I just think I need to make a disclaimer about my grief process and the process in general, for everyone’s process is completely unique.
First of all, it’s not a straight line full of new and deeper understanding. I have a other private places that I write when I’m laying in bed, in tears, doubting everything and having no answers.
There are good moments and bad moments, moments I think I can do this and moments I can’t even move, moments I’m full of faith and moments I feel cold and dark.
I’ve been told my writing is helping others and I’m happy for that. But I don’t want anyone to feel they need to grieve their own loss like I have or that the parts I share are all there is my process.
Also, I am at the very beginning of this process. There are months and years of grieving ahead of me. It will look different. My words are the words of a new widow who doesn’t have a clue what other stages and words lie ahead. I don’t have it all figured out. I am not writing at the end of the journey, I am writing my thoughts in real time and I don’t know where the journey will end. This isn’t the edited photo dump at the end of the trip, it is the live feed version.
It does help me to write and to share. It helps me remember the light. It helps me memorialize this journey. It doesn’t help me to write about the darkness and the doubts, but I don’t want to mislead anyone into thinking I’m super human and don’t have them. I don’t always hide them, but this world has so much darkness I’d rather not dwell on it. Often when I’m writing I’m starting in a dark place and writing to find light. Like David said to his soul in the Psalms, “Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.” Psalm 43:5 NIV
My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me all day long, “Where is your God?” These things I remember as I pour out my soul: how I used to go to the house of God under the protection of the Mighty One with shouts of joy and praise among the festive throng. Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God. My soul is downcast within me; therefore I will remember you from the land of the Jordan, the heights of Hermon—from Mount Mizar. Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me. By day the Lord directs his love, at night his song is with me— a prayer to the God of my life. I say to God my Rock, “Why have you forgotten me? Why must I go about mourning, oppressed by the enemy?” My bones suffer mortal agony as my foes taunt me, saying to me all day long, “Where is your God?” Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.
Psalm 42:3-11 NIV
Sometimes I write because I have and idea or something I want to remember, but often I am working out something in my head and when I start I don’t know where I will end, but I start because I’m looking for light.
So yesterday, was partially a beautiful day. As you see from the photo Zoya enjoyed another showing of the clothes being washed. We were also taken to the aquarium by some friends. Zoya loved it so much and I managed to enjoy it with her and hold back the tears.
We always talked about taking her to the aquarium when she was older. I know he would be glad I took her. We has a great date there before I got pregnant.
But last night I had to cancel plans with friends. I needed time to lay in bed and cry.
And then later when she was walking around the living room, turning I’m circles trying to get a sticker off her back, I was hit by a wrecking ball as I realized the person with whom I shared her baby years was gone. There was no one who could completely understand how much she has grown up and how amazing it is. The person who ran outside to tell my mom Zoya pooped, because we were so excited about that milestone, isn’t here to share this moment. I don’t know. Maybe he is, but I can’t look into his eyes and share our joy.
My sister was there to share the now and the laugh as Zoya kept spinning and spinning, and that kept me on my feet. But I guess I now keep the ongoing memories for both of us.
I miss him.
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