My Dearest Michael,
I sit and watch the clock. Thinking about what we were doing five years ago. How is it that I can't remember what I did yesterday, but I can remember every moment from five years ago?
Tonight, it has been five years since I slept next to you. Seventeen hours from this moment, five years ago, you would be gone.
The years seem to have gone by in a blur. There are good times, sad times, scary times. There are times I laughed and times I've cried....oh how I've cried! There have been times I think that I don't know how to "do this". Times that I have felt strengthened and times that I have been so weak. But through it all, I have missed you. I have loved you every moment of every day for almost 10 years now. You have officially been gone from my life for the exact amount of time that you were in it in flesh.
Grief has been a surprise to me. I never expected it to be this way. How could I have known that after 5 years, I would still love you, still grieve for you? I don't grieve today the way that I grieved in the beginning. Oh, Sweetie, the pain was so bad! And it wasn't just bad once in a while...it was the most painful thing I've ever experienced and it was 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Other widows told me that it wouldn't always hurt that bad, that my heart would heal. I didn't believe them. Surely, they just didn't understand how much I loved you and how broken I was. They didn't know that you were the love of my life. How could they possibly understand that I felt like I would die from the pain of losing you?
But, they were right.
Gradually, ever so gradually, I learned to get through the days and then the days grew into weeks and months and years. The ugly cry came less often. I learned to find a little joy again. I learned that I could go a day without crying and it didn't mean I'd already "gotten over" you (guilt). I learned that grief was not linear. I could have a "good" day and people would say "oh, you're doing so well" and the next day, I could be in a heaping sobbing mess that lasted through the night. I learned that I will NEVER "get over you".
There is no such thing as "getting over", "moving on", or any of the other euphemisms that people use that are supposed to mean you are "over it". You don't "get over" a person that you love. You don't "move on"with life like you've packed up and moved into another house. And you never, ever "get over" missing a person who was everything to you. And why would anyone expect us to? You were here, you mattered, you loved me. So, no, you don't "move on"...but rather you grow and expand to allow yourself new experiences and joy.
I tell the new widows and widowers to just breathe. Put their feet on the floor and take a breath and that's all you have to do for the moment. If you can keep breathing, keep standing up, the pain will eventually be less sharp. That with time, that horrible, painful 24 hours a day, 7 days a week ugly cry will come less and less often. I tell them that grief is ever-changing. It tries to consume you one minute, and becomes a not so distant memory the next.
Being a widow is complicated. We constantly deal with opposing forces. Conflicting feelings. We become locked in the the emotional reasoning of a hurting heart. We are the "married un-married". We fell in love for life. Not the rest of our spouse's life...but for the rest of ours. Our marriage didn't end because of "irreconcilable differences". We didn't just "grow apart". We were in the middle of loving and being committed to someone when that someone was suddenly gone. That part takes a very long time to sort out. There is guilt when we date, guilt when we THINK about dating. There are all the "comparisons". "My husband did it this way, my husband liked this, my husband was so handsome, my husband treated me like a queen" and then we're angry at all other men because THEY ARE NOT YOU. But then there is loneliness.
There is big, ugly, dark, loneliness. There are all those nights spent alone, missing you. There are the events that we attend as a "plus one"...you know, with our friends who are a married couple, and you get to tag along with them? There is loneliness watching a child reach a milestone and you're not there to see it. There is loneliness when we're sick and no one is there to run to the store and say "poor muchacho". And the loneliness causes sadness.
And anger! Oh, the anger at being lonely, but being lonely for the one person that could never again fill that void. Anger that could bite the head off a roaring lion. Anger that comes from the pit of your stomach and spews out all over everyone. Anger at you for leaving, Anger at God for taking you. Anger at happy couples because you no longer have that. Anger at the universe because life is just NOT FAIR!
If life were fair, you would still be here with me. If life were fair, there would be no widows and widowers. If life were fair, we would be raising our little guy together, sharing reading glasses and pretending not to notice the wrinkles on each others face and hands. If life were fair, I would be spending Memorial Day grilling hot dogs and making ice cream and planning a summer full of ball games and drive in movies and watermelon and the farmer's market. If life were fair Memorial Day would be a holiday, not the day that I count the years that you've been gone! If life were fair, I would not have to face this reality.
Not too long ago, I got hit square in the face with a grief "wave". That's one of those times that grief just rares up, knocks you down and tries to drown you. My friend, Cindie, always says "just keep swimming, you'll get through this", and I always remember her words when I'm paddling for my life.
The day the last grief wave hit, I had been at the cemetery. I was missing you so very, very much. And the ugly cry came and I just cried my heart out. I remember sitting in my car in the store parking lot and praying "God, if I have to spend the rest of my life hurting this bad, if this is all there is, all I have to look forward to, please God, please just take me home because I just can't stand this another single minute".
I started the car to leave, and God, who had seemed so distant for so very long, answered me in such a very real way. Just at that moment, when I turned on the car, a song I had never heard began to play!
"you're shattered, like you've never been before,
the life you knew, in a thousand pieces on the floor.
Words fall short in times like these,
when this world drives you to your knees,
you think you're never going to get back to the you you used to be.
Tell your heart to beat again
open up and breathe it in,
let the shadows fall away
and step into the light of Grace.
Yesterday's a closing door,
you don't live there anymore,
say goodbye to where you've been
and tell your heart to beat again".
I knew in that moment that God had answered. He still loved me and He still needed me to take a breath and put my feet on the ground another day. God didn't take my pain away, He didn't show me the plans He has for my life. He just said "breathe and put your feet on the floor".
So, my Sweet Michael, we're apart for a while longer. I pray that God will allow me to be useful in this time that we're apart. I pray that I can fulfill the plans He has for me during this time. I know that "all things come to good for those who love the Lord and are called according to His purpose". I know that God can use our suffering for His good.
I have grieved for you for 5 years now, Baby. My love for you has never changed. Grief is just love that misses someone.
