I'm at that stage of grief where I feel... better. There are days where I feel...happy.
I am not crying all the time. I am not sad all the time. I am not slugging through my grief all the time.
As I write those sentences, I have this overwhelming sense of shame.
How could I possibly be happy?
What kind of sister am I?
There is this weird comfort in grief that is slightly addictive. I have given myself lots of passes since July. I have avoided major decisions, long-term planning, and unpleasantness in general all in the name of healing and grieving. I need to rejoin the human race. It is time.
...But I feel guilty...
Guilty that he died and I am still here.
Guilty that I am stress-testing and checking out my heart because he died.
Guilty that anything good can come of his dying so young.
I feel good, and I feel bad about feeling good, and not just from guilt.
There is an additional sense of loss as the worst of my grief fades. Unconsciously, I feel myself holding on to the pain, scared I will lose that sense of closeness to John. I find myself worried about what will be left of him in my heart when the sadness goes.
And, of course, the rational (and occasionally wise) part of me knows... I know John would want me to live. I know John would want me to take care of myself. I know John would want me to be happy.
I know that deliberately prolonging my pain is no testimonial of my love for him.
I know on the other side of the River Grief is a place where I can remember him with a smile.
I know that I will never completely lose him.
Right now, I am scared and ashamed. But I know that I am not alone. So many people have traveled this path. I find deep comfort in knowing that.
Dearest Elizabeth. Thank you for your brave, loving words. You are not alone, and I am so thankful that you're healing. I never, ever imagined it was possible to get to the other side of this devastating grief, but I can see the "nearest distant shore" from here. I miss John every day, sometimes every single second ... and the guilt never completely goes away. How could I not mourn the loss of the most amazing man I ever met -- the love of my life -- with every single fiber of my being every single second of my life? I didn't believe it was possible to get past that, but it is true: time -- and grace -- heals. These are happier days. Two wise, loving people -- one who has walked this path before -- told me that life would be full again because God is not finished with me, that there would be happiness again after this devastation. Perhaps I see glimpses of that now. I firmly believe that I move forward with John -- that his spirit and his love sustain me so I can do the next thing.
ReplyDeleteI hope that you continue to heal, sweet Elizabeth, and can put down the shame that you carry and find peace. John would tell you to take good care of yourself because it is important. You are important.
Elizabeth, you speak with your soul... to my soul.
DeleteJean