... a voice for those who mourn the loss of a soul mate
"He felt now that he was not simply close to her, but that he did not know where he ended and she began." - Leo Tolstoy

Wednesday, November 1, 2017

If only

And this sadness of grief is not something that really goes away. Yes, it changes. I don't cry every day. I hardly ever scream any more or pound the furniture in the frustration of grief.
But I ache in my heart.
Every day.
I yearn for what was.
I see couples going about their day and I feel cheated.
Nothing brings true lasting joy any more. 
Every day I am reminded that John's not here.
John's not here.
Here. *

I have been dealing with several issues on many fronts these past couple of weeks, both personal/health-wise and family crises.
To the point that it has at times felt a little overwhelming. The last straw was when someone who I had thought was going to work with me on a project that I was hopeful about turned out to be less than genuine in their dealings with me.
So, in relating all of this to a friend I told her how I just felt like throwing in the metaphorical towel and telling the world to just take a long walk off a short pier, as my mother used to say.
And that might sound like a little pity-party. But it wasn't.
I see it as more of self-preservation rather than woe-is-me antics.
I’m sad but I am adjusting.
I withdrew, yes. But it was to regroup. To gather the troops, so to speak, and live to fight another day. I spent the day reading Sue Grafton’s entire latest novel and played with my furbabies.
It was a good peaceful day.
I know how to take care of myself. I know what I need to do to renew my strength.
But it also brought another feeling to the forefront. Something that I try to ignore sometimes because it's downright scary to me.
I am alone. 
And I have to act accordingly. If I fall and knock myself out, for example, no one will know for hours, if not days. That’s a terrifying thought.
It’s also my life now.
I can handle the current troubles and I will. I feel I already am. But it drives home that feeling of being alone. And that above all else is what bothers me.
So, I am learning to put things in place to safeguard myself. I know I am resourceful.
But part of me - a huge big humongous part of me - wishes this weren't so.
In some respects it makes John’s gone-ness seem even more real.
And that hurts, too. None of this would probably bother me nearly as much [if at all] if he were here.
All it would take would be one of his smiles or one of his hugs and the world would be right again.
What I wouldn't give for that.

* From I Will Never Leave You by Joy Collins

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