Since I last posted my world was turned upside down. My universe slowed. And the stars paled in the sky.
I lost my husband who was my soul mate (in all the right ways), best friend, partner, and great love.
It is very hard to stand up straight when you lose someone so significant. It is impossible to breathe. All that is real is the raw feeling of your heart. It feels as if it has gone 10 rounds with Mike Tyson. It’s bruised, cracked, crushed, and as if a part is missing.
When someone choses to die it is very hard to take. Why? Why? Why? Why? Is what you say. But when you know the why, it still doesn’t make it any easier.
Loss is all-consuming. But not in the way you might think. At least that’s what I found. It seemed impossible to believe that I would ever smile or laugh again. Days after the loss I did just that. I laughed. And I felt horrible.
I thought, “How dare I feel joy. How dare I laugh. How can I do that when I am so devastated.” I felt like a horrible person. Like I was trivializing what had just happened to someone I adored and loved. I was taken aback by the feelings.
I thought about this situation and spoke about it others. People said, “he’d want you to be happy” and “he’d want you to feel joy.” And I know all that, he would. But I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to be happy. I wanted to be writhing on the floor in tears, keening in corners, tearing my hair out. I wanted to be wailing. Because that’s how I really felt. But I couldn’t. Something stopped me.
What was it? I don’t know for certain. But my belief tells me it is a lot of things. It is our love. It was buoying my spirit. It was allowing me to see joy even through all the pain. It is him. He was here in my heart, in my head, in my world. I felt him. I heard him. I KNOW he is here helping me get through this.
I know everyone has their belief systems and those systems have different takes on what happens when someone dies. But what I know, what I’ve experienced in the past, tells me that those we love don’t leave us right away, if ever. And that gives me peace. That allows me to laugh.
I talk to him all the time. I tell him when I’m mad at him. I tell him how much I miss him. I tell him what I’m going to do for the future. I wait for his response. I talk to him before I go to sleep. I talk to him when I wake up. All through the day I tell him that I love him. That he changed me. That our love was singularly wonderful. That everything that we went through made me the person I am today. That my strength comes from the fact that I loved him and he loved me.
That’s how I get through my loss. Some may say it’s wrong. I don’t care. Every loss is different and everyone goes through their loss in their own way.
Why? I’ll still ask this over and over. But what I chose to really work at is remembering. The way he said my name. How he loved to tease me and drive me nuts. His smile. The way it felt when he hugged me. The moments we bore our souls to each other. The joy we shared in laughter. The moments with our family. The day I married him.
Every night when I go to bed I turn off the light in my family room. As I reach for the switch I see our wedding picture. I see our faces and how we were looking at each other with just complete adoration, hope, truth, and love. That’s my last image of my day.
Loss. It’s a word that is inadequate in my book. But loss exists and we must get through it. I will get through it. He knew this about me. But how I get through it will be my own way and in my own time.