...... is not something I have felt a lot these past almost-6 years.
I mean, I've felt it for a few things, like my children, my family and friends who were there for me when I really needed them.
But it was beyond difficult to feel thankful, while at the same time not believing that Jim was dead.
But this year ...... this year is different.
These are the things I'm thankful for, even in the midst of missing him every single day:
This is a post I wrote on my blog ten months after Jim died. I thought that I'd share it with you today. I don't go back and read most of my posts. I don't like re-visiting that "cave". Especially those days where that cold, inky blackness totally engulfed me, filled every pore of my body and threatened to completely suffocate me.
But once in a while I'll remember a "lighter" post, which trust me, were few and far between back then. I thought this one was interesting. I hope you do, too.
...... is sometimes difficult to do.
In all areas of life.
And on this blog.
It's difficult to write posts that will connect with everyone. If we write about how horribly dark and depressing and hard-to-survive those first days, weeks and months are ...... we don't connect with those who've been in this "club" for quite a while.
If we write about finding happiness again (albeit a different happiness) and that life is once again worth living, we don't connect with those who are drowning in grief.
When he died, my faith died.
Faith in a god, life, living...
There was only one thing I wanted to believe, that he'd come back home.
When that didn't come to fruition, it was believing that life would end shortly thereafter.
It wouldn't change until I started believing.Read more
I wrote this post on my personal blog back in April of 2012, but it was ringing in my ears this week, as I was trying to remember details and was getting frustrated about the pieces I couldn't recover.
I had a horrifying experience this week:
I couldn't remember.Read more
"The way of progress is neither swift nor easy."
...... is not a word I would've used to describe any part of my "After" in the first few years.
Hell, I was trying too hard to just keep breathing, to just stay alive when I'd really rather not.
Progress? Who gave a damn about progress ...... I was using most of my strength to keep myself from sliding down into the bottom of the deepest, darkest, coldest cave I'd ever experienced ...... knowing that if I slid in too far, I would not return.
Progress? In looking back I can now see that not staying in that cave was indeed, progress.
But it really is only in looking back that that became apparent.
I was looking through my miscellaneous writing pieces and found this letter I wrote myself during my writing workshop circle many months ago. The prompt we'd be given was to imagine you're yourself from the future writing to the present you. I think I may have posted this before, but once is not enough for this one.
I wish my internal voice always sounded this comforting and hopeful and full of faith in myself. I channeled this stuff from somewhere, though. It felt real as I wrote it. It didn't feel forced or fake. So, I read it now and then as a reminder. A reminder that is needed on some days nearly as much as breathe or food or water.
A little voice of comfort and hope whispering "That fear you're blinded by most days? Put it down. Look around you. You survive. You are a survivor. There is so much to see when you turn away from that fear long enough to see it. Look. Breathe. Let it in."
Maggie died in May 2009. I’ve been writing on Widow’s Voice since April 2011. I don’t write as often as the other bloggers because I guess I’m the quiet one. Yet I hope that my infrequency has been inversely reflected in the intensity of my posts; I’ve been open and honest and shared all that I’ve been working through. My path – the same path you are on – sadly leaves only one set of footprints in the sand. Yet, for some reason and maybe you feel the same, I’ve felt that my job is to keep drawing another set of footprints.Read more
Time is healing me, I suppose, but it's also taking me further and further away from Dave. Each day that passes is more time without the love, comfort and stability he so freely gave me. As the days pile up, I'm going more and more crazy for the comfort a loving spouse can bring. It's been so long since he's told me he loves me, wrapped his arms around me, made love to me, cuddled me. It's withdrawal and it seems to get worse as time goes on.Read more
When I first became a widow, I wanted everyone to go away. I did not want to talk, discuss, be comforted, or hear anyone. I found everything overwhelming and the need to communicate with others verbally was not at all on the list of desired actions.Read more