(photo: Rob Ward)I have developed a new skill. I can pause. I can put grief out of my mind and let my life now rise up. Perhaps loss has been accommodated in my mind, or perhaps I've accepted this terrible reality. Perhaps the deep wounds his death made are starting to heal. It may be evident from the fact that I've hardly touched this blog in the last year! I am moving on from the need to express my thoughts over and over and over.
For a long time I resisted the idea of this pause because I did not want to be disloyal to my husband, or move away from the life we shared, the love I felt (and still feel). I still understand that resistance. But, at the same time I want the pause. I am learning to live again.
Very shortly after the death of my husband, I was told about the day in the future when I wouldn't think about him all the time. On that day, I would realize that I hadn't thought about him or missed him. Then it would gradually increase. He would fade to a pleasant memory. This is the way that it goes, or that it SHOULD go. It is natural. At the same time, it is hard to imagine moving someone who has been part of the very fabric of my being (at the risk of sounding melodramatic) to being a piece of furniture or a knick knack I dust occasionally.
Because my husband's death was a suicide, I have struggled (and continue to struggle) with memories. They are clouded by the violence of his death and the end of his life. He chose, it wasn't something he resisted. That is with me a lot.
But now, I can pause.
I went away with a friend in March, and there are a few photos which show me in a position of true joy. My face looks happy, my burden seems to have lifted. For my friend, who has walked through this with me, it was wonderful to see me looking so released and happy. But for me, it was a turning point.
At one stage, God told me I would feel ready to move on before I was ready. He meant that I would want to enter into a new relationship (with a man) or to embrace new things in my life that I'm not quite ready for yet. It is like this with any recovery, I think. The recovery seems to be progressing well and then it reaches a point where it becomes a bit tedious, or even boring. At that stage it can be almost dangerous for the patient to do too much physically.
I have tried a few new things and launched myself out a little bit, but I still sense caution. I am nervous, and not ready to be exposed. At the same time, I am impatient for new things and newness. And, frankly, I may have let the boat out a bit early on actually feeling grief and allowing mourning to take place. At times I am almost doggedly calm and cheerful when, maybe, it would be better to be a bit more needy, a bit more sad.
God says to try new things, but not to venture far from Him. That is the most important thing.
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