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