I’d like to be one of two extremes:
1. Depressed, crying, sad, unable to function
2. At peace – or a reasonable facsimile thereof.
This hell of tight chest, clogged throat, foggy brain, but still able to get up, move around and keep moving sucks monster donkey balls.
I don’t have the energy to participate in life in any meaningful way.
I’m not dragged down far enough to just hide in my bed.
I can’t cry.
I can’t smile.
Laughter is a foreign word.
In 6 days, I mark the one year anniversary of my life changing forever.
January 19, 2012 my husband started throwing up and pancreatitis took over his body.
January 19, 2012, an ambulance came, took my husband away, and he never came home.
He died on June 26 – its not quite been 7 months. But on January 19… that’s when the changes started.
I need to cry. I need to be held. I need to lean into someone else’s strength.
I don’t have that. Not anymore.
I don’t want this life. I don’t want to be “Jane Smith, widow” I don’t want to be a single parent. I don’t want to have to navigate the stormy waters of teenage boys on my own. And I don’t want to do that with ANYONE ELSE BUT MARK.
Yeah – I’m dating George, and he’s fantastic. But he’s not Mark. I am not planning a future with him. He and I don’t talk about how we can’t wait for “our” grandchildren, or talk about what we’ll do when we retire. I will not invite him on a Smith family camping trip – he doesn’t belong there.
And when I need it most, he’s not an available source of comfort.
I want my husband back. I want the life we had. I want the promise we had of a future.
I miss him… I hurt. I don’t know why people say God gives us only what we can handle because I hurt too much to handle this.
I want my life back.