I am not sure how to write this post.
I am not sure how acceptable it is in the world of blog to talk about the gut wrenching grief I feel right now.
As I sit here watching a TV movie of a woman whose husband is returned to her after 66 years of being missing in action, tears streaming down my face. As I watch her hug his coffin, finally reunited with the man she so desperately loved, wailing loudly into the room.
Perhaps it is because I have been poorly these last few days. I don’t do ill well. I am not that woman who soldiers on. No sirree, I am not at all. I whinge and everyone in the house knows that my time has come. I hate being sick.
It is because of this illness that I missed the anniversary of my mom’s death yesterday. Until my dad sent me an email to let me know that he and my daughter were travelling to London to release balloons in Hyde Park – an annual tradition that we all do. I had no strength to buy the balloons, had no strength to grieve. My thumping head, high fever and vomiting just would not allow it.
I woke up this morning feeling a little better. I managed to drag myself out of bed and even make myself a little something to eat. And then my heart broke. It has been four years since her death. And lately it has consumed me more than ever. Only a few weeks ago, I wrote about her on her birthday. It’s a theme apparently, this grief thing.
Things are changing in my life. Good things. And I think that not having her around to share them with have reminded me of the gaping hole she left behind. This grief has clouded me completely.
I decided that I need to fully sit in my grief. I need to let the tears flow and my heart ache to the point of explosion. I need to feel the darkness yet find the crack to let the light pour in. God, I miss the light.
I need to find a way to negotiate a life without the sure footedness of her love for me. My own identity was so inherently intertwined with hers that it has been difficult to find my own way without her.
This year I made the choice to consciously steer my ship, to point it headlong into the wind and face that stormy sea. And since that decision I have been beset with health issues. And as I have already noted I do not do illness well.
And this last bout of illness has seen me go to pieces, and then the grief set in. And boy have I cried. I’m pretty sure I’m dehydrated.
I have faith, though. I have faith that there is light after the dark, that whilst it may take a little longer than expected time is a great healer. It is called hope. And I have always had it. Even in my darkest hours, I have always had hope. As sure as the sun rises after the darkest night, I believe that the bad times do pass. It is just sometimes I struggle to remember that. I struggle to look to the horizon. I struggle.
So this is me, writing about my grief. It is ugly, but it is real. I’m hoping tomorrow will bring a little more light.