I am a member of a community that I never thought much about, and certainly never looked for, nor expected to be in. I am so thankful for those that walk beside me, before me. And I am deeply sorrowful for those who come after me. It is a bittersweet feeling - this not wanting to be here, not wanting anyone to be here - and yet, being thankful that I am not alone on this journey, that there are others who "get" this life.
I wonder sometimes when the good moments and days will be greater than the hard ones. I wonder when the answers will outweigh the questions. I wonder if my tomorrows hold any hope and promise. I wonder a lot. And I want enough to be enough. For me ... and for all those that walk this way with me.
The holidays bring emotions, thoughts, memories, to the forefront. There is no way to avoid these. No easy way to deal with it all, either. One breath at a time. One moment at a time. Enjoy and embrace the joys, the smiles, the laughter. Endure and hold on when the tears and fears threaten to take you under. There are no simple fixes, no easy answers. And although I am not alone, you are not alone, we each one - are alone. No one knows the love that Rick and I had for one another - our good times, and our bad. The night time hours, the days of working, playing and living. The quiet coffee talks. The sweet iced tea dreams. No one knows all of that - no one but him, and he is gone ... and me, as I remain here. Our grief is as individual as the love and life we shared. We have compassion and understanding. We "get" this. But no one truly knows. No one walks this for us.
My past is solid and secure. I know the love that Rick had for me ... that I had (have) for him. There is no question or doubt of that love. There are always regrets - but no regrets that Rick and I shared life together. Regrets of things done and not done. Regrets of some of the choices we made, the decisions that we lived out. But no regrets of our life and our love.
My present is one moment at a time. One breath at a time. Grief will not be boxed up and put away. Grief will not be rushed out of my heart. Grief will not be pushed into a corner and covered up. Grief will be lived. Experienced. Even embraced - for I have learned that great grief is indicative of a great love. And I treasure the great love we had, so I will embrace - and endure - this great grief.
My future is shadowed in uncertainty. I do not know where I will live my life. I do not know what living my life means now. Everything has changed for me. I do not know what I shall do with the hours that yawn before me. There is much trepidation within me about my future. Many wonderings. I try not to worry or fret - just allowing each day to play itself out. But being the 'me' that I am - I like to have a plan, to know where I am going to be tomorrow and next week and next year. I want to know that I actually Belong somewhere ... and perhaps belong to someone.
Yes, I want to be loved ... and to love again. I know my heart now. After 19 months - I get it. To love again, to be loved again, will in no way take away from the love that Rick and I shared, the love that I still give to him. My heart grows in love. There is room. When my daughter was born, the momma's heart in me was filled to overflowing. I never thought I could love as much as I loved her in that moment. But when our son was born - I found that I felt that way all over again. And it did not take away the love that I felt for her. My heart just grew. So it can grow again.
Will it? That is up to life. I cannot force the heart of one to love me, to let me in, to let me love him. But I know this - if life allows it, I can ... and I will.
I will always love and miss Rick. I miss his laughter ... his eyes shining at me ... his voice saying, "I Love You" ... his arms around me ... his passions ... his stupid and corny jokes ... him snitching as I cooked ... the arguments we had ... the love we made ... the times we snuggled on the couch watching anything, or nothing ... the hours we sat by the fire outside ... the work we did together ... the playing that was always there ... I miss his pats on my butt ... and when he would "cop a feel" (all the time) ... the discussions we had about life, and work ... the stories he told about growing up ... the memories we made all over these United States. I just miss Everything about him.
I feel blessed to have had him for so many years. And yet, I also feel cheated - that I didn't get to have him more.
I know that life goes on ... I am trying to figure out what that means for me.