Nights are the worst, and they’ve only just begun. Going into the bedroom, which I have successfully avoided all day, feels like a sucker punch. I gasp for air, unable to breathe, as this unreal pain washes over like a tsunami. There truly is nothing like it, uncontrolled sense of loss and feeling like you have been ripped in half…which is what happened.

I had to get out of there, made excuses to go downstairs a couple of times. That old adage of “get back up on that horse and ride it” doesn’t apply yet. You wouldn’t tell a cowboy who’s just been stomped into a pulp to do that, you would wait until he healed, right?

I will, eventually, go back in there. However, having been stomped to a pulp and unable to breathe, that will have to wait. I thought I could do it, I am doing so well, it seems. I can laugh and talk about him and see friends and make them laugh…during the day.

But then night comes. It gets dark and these are the times we spent together. We talked, and dreamed,and planned for a future with grandkids and travel and getting old and having wheelchair races at the nursing home. We talked about what we would look like without our dentures and would I ever remember to keep ice cream (probably not).  He was going to fix all those little things eventually and I was going to remember not to put mint in his iced tea.

that won’t happen anymore, and the hole is huge. It’s, frankly, terrifying. I never planned for this. Oh, I know…God and Jesus and all that and yes, I know They are with me but they are not the warm legs to press my cold feet against or the Grandpops who builds doll houses and go-karts.

so, for now, that door is staying closed. #4 suggested I sleep in the guest room for a while. I think I will, because that bedroom I shared for 28 years is…cold and empty and the loneliest place on earth right now.

Writing it down helps, some. It’s as if putting it into these words allows it all to be set aside, or shelved. It isn’t gone, it’s just…put aside, out of my head a bit instead of swirling around. Writing allows it to congeal into something I can hold on to, evaluate, and manage.

Now I can breathe. I still can’t go in there, but now I can breathe, and hopefully sleep.

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About rootietoot

I do what I can.
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11 Responses to

  1. Barbara says:

    Peggy, I hope I don’t say the wrong things here. I can’t speak from a place of missing what I have never had, which is why I just really haven’t said much of anything. But having never had it doesn’t mean I haven’t longed for it for 30 years, and I know all too well that there are some comforts – like strong shoulders and warm legs and laughter – that only a human companion can provide. But through that, and maybe because of that, I also know the sweetness of a perfect Heavenly Husband and you will too, in time. The Lord’s face is turned toward the afflicted. Sometimes when things are especially hard I ask Him to send His Comforter and He does. He always does. Our Lord is particularly gracious to lonely, mourning women and He will bring you to a high place in His time. I often pray for a godly husband, but not if it would mean I would lose the sweetness I know of His constant fellowship now. Hold fast to Him, let the grief do its good, hard work, and sleep in the spare bedroom for as long as you need to. He was gracious to provide that for you for such a time as this. Love you.

    • rootietoot says:

      Christ is the ONLY thing keeping me from absolute despair right now. I know His love, and feel it daily, and I know eventually I will be through all this…Comfort is there, as is hope…but right now I must walk through this dark tunnel, without seeing the light at the end of it. i know it is there, and I know somehow, all of this will be used for His glory. That knowledge makes it bearable. Every bad thing that has happened in my life has taught me something that I use for His glory, so I know that all this is doing that. I DO see God in this, I can’t imagine how it would feel if He wasn’t in the middle of it.

      • Barbara says:

        I know. And it’s evident. To see the way you are being upheld through this all this is a precious thing. The day to day, year to year, will come. To know His sweetness as far surpassing any human comfort, even as human comfort may be longed for yet withheld, is an amazing thing. I can attest to that. Doesn’t stop me from crying on His shoulder sometimes in the midst of utter loneliness, but if done in submission and faith rather than in bitterness and anger, His Spirit draws near and envelops me with fresh reminders of His goodness and surpassing worth. Just wanted to encourage you that it is there, and it will grow, so keep holding fast and trust Him to know best. He is near to the broken-hearted and well acquainted with grief and you will get to know and love Him all the more going forward, one baby step at a time.

      • rootietoot says:

        I was instructed by someone who knows these things to look up all the verses involving widows, and see how God has a special place for them. To know that i am so guarded is, in all this mess, comforting in the extreme.

  2. jerseechik says:

    Why don’t you and Eli come stay at my house this weekend?

    • rootietoot says:

      Eli has a soccer game Saturday, and I am trying hard to keep his life as normal (HA) as possible. Soon, though. He has a camping trip in a couple of weeks and I may come over then. I’ll let you know.

  3. Beki says:

    (((hugs))) Keep that door closed until you’re ready. To quote one of the favorite things I’ve ever read, “Sometimes it’s okay if the only thing you did today was breathe.”

  4. Judy says:

    I remember someone telling me that God and Jesus were near me in my time of grief. I replied, “Yes, I know. I just wish they would talk me through the dark evenings!” Sometimes God feels very far away.

    • rootietoot says:

      It feels kind of like He is being that parent who steps back and lets the kids suffer a bit, so they’ll learn something. I know He is there, he’s just not warm legs and dirty jokes.

  5. Bella Rum says:

    I wish I could give you comfort. If I lived nearby, I’d bring food, run errands, clean your kitchen if you wanted, and do all those things people do, but mostly I’d listen. I’m so glad that you have people who will be there with you and do those things that you need, but I also know that you are the one who has to walk this path. I’m so sorry for that. Bella

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