The not magic moments of grief~

There’s nothing pretty going on with me these days.  Tonight is 4 weeks since Handsome Husband died.  One month.  All I feel is a great gaping emptiness in my world, right where he’s supposed to be standing.

I’ve felt great grief before, in my life.  My brother and my mom, both dead of cancer within 6 months of one another and my entire world was rocked silly.  And it was Handsome Husband who pulled me through it. Their deaths led me, ultimately, into hospice care and then the founding of Tapestries of Hope, and again, Handsome Husband was my primary support.

I know all the intellectual stuff about processing grief.   From past experience, I know the emotional process that needs to be gone through.  I know that it’s good to be proactive in grief, to make time work for you rather than against you.  But you know what?   I can’t make myself care about any of that.  I know that what I’m going through is normal and that’s about all I can say.  I’m making myself go out and do things, join in things, but it continues to be meaningless.  Food means nothing to me.  Nothing means nothing to me any longer, if that makes sense.

I’ve been here in Arizona, at my daughter’s house, for just about a week, though I’m looking for a place to rent for the month of June.  A room maybe, rather than a furnished studio even-I don’t want much room to move around in or feel lonely in.  It devastated me to leave California, as desperately as I wanted to leave.  That’s the last place Handsome Husband and I were together and I felt like I was leaving him behind.  I actually got the dry heaves right before I left.  Grief never did that to me before.

It feels better being around my daughter and son here and I know I’m in a safe place to fall apart, which I’ve been doing on a steady basis.  These tears are a new kind of tears for me too-coming up from my gut and spewing throughout my body.  Yes, yes, all part of the process.  What I’ve come to realize, in looking at the good old cycles of grief handbook, and common grief reactions, is that not only is there no pattern, which most people fortunately realize in this day and age, but that each of the cycles and reactions can happen rapid-fire, one after the other, and return to the originating point numerous times within an hour period,  never mind a day.

I miss Handsome Husband acutely.  From having been around each other on a massively steady basis for the last almost 4 years to not having him anywhere around now for a month is completely disorienting to me.

I expect him, still, to come walking in the door and say to me “Wow, that was a weird experience”.  And the we’ll talk about how completely weird and upsetting it was, and has been, and then we’ll get on with our lives together.  And I’ll never let him go.  Once he walks back into my life, I mean.  Because I can’t tolerate the idea that he won’t.  That he isn’t.  That he never will again.  That he’s gone.  Forever.




4 thoughts on “The not magic moments of grief~

  1. I remember hearing my mother talk about the loss of my father in a similar way. My dad would take the bus to the casino and then get home around 10:30pm. My mother would be watching TV, sitting in his recliner when he came home. She continued to do that after his passing, in the morning she would tell me she feels he will walk thru the door again, then she would glance over the shelves by the TV and she would see the urn holding his ashes. She was at a complete loss, they had been married for 57 years, they dated almost 5 years before they married. She would say she couldn’t grasp life without him there.

    The physical realization, when it rushes up to you and you not only miss them but you feel the physical absence can take your breath away. We know grief, have experienced it first hand. But each time it is different. When I visited my parents grave on Mother’s Day, it was the first time I didn’t break down and cry hysterically. The other day while driving I remember something my sister and I used to joke about and I found myself plunged into such grief I felt such hopelessness.

    I know you have heard all the comforting words expressed by the many who love you. Know that so many love you and are supporting you in their thoughts and prayers. I have come to the realization that the grief doesn’t leave, you learn to manage it and live with it. I read your words and my heart actually aches for what you are experiencing, I want to be able to wrap you up in love like a security blanket and ease away the pain and void,

  2. You describe the grief you are going through so powerfully. I wish I could do the same. Grief is a peculiar thing, isn’t it? It has the strength to make us physically, emotionally and mentally weak, despair and hopeless, and so many other things. I’m so very sorry Handsome Husband was taken from you. (((hugs)))

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