…when I move, I will concentrate on raising up the new me. It is cool. It is not lost on me that the roles are reversed. This time, it is me, not my children, who will “grow up” and into myself in the new house. It is my turn to focus on my own identity and sense of well being. It is my time to become the person I am meant to be.
This time buying feels different. It feels like I am attempting to fix a wrongdoing.
The wrongdoing being Mike’s death… Moving is a big step in the direction of righting my alternate life. It is forward motion. It is acknowledgement of the permanence of his death. It is necessary and it is a good thing. This move is about me. It is my decision. My choice. My sale. My purchase. It is about my family and our future. And, I should be excited about it. And, I sort of am. I am just not altogether overjoyed. I am a bit blaise and this should not surprise me because I have been operating in apathy for 4.3 years now. The move just really brings into focus how deep this indifference is embedded in my psyche.
And, in the familiar setting where my old life played out I was able to grieve for all that I lost. I let my loss seep into my bones as I walked down the familiar streets of our neighbourhood. As I wandered through the aisles of our grocery store I allowed all the sadness his death caused to drip from me. I drove around our town and tears streamed from my eyes, day after day, as I said goodbye to the future we never got to live. It has been an excruciating 4.3 years, but I am better for allowing myself the time to properly say goodbye to my life here. I am now finally at a point in my grief where I can be at peace with the past and I have accepted that the future will not be the one I anticipated living. I can move now. I am done with this place. I have taken what I can from it and now there is nothing left here for me.
I wrote this January 29, 2018. Three years later, I stand by a lot of what I wrote. Grief must be felt and attended to. You will be better for “sitting” with your grief. Lean into it – this is the way back to life… ~S. When Grief comes, Take her in your arms and […]
Being widowed has forced me to become accustom to being “lost”. I have veered off the main road and I have become fairly self sufficient travelling off the beaten path. I’ve always been independent; and, generally, I can excel under pressure; but, Mike’s death has made me even more effective in the face of adversity. I have made solid decisions on unstable ground and I have grown somewhat comfortable being ‘off kilter’.
These days, I choose to take the road less traveled because I enjoy the solitude, whereas, before the silence would have been unsettling to me. With time and experience, I am less afraid of being lost. Mike’s death is teaching me to handle the unexpected and unwelcome in life. And, sometimes I resent this lesson, but I still choose to learn from it. What else can I do?
For all it’s taken from me, widowhood has also given me an unshakable belief in myself.
Once my grief settled into me, I was able to move through life in a far less clumsy way. As counterintuitive as it sounds, by allowing my grief to make a home within me, I was finally able to free myself of it. With grief housed safely inside me, I was able to live with more agility. When I let both my grief and my unbridled, wild hunger for life to coexist within me I found a type of peace that had eluded me previously.
Coexistence is the only peaceful way I’ve been able to manage my grief. This last year, I have allowed my grief to “be”. To be part of me. To be within me. I must emphasize, grief is not who I am; I am so much more than Mike’s widow. But, undeniably, my grief is part of my psyche.
I have stopped fighting the sadness because I realize that it is not an either or thing. Because I am sad, does not mean I can not also be happy; and, maybe, just maybe I will also be happy in love too…
I wish we were neighbors. I would come over with my cup and while we talked I would casually stir my tears into my coffee. Maybe my tears are magical. Maybe somehow, by swallowing them, the bitterness of living my life without him would dissipate. But, we aren’t neighbors. And, my tears aren’t magic. So, […]
After months and months of nearly drowning in my own tears, I summoned the fight and fortitude needed to kicked up against rock bottom. I let myself feel the pain of my separation from Mike. I felt it to the depths of my bones. I endured the pain. I swallowed my loss when I was choking on it. I made myself breathed in life when I could not get air. I digested my grief when it nauseated me to the point that I had to hold my hair back as I threw up into the toilet. I persisted. I continued when I thought I could no longer live another second without him. I did all this like so many widowed people before me. I survived because I had no other choice. I am an ordinary woman who endured what requires superhuman strength. I am widowed strong.
This week’s writing will begin with part of the first blog I ever wrote and it will end with an update and my reflections on the three years that have past since. I wrote, “Who Am I ?” on December 11, 2017. Three years later, these words are still powerful and true…
I am working fiercely to own my worth. I recognize that Self Love is where the power is. For me to launch myself more fully into the life I desire, I need to absolutely love the woman I am becoming. So, today, and tomorrow and all the days of my life I am going to practice letting my life unfold without getting in my own way.
For me, this Christmas, and always, I choose to focus on the LOVE and not the loss. This makes all the difference for me.