This time of year is heavy. Each year, it comes around and I think it will be less so, with the passage of time. And each year, I am wrong. As I wrote in my post Pain, my body remembers. It’s that simple.
This year seemed poignant because all the days of the week lined up with the dates as they did 6 years ago. When he first got sick, diagnosed, each and every milestone. I try to logic my way out of it. Why is this time hard? It actually happened 6 years ago. It’s not actually happening again.
In some ways, it happens every day. In some way or another, I feel the loss of him, each and every day. I have moments where I feel so very robbed, I feel how much he was robbed, and how much the kids were robbed, and in unexpected moments, they feel it (and share it) too. This life is full of gut punches.
But this time of year is simply hard. I do get great feeling from reflecting on the memories. Particularly on the ways in which people showed up. So many different ways. And in the ways they keep showing up. I’ve run into people in the last year that I haven’t seen since we lost Tim. They have shared stories of their experience of watching the news of Tim’s death unfold from afar, their own reactions to it, in some cases, how it changed the course of their lives. Some have shared memories of Tim that I never knew. I’ve also had to tell people the story. New acquaintances, parents of A,R, and D’s friends or teammates. It is always tricky to share the story. It’s a heavy story for small talk, but it is integral to our lives, so sometimes it must be shared, as much as I know it can deeply affect others.
This past year has included many changes for us. Joyful times, and difficult ones. I’ve felt myself often in the midst of quite a “midlife metamorphosis” and I have often questioned my own decisions. In all ways, but particularly in parenting. I wear the mantle of making decisions for all of us, and it can be a heavy one to bear, full of second-guessing, and shaming myself.
Over the years, I have loved to speak to other widows and widowers about our experiences. When I do, I always encourage them to be gentle with themselves. I encourage others in any heart break to go with their gut, to not “should” themselves, question or shame, but trust their instincts to make the best decision available at the time, and know that they are building a beautiful life. When difficult moments come, or one finds themselves on the wrong path, love themselves, and find the way to course-correct. You don’t always have to DO or fix. Sometimes your home, your world, your life will be messy. Sometimes you accept, sometimes you just have to rest.
This life of mine is full of gut punches, difficult conversations, and challenging choices. I also have moments where I look around and see how incredibly blessed I am. I know in aging, how much Tim would prefer to be here with the new wrinkles or pains. I know how much he’d love to wake up surrounded by the three beautiful souls he helped create, who I wake up to every morning. We wake up with a roof over our heads, and food to eat, love to share.
The only thing I can do, is take things one day at a time. I may not always succeed, but I try to take my own advice, and be gentle with myself.
Gather by Image 