But What's the Alternative to Being Strong?

Really, what would that be?

I think when people tell me how well I'm doing a big part of me feels like a huge fraud. They all think I'm strong when in fact I spend half the day feeling like I've been kicked in the stomach and I am going to fall apart.

They tell me I'm brave but it has taken me months to do things that should have been taken care of soon after he died, and I'm still so terrified of facing the future without him that it generates panic whenever I think about it and I will plunge into denial to save myself from further pain.

They tell me they don't know how I do it, but in reality what choice do I have?

I didn't live through the past six months because I'm strong and determined and want to live life to the fullest. I'm only here because I just keep waking up every day whether I like it or not. I'm not sure how brave and strong that is.

Perhaps I'm too hard on myself. I think I've based my expectations on how I should be reacting to what I've seen in media, where people always begin to move on within a few months. Of course they have no trouble, they have to get on with their lives to drive the plot forward. I don't have the benefit of writers who will find ways to ease my grief and introduce something fun and exciting into my life to move my storyline forward.

But maybe that's where the theory that I must be brave comes in. It's not easy to face something like this on your own, but I'm doing it. It's not easy to get out of bed every day but I do. Eventually. But I'm not strong or brave because I do this, I'm just going through the motions of the day.

But, as Jeff and every bit of advice out there always suggested, maybe this is a case where I just fake it till I make it. I may not be brave, I may not be strong, but as long as I keep waking up each day I might as well make the best of things. Eventually, after enough time has passed, maybe I'll even believe I'm doing well.

This week as I think about the six month anniversary of his death, I just don't know. This week I'm neither strong nor brave.

I think my storyline needs better writers.

4283 Hours

It’s been almost six months since you died. Oh, how I miss you. Six months ago today I could still curl up next to you, I could reach out and touch your cheek. Six months ago today we were still making plans for our future.

I am halfway through my first year as a widow. The term “widow” still sounds so odd. I don’t feel like a “widow.” I feel like it’s supposed to apply to other people, not me. A widow is supposed to be some tiny, ancient lady, dressed in mourning. Not someone even remotely near my age.

I’m still working on acceptance. I still have a long journey. But at least I’ve made it this far. That’s something, I think.

Kything NaturesZen

Evenings

Lots of people like to take pictures of sunsets. They’re common on photo sharing sites, and I've certainly taken more than my share. Jeff enjoyed trying to capture something of the moment too, and we always loved to watch sunsets together. We’d find some spot with a good view, take our cameras, and enjoy the evening.

In the nearly six months since he died I've sometimes noticed a pretty evening sky and briefly considered going out on my own to watch the sun set, but I just couldn't bring myself to leave the house and take pictures. Although I've always enjoyed photography it wasn't until I met Jeff that it really became a shared joy, and once he was gone the photography became another shared hobby that I couldn't bring myself to work on. After all, if I couldn't share any of it with him then what was the point? Why even bother?

I’m not sure what prompted me to pick up my camera and leave the house yesterday, but for some reason it seemed appropriate. It’s spring, it was warm, and if my life had remained unchanged we would probably have taken advantage of this warm weekend to do something fun. I didn't even really try hard to frame out my photos or consider the composition, I just wanted to snap away and try to get back in the habit.

What I've found is that taking one baby step forward feels good at the time, but it usually results in a minor panic state and I leap backwards five steps. It’s too early to tell if that will happen to me this week, but I’m glad I went out. I missed his presence intensely, but it was nice to sit by the water and take pictures, and I know without doubt this would have been high on the list of things that Jeff would want me to continue doing.

cross posted from Kything NaturesZen

Bad Naps

Dozed off for a bit this afternoon for a short, quiet nap. Woke to a bright and sunny living room, and for a moment everything was right in the world and I could imagine starting to get dinner ready for him because he'd be home soon... And then the fog lifted and I knew he wasn't on the way home, and the sunshine was wrong, the day was wrong, everything was wrong, because how could it possibly be a beautiful bright day if he is gone?

It became one of those moments of profound disbelief. He's not dead. He can't really be dead. It really was just a dream, because now that I've woken up I'm absolutely sure that he's going to pull into the driveway any second now. 

Sometimes you just don't want to try to work through the grief moment. Sometimes you just have to lay back down and try to resume your nap, and hope that when you wake up again things won't feel so totally wrong.

