I finished downloading the grief blog posts. There are 208 pages of entries. I do not think there will be anymore to download. No, I'm not "over it". Re-reading the last two years of posts, I realized that it won't ever really be over. He's always going to be gone. I'm always going to be wounded by it. I'm sure there will be other posts where I express grief over that thought.
To be unable to feel loss means you are unable to feel life. To experience the greatest joy, you must also experience the most devastating heartache. I believe we are designed to feel wounded at the loss of a loved one. Were we to feel nothing at that loss, we would also not have felt the love for that life. Whether you believe in a Creator or not, it is how we are made.
There is no cure for what happened to me and Jerry. He won't recover. I can't escape it. I can tamp down the images and thoughts that have nearly driven me insane. I can turn away from photos, shut off music, and look away from couples our age who remind me that I'm never going to grow old with Jerry. We won't watch Sarah grow up together. Nothing can fix it. The knife continues to twist with each memory, each image.
Somehow, I've managed to get some clarity of thought the last week or two. I don't know where it came from nor if it will last. I only know that while I've been reliving that long journey through the Valley of Death that it was my first trip truly alone. Jerry was not there to hold my hand. He could not lift me up or carry me when I was unable to walk. I could not call him when I needed him. I did but he did not answer. When I stood on the edge and stared into the darkness about to engulf me, he was not there to wrap himself around me and shelter me from the horrors. He always, always, always sheltered me.
There will be those who say "God was with you. He never left you." I will agree with you. He doesn't usually leave any of us. There were many days when I did not believe God was anywhere. On those days, I did not want to survive. There have been other days when I felt that He stood by me. Those are the days that I hung on the hardest. Psalms 23 says, "Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me." Most days you don't feel any comfort. No where does it say that I don't have to make the journey. It does not say He makes it easy. It does not say He stops the pain.
I don't understand how you can take this trip and show no outward signs. There should be scars that cause people to stare, or oozing sores that make them cringe. There aren't. At least, not visible to anyone but you. You see them when you look in the mirror. Sometimes there are small signs, nearly unnoticeable - lines where there had been no lines, clothes that hang, rings that won't stay on your fingers, strands of hair that are suddenly a different color. Nothing major except it is another loss you can't control. It won't be fair.
Everyone must travel the road I am on. Unless you die young, someone close to you will die. And if you live long enough, you may walk this way more than once. It will be painful. It will be unfair. It is inevitable. I suspect it does not get any easier with each passing.
To be unable to feel loss means you are unable to feel life. To experience the greatest joy, you must also experience the most devastating heartache. I believe we are designed to feel wounded at the loss of a loved one. Were we to feel nothing at that loss, we would also not have felt the love for that life. Whether you believe in a Creator or not, it is how we are made.
There is no cure for what happened to me and Jerry. He won't recover. I can't escape it. I can tamp down the images and thoughts that have nearly driven me insane. I can turn away from photos, shut off music, and look away from couples our age who remind me that I'm never going to grow old with Jerry. We won't watch Sarah grow up together. Nothing can fix it. The knife continues to twist with each memory, each image.
Somehow, I've managed to get some clarity of thought the last week or two. I don't know where it came from nor if it will last. I only know that while I've been reliving that long journey through the Valley of Death that it was my first trip truly alone. Jerry was not there to hold my hand. He could not lift me up or carry me when I was unable to walk. I could not call him when I needed him. I did but he did not answer. When I stood on the edge and stared into the darkness about to engulf me, he was not there to wrap himself around me and shelter me from the horrors. He always, always, always sheltered me.
There will be those who say "God was with you. He never left you." I will agree with you. He doesn't usually leave any of us. There were many days when I did not believe God was anywhere. On those days, I did not want to survive. There have been other days when I felt that He stood by me. Those are the days that I hung on the hardest. Psalms 23 says, "Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me." Most days you don't feel any comfort. No where does it say that I don't have to make the journey. It does not say He makes it easy. It does not say He stops the pain.
I don't understand how you can take this trip and show no outward signs. There should be scars that cause people to stare, or oozing sores that make them cringe. There aren't. At least, not visible to anyone but you. You see them when you look in the mirror. Sometimes there are small signs, nearly unnoticeable - lines where there had been no lines, clothes that hang, rings that won't stay on your fingers, strands of hair that are suddenly a different color. Nothing major except it is another loss you can't control. It won't be fair.
Everyone must travel the road I am on. Unless you die young, someone close to you will die. And if you live long enough, you may walk this way more than once. It will be painful. It will be unfair. It is inevitable. I suspect it does not get any easier with each passing.
Even as I write this I struggle with what I am trying to say because words are so very inadequate to describe this trip. There are no road maps, no signs. No one can tell you which way to go. Everyone will give you books on the journey but in all honesty, you will have to write your own story, make your own way, redraw the map.
There are regrets. I know, I know. We are not supposed to have regrets. But they are there and they are hot irons that are forged in the heat of the moment and during the journey they sear our souls. I know of no way to avoid them. I had no opportunity. I'm giving you opportunity.
I've said before that everything you care about is within ten feet of you. Four feet from my bed are two portraits of my family - Jerry, Mike, Dave & me. If I could recall a single day of my life, it would be those days, when my sons were young, my husband was healthy, and I was happy. We were happy.
I don't expect happiness to find me again. I'll settle for peace.
There are regrets. I know, I know. We are not supposed to have regrets. But they are there and they are hot irons that are forged in the heat of the moment and during the journey they sear our souls. I know of no way to avoid them. I had no opportunity. I'm giving you opportunity.
I've said before that everything you care about is within ten feet of you. Four feet from my bed are two portraits of my family - Jerry, Mike, Dave & me. If I could recall a single day of my life, it would be those days, when my sons were young, my husband was healthy, and I was happy. We were happy.
I don't expect happiness to find me again. I'll settle for peace.
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