Groundhog Day. Do you ever feel that widowhood is like Groundhog Day?
A wide and conflicting range of emotions exist in widowhood. As many as you can name, from A-Z, and many more that can’t be named, only felt. Emotions that veer wildly about in one’s mind and heart and body.
For most of us, over time, the hardest ones seemingly dissipate. If I were new to this grief thing, that would lead me to think whew done with that tornado! But I’m not new to this unwelcome game, so I know that because one emotion seems to be done and finished…well…no. Not. It lies dormant, waiting to express itself again, maybe and hopefully not as intensely, but fully realizing that it can come roaring back at the most unexpected moments, possibly disguised as emotion, or buried beneath another emotion, or as itself, with possibly less intensity but hey, you never know maybe with even more intensity than the original.
Jesus, tornado roller coaster hurricane tsunami cyclone twister earthquake!
Over time, energetically, emotions shift, if only from exhaustion of overuse. Which leads to a stunning numbness and feelings of detachment. Emotional detachment even from those you love most dearly, which is confusing at best. At a time when you need emotional connections, you feel so disconnected. And if you try to explain this to those around you, who aren’t where you are…it doesn’t always go well.
Which leads, or can lead, to feelings of guilt. Guilt with pain and grief. The perfect mix.
I don’t know which is worse; the pain or the numbness. Fortunately, I’m too tired from all of it to give too much of a shit, one way or the other. And early on…very early on…I learned about the grand art of not giving a fuck for the opinions of others, regarding most anything but most especially regarding my grief and how I do it. I sent the grief police packing.
It has also been freeing to realize, to admit, to myself and others, that I don’t have any answers. To anything really. I don’t even have any questions any longer. Life is life and it’s messy and unpredictable and unfair and huge and small all at the same time. Why get lost in trying to figure any of that out?
I’ve become more philosophical about life. Which is how Chuck was. He was Buddhist and the way he lived reflected that. He didn’t get caught up in ego and faced life as it was, not as he wished it to be.
I find myself giving consideration to life, to questions about life, in the same way that Chuck did, and, often, the words he would have said are the same words that come out of my mouth, in response.
I wonder sometimes if I’m becoming Chuck. Which is probably not too strange or is it? but I do wonder and then I add into that wondering the plethora of grief emotions and struggling to find passion for life again and find my feet again and every other big and small emotion and, also, that I don’t consider it necessarily odd that I’m becoming more Chuck, and, well…welcome to my world.
Is anyone else as confused as I am?