One of the beautiful things about being an introvert... I love my time alone, and I'm deeply in touch with my self, my thoughts, and my feelings. And when I get comfortable (or loopy) and start talking aloud to my "empty" house, I hear him respond. And it makes me... happy.
Happy to remember what we had, how much he understood me, and that I can still talk to him, in a certain sense of the word.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Monday, June 25, 2012
My life was good. I have a hard time getting stuck in this loop, memories, and remembering how good my life was. And I consciously think, “I miss my life.”
I don’t think that’s healthy. I think it’s normal – to me, my life is what I’d chosen with him, not what I have now (which wasn’t by choice). But I don’t think it’s healthy, because somehow I have to find a way to live in the here and now.
So I’m consciously trying to make this a “My life was good.” Maybe someday I’ll say “my life is good” – and I do have my days on the deck or at the cemetery where I look around and think I have a pretty great life. One of my fav places has always been the back dock of wherever I’m working – it’s easy to get out there, breathe deep, and remember how I chose this life – this career, that is – and it calms me to handle the crazy that is my job.
Do you know how hard it is to do daily living when you’re grieving? When everything from getting dinner to doing laundry to yelling at the cat you used to do with HIM. You can’t just do the laundry because it needs done – it’s a reminder of fighting over the laundry room, finding his undies in the dryer, and him surprising me with cleaning the litter box that resides next to the washer. Stuff like grocery shopping for one and meal planning for one sort of makes sense, since you’re no longer planning for that other person. But it’s the weird little mundane stuff that really drives home how alone you are, how much your life has changed.
And maybe, one day, I can look around my daily life and say, “Life is good.” For now, I’ll take those brief moments of peace and tranquility, when I feel at one with nature, the world, and the Greater Being. And I’ll focus on saying, “My life was good” because it was. And it’s unreal how good my life was and how blessed I was to have him.
I don’t think that’s healthy. I think it’s normal – to me, my life is what I’d chosen with him, not what I have now (which wasn’t by choice). But I don’t think it’s healthy, because somehow I have to find a way to live in the here and now.
So I’m consciously trying to make this a “My life was good.” Maybe someday I’ll say “my life is good” – and I do have my days on the deck or at the cemetery where I look around and think I have a pretty great life. One of my fav places has always been the back dock of wherever I’m working – it’s easy to get out there, breathe deep, and remember how I chose this life – this career, that is – and it calms me to handle the crazy that is my job.
Do you know how hard it is to do daily living when you’re grieving? When everything from getting dinner to doing laundry to yelling at the cat you used to do with HIM. You can’t just do the laundry because it needs done – it’s a reminder of fighting over the laundry room, finding his undies in the dryer, and him surprising me with cleaning the litter box that resides next to the washer. Stuff like grocery shopping for one and meal planning for one sort of makes sense, since you’re no longer planning for that other person. But it’s the weird little mundane stuff that really drives home how alone you are, how much your life has changed.
And maybe, one day, I can look around my daily life and say, “Life is good.” For now, I’ll take those brief moments of peace and tranquility, when I feel at one with nature, the world, and the Greater Being. And I’ll focus on saying, “My life was good” because it was. And it’s unreal how good my life was and how blessed I was to have him.
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