Roller Coaster

I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again… One of the hardest things about being a widow is the ups and downs.  Everything can be going along all fine and dandy and then WHAM!  It’s like someone punches you really hard in the stomach.  Everything changes, in an instant.  All those content, positive moments I’ve worked so hard for are gone and replaced with fear, uncertainity, loneliness and pain, yes, actually physical pain.  Missing Jeff actually hurts.

But, I do know there is sunshine.  At the end of all this, whenever that “end” may be, I know that there will be a time when I can be happy again.  A time when the clouds will part for more then a few minutes at a time, a time when I will be able to bask in the warm, shining light.  I have FAITH!! 

I keep thinking that I was given “this” because I am supose to learn something.  I keep thinking that the faster I learn what ever “it” is, then I will be able to be happy again.  I have been staying “open” hoping that the lesson will come sooner than later.  Then the thought occured to me that maybe I am wrong.  Maybe I don’t have to learn from this, maybe this isn’t a test. 

But then I wonder…. WHY???

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4 responses to “Roller Coaster

  1. django's mommy

    I don’t dwell on the ‘why’… because I know we will never know. But I do believe there are good things that can come out of this horrible experience. I, too, have been pushing forward, hoping that if I do grieving ‘right’, that somehow I will get… rewarded, I guess, by a shorter grieving process. I’m starting to think it doesn’t work that way. I’m starting to learn that this process will take a really fucking long time, regardless of how long I wait to date, how good I am about ‘feeling’ the emotions, how much I do or do not rely on family and friends. It just takes a long freakin’ time. Sigh. I want to speed it along, too, but I think that is just another lesson I have to learn as well.

  2. You can and will be happy again, although I don’t think that happiness will signify “the end” of grieving either.

  3. I believe you will always have a grieving moment. Your grieving will never end. There will be lots of moments where you will be happy.

    Laura, you are doing fantastically well, you are smiling and having a bit of fun again. If I’ve lost someone whom I was dear to, I don’t think I would be able to go on. I would feel like my life is over.

    If there was an award for bravery, it would surely go to you, you are so brave and strong to continue to live on and raise your 5 children alone. Well, not totally alone, Jeff is there with you, he is watching over you all and protecting you. Jeff is your Guardian Angel. Do not be in despair but embrace Jeff for he can do more up in heaven, he can be with you now wherever you go. And God has his arms wrapped around all 6 of you. Continue to live and be happy.

    Love Jenn

  4. Ditto to Django Mommy’s words:
    “I, too, have been pushing forward, hoping that if I do grieving ‘right’, that somehow I will get… rewarded, I guess, by a shorter grieving process. I’m starting to think it doesn’t work that way. I’m starting to learn that this process will take a really fucking long time, regardless of how long I wait to date, how good I am about ‘feeling’ the emotions, how much I do or do not rely on family and friends. It just takes a long freakin’ time. Sigh. I want to speed it along, too, but I think that is just another lesson I have to learn as well.”

    This was exactly what I thought the first year after my husband died too. I thought that if I did everything in just the “right” way for grief, that it’d be shorter, or easier, or something equally fantastical. It took until after the first year–and, indeed, in many ways until now, when in 2 weeks it’ll be 3 years since Charley died–to realize just how freakin’ *long* it takes to even start feeling the slightest bit better, and that there’s no way to make it happen faster. Dangit.

    I hear you, too, on all the “WHY??!!” questions. I’ve had them too, but they’ve faded over time. No magical pill for when, how, or why they faded, though…perhaps it was some measure of coming to terms with the fact (or absence) of an understandable why still wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t make him undead, it wouldn’t make my grief any easier because there was suddenly a “reason” for it, and it would never, ever make it okay with me that he died. The only “why” I ever came up with that made any sense and that helped me (and the epiphany hit me about 3 days after he died, a day or two before his funeral) was that everyone dies and that this was simply the number of pages allotted to him in his life history; there was no “reason” for it, no purpose. Then again, the comfort I derived from this light bulb of insight only lasted a few months…then I was just bereft, desolate, and so incredibly sad that he died that no reason or why could help change that. I still struggle sometimes with the why on bad days, even after 3 years, but at least the need for an answer is less consuming now.

    Hang in there. Be gentle with yourself….

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