Identity Crisis

 

I've shared before that when Katie left home at 18, I found myself in a long spell of grief.  It was completely unexpected.  I'd been parenting for over 30 years, and I thought I was more than ready to lose that role of full-time parent.  I started out excited about the time ahead.  And then I was hit by the runaway car called grief which nearly debilitated me for two full years.  

I didn't know what to do with myself!  All those plans I'd made for the day when I would not be on call 24/7 mattered no longer.  I lost my footing.  It was totally unexpected and it took me by surprise.

Six weeks into losing John, I can tell you that I find myself in a similar place now.  

Making Changes 1% At A Time

 

I floated through the last of March and the first part of April as though I were lost in a fog and I was.  I realized in mid-April I needed to stop and just 'be' so to speak, whatever form 'being' took at the time.  Tears, making relational decisions, attempting social occasions and church solo, dealing with paperwork and appointments, and finally determining what I wanted beyond John's NOT being gone, which is not an option I can choose.

I realized I could re-establish some routines in my life and ground myself somewhat better.  I started with the Friday and Monday house blessings, those two days of the week when my house is most prone to be untidy and need real attention.  I like going into the weekend with it clean and neat and I like coming out of the weekend well rested and ready to set things to rights for the week ahead.  

Wisdoms I Need

 

Grief work always causes us to revisit underlying grief.  ~ Liz (in the comments of this post)

She is so right!  I recognized the truth of it as soon as I read that statement.  I had wondered why I kept dwelling on so many hurts, long past and more recent, things I'd normally have thought little about.  But even the slightest grief has been like a new pang in my soul.  I needed that "Ah ha!" moment she gave me when she chose to share that.

Grief is a magnet that will pick up all the little pieces of grief.  And it has made it more difficult for me to discern exactly what I'm grieving at times.

Sorrow upon Sorrow

 

The thing I've found about grief is that it has a way of dredging up all the past griefs, ones I'd thought were long dealt with and forgotten.  

The need of a girl for her mother...

The desire to be an aunt...

Today, as I was leaving church, a young woman came and stopped directly in front of me.   I stood looking at her, sure I knew her, sure she was family, but not quite recognizing her.  I said "Hi..." a little hesitantly.  Something about her face kept nagging at me that she was someone I knew well.  It was my niece.  We hugged long and deep.  She is 30 years old.   I have had only the briefest moments of contact with her.

Promises for May

 

1.  Life is too short to eat food that isn't good.   I don't mean spoiled food, but food that is lacking in taste or texture, or a recipe that didn't turn out and feels like punishment when I force myself to eat it. or the leftovers of it which haven't improved.  I did that too often in April and I've made up my mind that if I'm going to consume 'x' number of calories each day, then the food I eat shall (a) taste good (b) be something I genuinely enjoy (c) and look forward to eating.  

I've had ill luck of late with things I crammed into the freezer before John died.  WHY did I save those things thinking they'd taste better later?  

Closed Doors

 

John has been gone a month at the time I'm writing this.  One month ago today, I kissed his forehead and walked out of the room leaving his physical body, my dearest friend and great love, behind.  I realize now that I was in a state of shock.  Operating normally enough on the surface but reeling with sorrow underneath.  Holding myself together for the sake of my children, but bereft.  Probably not hiding it very well though I supposed at the time that I was.

But two things happened that I have not shared.  Two other griefs, which are wrapped up in losing my beloved.  The Sunday morning of his last day, when I'd been told he'd passed away, before I went in to see him and he miraculously regained consciousness, one of the first people I called was my brother.   I told him John had died. "Well Terri, it's going to happen to all of us at some point.  I'm sorry."    I asked him to please let Mama know.