneliness. Day after day, I’m reminded of what is missing in my life. Not just my husband specifically, but also what our relationship meant on a daily basis. Having that one person who knew all the back-stories, with whom I could communicate through a look nobody else would even notice, someone who I would bounce ideas off and share my thoughts with. Someone with whom I shared a comfortable and simple, but strong, love and companionship.
While driving to church this morning it occurred to me that perhaps I’ve moved to a place in which the pain of the loss of my husband as an individual is being joined, maybe even partially supplanted by, a broader sense of loss. And maybe this current period of intense loneliness — sharp and heavy and unrelenting — might be another stage in the grieving process.
Immediately after that thought came another. If it is true that I’m entering a new stage of grieving, how can I “embrace” it? I’m not referring to holding on to it and wallowing in it. Rather, I’m talking about facing it, dealing with it in a healthy way, and learning and growing as a result.
How does that happen? I’m not really sure. All I know is that I need to keep putting one foot in front of the other one day — even just one hour — at a time, keep resting on my faith and on God as much as possible, and keep focusing on what I do have instead of what I’ve lost. Simplistic? Maybe. But right now, simple is all I’ve got and all I can handle.