Whatever *it* is.
I can handle your bad news.
I can handle your “whining” about whatever’s making your life difficult.
I can handle your requests for my time.
I can handle you.
If I offer to do something, I mean it.
If I offer to listen to your story, I want to hear it.
If I offer to go out with you, I want to be there.
I don’t make offers I can’t/won’t/don’t want to do.
I’m grieving. I lost my husband, the light of my life, one of the cogs in the wheel of our family. I’m slightly broken.
But I need to live life. I need to keep going, or I’ll be mired in sadness and grief and memories.
I need to make new memories, connect with friends and live life to the fullest.
If I don’t… I will be dishonouring his memory. If I let myself get lost in my house, isolated in my tears, disconnected from the rest of the world – then I would be living life in a way that is contrary to who he was and who I was in relation to him.
It’s ok to take me up on my offers. It’s ok to tell me the frustrating tale about how your husband is pissing you off. It’s ok to talk about Mark. It’s ok to talk about … well, anything you would have talked about before he got sick. It’s ok. I need it.
It’s not a burden. It’s part of life… and I want to live life.