Grief. Love. Magic. A new road. A new life~

In Love With...A Dead Man

He strides through my mind on a daily basis.

My heart yearns for the Love I felt so strongly with him.

My soul remembers back to the years we shared.

My body yearns for his hands upon it.

It’s been 5 years and 3 months since he left my world.

I’m in love with a dead man.

I can almost hear the shrieks of dismay and shock and see people draw back in…

I’m not sure why they would draw back upon hearing this from me.

Maybe it’s too morbid? I’ve been accused of morbidity.

Maybe they feel that it says something slightly crazy about me, that I’m in love with a dead man…

And I speak so openly about it.

Maybe they think that being in love with a dead man will keep me from being in love with a man who is alive.

Not that any opportunities have presented themselves.

Here’s the god’s honest truth…

I think about my dead husband day and night.

My pulse beats to the memories of our years together.

As I go about living this life…interacting with those I meet along the way on a daily basis…

I’m thinking about him.

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Get Along, Grief Shamers

Along about the second year, definitely going into the third and then the fourth…I just wanted to scream at people.

Not in anger, but in shredded grief and pain…

Why can’t you just let me be sad? Why does it feel like I must defend myself against you? Why does it then feel like I have to defend my grief even to myself? Why does it feel like I can’t just feel what I feel, be whatever I am? Why must I expend all this energy defending my right to feel all that this is? Why is it not okay with you that I can’t find my feet and I’m feeling so disoriented that my stomach continually wants to heave its’ contents? Why are you trying to make me feel like I’m doing something wrong?

Why can’t you just let me be fucking sad?

These are a mere sampling of the piercing reactions that took up so much space in my heart and soul and mind in the first years of grief, in reaction to all the well meaning mostly discussions that people would have with me. To me, really, because they weren’t seeking discussion with me as much as they were telling me where they thought I should be with this, or how they thought I should be with this.

Grief, I mean.

How I was grieving vs how they thought I should be grieving.

They didn’t realize this is what they were doing, of course. At least, I hope they didn’t realize this is what they were doing.

Whether that was their intention or not, shaming is how I heard every word.

And every word from them shattered me more, because I, and we, already judge ourselves so much, when we grieve.

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Just me, trying to figure this shit out, after the firestorm of my beloved husband's death~
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