Hey Julie,
What I appreciate about this morning’s time away from my house is that I used it to think about my habits. What are the things that are driving me towards healing, and what are the things that are keeping me from experiencing the healing that is available to me? Why does it feel like every new day is another sign of my time slipping away? I feel so aimless now that you’re gone.
We would talk about it, but not get very far because of our defenses trying to protect what little pride we may have had in ourselves individually. We wouldn’t get very far because a number of things actually. There was my fear of having to actually do life on my own without you. The distraction in my thoughts of how I would mourn you, and then find someone new. I can barely stand being with myself long enough to write these words.
Too much digging leads to general fatigue. And, I’m tired of being tired. I’m tired of digging for why I’m tired most every day I wake up. I’m tired of wondering when I will feel motivated enough to want to seek out more for me and Jonah. I wonder when I won’t be so afraid to get close to him. Your death has affected more than just my now having to live in the memories of you.
I honestly struggle now to get close to anyone. I understand mentally that there is healing in community, but there’s also a lot of death and loss too. There’s a lot that goes into building relationships, only to have them end for whatever reason. It’s the fragility of human life that is my biggest challenge right now. How life can end so quickly. The transition to life with you and life without you has been very rough. You were such a hustler for our family’s business. You were always “busting butt” to get your next idea out of your head, and into the world.
I’m left with caring for our son and wondering when I will be able to get back to busting my butt for our family. It doesn’t feel like I’m hustling for much of anything other than getting our 2nd son to his appointments daily. Meanwhile, I have no appointments other than the appointment to get back in bed for more rest. And maybe this habit of writing?
But what about the habits that were built into our life together? What about the habits we did daily? Those habits have just had to die outwardly and be forgotten inwardly. How does anyone just forget a life they were living every day? No, I don’t have the urge to call you. I know where your phone is and that you won’t answer it.
The part that hurts about that fact is that I don’t know where you are. I don’t know what you are doing. I don’t know what it looks like to see with your new eyes. Did you even get new eyes? Do you have a favorite meal yet? Do you have to shower now? When I heard that I’m not the only one who struggles to remember to continue the habits that keep me and my environment healthy, I felt a little relief from the weight of grief.
I continue to seek out resources to help me manage this new, unknown life of widowerhood. You could say it’s been one of my consistent habits since we heard the news of the cancer diagnosis. It’s been an information overload ever since. I might be overloading with information so I don’t have to continue to feel the pain of your absence as if it just happened. But with every memory that flashes across the screen of my headspace, there is a new reality I have without the evolution of that moment.
Isn’t that what the future is anyways? The evolution of moments past? There’s still time for me to continue in an evolution process. We all face death eventually. I’d just like mine to be a little more than I have become. I have become someone who hides from the light. Figuratively and literally. The light will expose too much of my life of pain, but we’ve all lived lives of pain. That’s what growing is. Expanding my capabilities to experience more and more: people, places, things.
Is this how I am going to deal with traumas from now on? Barely make it out of bed only to get back into it. Will sorrow be my default emotion for the rest of my life? Will I ever allow myself to feel like writing is worth its weight in gold? Even if that weight is covered in grief. Would this transition have been any easier if we’d had more time together? Or, would it have made things even harder because of the intertwining of lives further in the midst of immense pain and suffering?
I have my selfish reasons for wanting you back next to me physically. But, then I remember you using words like “excruciating” and “agony” to describe your comfort level. As if anyone could ever be comfortable with the type of cancer destroying your body. But, not your mind. Your mind was as sharp as it ever was right until you went to sleep, and then died.
It’s surreal to write out that you are dead. All there is when I survey my body is numbness. When I think about it, that’s how I feel with most of my life. Numb. Is that good? Or, do I have an issue I need help with? It’s these sorts of things the world could be better prepared to address when death makes its home in our lives. Being aware of the blindsiding effects of when someone dies.
Leave a Reply