It’s been 54 1/2 weeks.
As I approached the 1 year mark, as I moved through the day on June 26, I focussed on the blessings and on the good things that knowing, loving and living life with Mark brought.
I was in a good place.
And now, 2 1/2 weeks later… it’s like someone took the scab and ripped it off. I’m bleeding all over the place again.
I hurt. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I am having trouble functioning again. I cry more often than I have in a long time. I can’t focus for long periods of time.
And because of the move – I’m going through all our *stuff* and it’s like someone is taking a hot poker and jabbing the wound over and over and over.
More bleeding. More pain. More raw grief.
I didn’t know what it meant to have gone through all the firsts. I didn’t know what would happen when I passed that one year mark. I didn’t know how I would feel.
I sure as hell didn’t think I’d feel like this.
Over the weekend at Camp Widow someone said that becoming a widow is like hitting a wall. No matter what, that wall is ALWAYS THERE. I have to figure out how to climb over the wall, go around the wall, move through the wall… but the wall is always there.
Right now it feels like I climbed the wall, most of the way, then fell down it, sliding along the cement and scraping up all exposed skin.
I’ve heard it said that the 2nd year is when the fog lifts, and that’s why it hurts so much.
I’m moving forward in my life… but its almost like I’m walking parallel paths… one where I’m in love with a new guy, I’m moving my kids and starting a new life with him and the other where I grieve hard and painfully over my dead husband. Those two people live inside me simultaneously. Some days, the grieving widow is stronger and in control. Others, the strong independent woman who is starting a new life is in control.
It’s exhausting. And I don’t see an end to it. All I see is the wall of “HE FUCKING DIED” in front of me. And as I stand there, I’m blessed to be supported, hands held, hugged, loved, and encouraged by my friends and by the man who loves me.
And faintly… oh so faintly, in the crowd of people standing there with me while I stare at this wall, trying to figure out how to live life without him, is Mark.
I’m still bleeding.