I’ve got some pretty serious fears and anxieties now that I’m a widow. They hit me at unexpected times. I will be happily going along in my day and then *WHAM* they blindside me and I’m gasping for air.
I’m not the only person who has been affected. My boys have been affected as well.
Every night, I send them to bed. Every night the same questions are asked.
“Can I sleep in your bed?”
“Can I sleep on your floor?”
And when they are in their beds (or mine) if they don’t hear me moving around there’s the oh so familiar..
The query is to make sure I’m still here. To make sure I haven’t left. To make sure that I’m not going anywhere.
I don’t know how to combat these residual effects… or even if they are something to be combatted.
Perhaps they are something just to learn to bend with. To allow them to drift past as a part of each night until they find security in their lives again.
They’ve lost that security… so as frustrating as it is to me to hear the same call every night… they need me to reassure them. Every. Single. Time.
I’m not the only one who lost someone… I’m not the only one who had life ripped apart, tossed in the wind and now I’m trying to make sense of it.
The boys need me to keep them safe. I will do that to the best of my ability – all the while remembering that patience, while not my strong suit, is something that I desperately need to learn…and learn it well.
In the meantime, I need to practice being gentle and kind and loving, regardless of how frustrating they can be.
They need it.