I'd thought I'd be comforted by the warm beautiful days, but now I don't know. I think the warm, beautiful days are going to be the hardest days to face.

So I looked out the window this fine spring morning

and clearly my master plan to turn back the calendar and return to the Before Time is working. I have managed to reverse spring, and will soon be moving backwards through winter. October should be right around the corner.

Random Little Thoughts

I want to make wishes and have them come true. I want to be able to believe so firmly and unquestioningly in a wish that the universe manifests it for me instantly. I want to toss my coins in the wishing well and know that it's going to work.

Last Friday I went out to run errands, and for a change I decided on a different grocery than my usual stop. Halfway there I realized I was driving the same route, and at the exact same time of day, that I had driven on many Friday afternoons in that time Before It Happened. We almost always met a friend for dinner on Fridays, and on those days when Jeff wasn't able to work from home he'd head straight for the restaurant after work, and I'd drive over on my own. For a moment I entertained the fantasy that if I drove to the restaurant as usual, and if I could hold the belief in my heart that this was just an an average Friday and I was just minutes away from seeing him, that I'd pull into the lot and he'd be standing near the door, talking with his friend and waiting for me to arrive.

The restaurant is in the same parking lot as the grocery, so I did pull in as usual. But, of course, he wasn't there. It was a nice dream while it lasted.

His shoes are still in the living room. Not where he'd left them, I've moved them around as I've tried to tidy up, but I've never taken them out of the room. Likewise all the other little things he'd left in our cluttered space. Notepads. A motorcycle helmet that was sitting off to the side, waiting for cold weather to pass and the riding season to begin again. A couple of bottles of cologne that were left on the bookshelf. I squirt those into the air or onto a throw pillow now and then, just to smell them, and imagine that he might have just walked through.

I don't know why I haven't moved any of these things, or why it remains out of the question to consider doing so. I think it's related to that wish that if I follow a familiar routine without thinking, such as driving to the restaurant, that it will miraculously restore my life to how it was. If I leave things as they are it will leave open the possibility that this has been a dream, he might still come home, and I can't change things around too much because he'd be annoyed and have a hard time finding his things. Right?

Oh, I know I can't magically erase the past five months. Intellectually, I know he's gone. I understand that it's not a dream.  But my heart still feels like it is a dream, and for now, while I am still trying to understand how to live in this strange and unpleasant new world, it's sometimes nice to imagine that I'm driving to meet him for dinner and he'll be there waiting. And I'll still leave his shoes over beside the window for a while longer.

My head tells me that doesn't matter how much I wish to see him again, I need to work on accepting that I will not. My head tells me that life really has changed.

My heart says that's just crazy talk and looks around for some coins to toss in the wishing well.

Sometimes

When I read all the notes of encouragement from my friends they are usually doing what they can to reassure me that I can do it, I can make it through this. They tell me how strong I am. I realize I don't necessarily doubt that I can be strong. That I have the ability to get through this. I don't really doubt I have the ability to carry on.

Much of the time the question isn't "How can I make it through this?"  The question is, "Do I want to make it through this?"

I know that I'll carry on, I'm not going anywhere. I'm not planning anything dire. But I have realized that the hardest part of this is not trying to find the strength to carry on, the hardest part is trying to find the reason to carry on.

Sometimes I look through other blogs that were founded with much the same reason behind them as this one, as a healing journal for someone who is newly widowed. Most of them seem to be a way to learn how to cope, a way to try to make sense of what's happened. Many of them, if not most, seem to have been written by women who are dealing not only with their loss, but also with raising their children. There are a lot of feelings that these women express that I completely identify with. The constant feeling of loss, the emptiness, the grief of not having the love of your life by your side. But they also talk about doing their best to hang on and maintain as normal a life as they can for their kids. Their kids are a focus for them, a reason to do what they can to continue moving forward.

I think I'm having a hard time because I haven't been able to find that one thing to that really gives me the incentive to keep going. I've picked little things here and there to try to shift my focus on, and I often tell myself "I have to do it for Jeff. He'd want me to carry on. I have to hang in there to honor him." And that's not a bad thing, it's carried me along for a few months now. But lately I'm realizing that what I need to do is shift that focus back onto myself. If I don't find a reason to carry on for myself then I will never be able to say "Yes, I really want to get through this."

Adding this to my list of things I need to work on. And for now, I will remind myself that this is something he'd want me to do.