It’s been a tough couple of months but I keep on trudging forward. I can’t blame any single incident or issue; it’s just a collection of incidents, breaks, expenses severely outweighing the income, and other ongoing stressors that have me working just a little bit harder to see the good things like the emergence of new flowers poking their way through the rain soaked flooded would-be flower beds. I am trying. I swear that I am.
On Tuesday morning, I went out for my morning walk. The air was crisp and the moon was full. It was invigorating and beautiful in spite of the bitter cold bringing on the pains in my butt and legs. Simba, our dog, has become accustomed to more regular walks. He is getting quite efficient at lifting his leg to deposit a few drops on as many bushes as he can while keeping pace to avoid the tug of the leash as I keep moving. As we walk, I think of cleaver mind “tweets” like I often do during my commute to prevent the frustration from getting the best of me. One that comes up is: “People may stop and smell the roses, but my dog, he likes to stop and pee on them.” It may be weird but, during these walks, these mind tweets do a nice job of taking my mind off of the ongoing discomfort. So that is good. And I need all the *good* I can get right now.
If any of my long time bloggies are still reading, you know that this time of year marks the anniversary of my husband, Tom’s demise and subsequent death a short time later. For 12 years now, I watch as the sadness hovers over the house like an invisible little black rain cloud in a Winnie-the-Pooh story. You can almost see Christopher Robin holding up his umbrella saying “Tutt-Tutt, it looks like rain grief.” The anniversary of his death is etched in my mind, but the days leading up to it seem to be etched into my nervous system. I quick checking the chronicles of Juls revealed that today marks the 1st visit to the emergency room (the one where we were sent home with some narcotics, a muscle relaxant, and nothing more).
It’s no surprise that Tom visited me in my dreams this morning. We were having a nice moment when sounds of BoBo getting ready for work pulled me out of my sleep. He is pushing for the next promotion and, therefore, is up at o’dark thirty 6-days a week. Try as I might, I couldn’t get back to Tom. I have so much to tell him, and to ask his advice/help on. I hate to say it but I still need him – even now, 12 years later. I feel so alone in supporting these boys of ours. No. I just feel so alone. Every day I fear that something bad will happen to rip them from my life and it kills me. I love them so very much. They are my everything, my reason for living, they are all I have left of him. I pray for their safety, health, happiness, success…
As I said, I *am* trying to stay positive. But I’m not always successful in my efforts. This morning, for example, I lost my cool with YaYa. He wasn’t getting out of bed and I was imposing my own need to be in-control of my world on his world. In response, he was opposing his own need to get every last minute of sleep he possibly can. Clearly, we have different time schedules and coping needs. While I need to let him do his thing, it’s hard to do when my return home is met with signs of his rushed, last minute get-away (lights on, house alarm not set, among other things).
Eleven-ish years ago when I attended my grief support group, there was a women who, at 3 years out, was still incredibly broken from her husband’s passing. I remember wondering if I too would be that broken when I reached the three year mark. And now, as I approach my TWELVE year mark, I find that in many ways I am even more broken than before. *sniffle*
I guess there is always more work to be done when it comes to this grief journey that I am on. Perhaps, you’ve experienced something similar. If so, please share. I’d love to know that I am not alone…at least in this.