Day 29

I wandered off a bit, I tried to start another blog that would be more public, shared with friends. With a bit less self reflection. Too much grief seems to freak people out, they start reminding you to look for the bright side, his spirit is with you, little angels dancing around you and bringing you joy. I think the meaning is: I don't know how to make you feel better and so your grief makes me sad too. Don't make me sad, please try to feel happy!

But over here, this feels better to carry on with as the journaling aspect. The occasional vents.

I realize, looking at the last post, that nothing has changed yet. I'm still caught at the bottom of that chasm of grief and I can't imagine that it will get better, at least not yet. Things change, of course, eventually, but it's hard to imagine it.

I have been reading, though. I've reread the Power of Now, which was so important to my husband when he read it. It makes me wonder how he put up with me. What a challenge I must have been to him, to his sense of calm, his no mind moments, his presence. I feel like I must have spent a lot of time dragging him back to unconsciousness, though I think he maintained well. He never gave up on me, he was always sure I'd find my way through the fog. I don't know if I'm ready to be in the present, yet. I recognize thoughts now, maybe that's a first step.

Going through Thich Nhat Hahn's No Death, No Fear, which carries on my quest for learning to be in this moment instead of the past or the future. Up next in the kindle queue is another book about mindful grieving.

Up after that... I can't imagine. I keep looking at old photos and crying more than ever. I find new, cute little things that I want to show him. I still do show him, I talk to him all the time, I say "look!" but it's not the same, it's not the same as hearing his voice, hearing his response, listening to him laugh. I can imagine those things, I can imagine how he'd react, but that's not really enough.

And I still have that profound sense of unreality. That absolute certainty that this is not real, the world around me is not the real world, that I'm somehow caught in a dream state, a hallucination, and if I fight hard enough I will wake up and find him beside me and all will be well. Sometimes it's terrifying how strongly I feel that, and it makes me wonder if I am beginning to lose my mind. I know he is dead, I know his ashes are in that urn that's sitting on the table in the living room. At the same time I know he's not gone, I know he's right here and he's just out of my field of view and I just can't quite figure out how to reach him. I know it to be true just as I know that if I walk into the kitchen I'll see the box of cereal I left out.

I envy those people who say they hear messages, see signs. Even if they are imagining those things, even if it's all self-delusion, it doesn't matter. I would love to have something to cling to.

Day 29. I still can't bear the thought of the world without you.