I remember reading somewhere that it takes as long to get over something as it took to get there in the first place. I know I won’t ever be over this…not entirely…how do you? But does that mean it will take 29 years to quit feeling the sense of grief every night that Himself doesn’t come home? I don’t want that. I want to be able to think of him, and our memories together, without crying. I want to smile and laugh…without a profound sense of loss.
They say there is no set time that it will take to recover from this kind of loss. I don’t like that. I like knowing Christmas is December 25 and Thanksgiving is the 3rd…no wait…4th? Thursday in November and Easter is 40 days after the first full moon or something…Passover, all that. sometime in the Spring. I like knowing Monday comes after Sunday and Friday happens every week. This business of “no one can predict” and “it’s different for everyone” is bullshit. I don’t like it. I want someone to tell me “precisely 18 months after his death, you will quit freaking out every night” and “2.5 years afterward you will breathe deeply without wanting to cry” and “3 years afterward you can catch a whiff of a Romeo y Julieta cigar without following the smoker around like a lovesick puppy” I like boundaries and regulations and knowing what’s what and when.
I would have made a great Pharisee.
I suppose it is gradually getting better. I have to constantly remind myself that it is still very new and fresh, and 2 weeks out is not very long. Imagine having a baby, a 2 week old baby is still brand spankin’ new, not even ready to take out into public yet. This is a 2 week old widowhood, brand spankin’ new and not even ready to take out into public yet. Except here. this is pretty public….
It’s my impatience that is keeping me from doing this properly, I think. “Take your time, let it happen naturally” I am told. “Allow yourself time to grieve” and “Don’t rush into regular life yet”. But…
I have always been this way. It’s like…Ok, this horrible thing happened, how awful O Woe Is Me now time to move on. I envy the people who can take their time and be methodical with their grief, who are comfortable allowing people to help them, who are able to just be SAD for a while. I don’t really grasp how to do that. It’s probably not healthy.
The thing is, I have this knowledge that Himself is in a wonderful, wonderful place. That where he is, it’s so much finer a place than this one, with it’s frustrations and setbacks and shortcomings. I am pretty sure there is no pine pollen in Heaven, and if there it, it doesn’t stick to everything. Oh wait, that’s my frustration…not his….except for his truck.
I was reading a description of Heaven recently (Scriptural, not a 4-year old’s idea), and it was that it is like Earth only BETTER…we see this world “through a glass darkly” (1 Corinthians 13:12) and Heaven is clear, no more dark glass…I am imagining Himself there, and it makes me happy for him. It is soothing, and comforting, to think of that.
That I didn’t say goodbye forever, just kind of a long term “see you later”. Sure, I miss him every single night, and I cannot imagine a day when I won’t think of him. I can imagine a day when I won’t want to collapse and sob when the sun goes down, when I can walk into our bedroom and stay there, instead of hurrying in to grab clothes and get out as soon as possible. One day I will be able to sleep in that bed again, without missing him so much it physically hurts. I will be able to tell our grandchildren about him, where that dimple in their cheek came from, why their legs are so long and why they have no rhythm, without tears running down my face.
I just want someone to tell me WHEN and not be vague about it.