Thursday, October 22, 2015

No particular order at 11 months

I’m now at 11 months, 6 days, 10 1/2 hours, plus a few minutes into widowhood—but who’s counting? HA! I’ve noticed several things lately, and here they are in no particular order.

The emotional highs and lows are different: the lows are not as deep and the highs don’t climb as high, so I’m not experiencing the crazy crashes back down to reality.

I’m frowning more, but I don’t know why.

My dreams are not as upsetting (I don’t search for Mac every night), but Mac is no longer so prominent in them.

I’m having trouble hearing Mac's voice in my head these days. I know the words, but I don’t actually hear him speaking. I almost wish I had a recording on the phone to listen to, but maybe it’s better I don’t.

I’m actually ready to not be a grieving widow, and not be “needy”, and not be able to handle things because I fall apart emotionally; but, I’m not ready to NOT be a grieving widow either.

I enjoy the tenderness of friendship more than ever: a hug, a kiss on the cheek, a call or email just to check on me.

My wedding ring hurts. It hurt me emotionally to see it on my left hand, so I moved it to my right hand thinking that might help. The emotional pain isn’t as deep, but it doesn’t fit the ring finger on my right hand and so it’s actually physically painful. Today I removed it and placed it in a memory box. I’m not sure that’s the right thing to do either, as now I can’t quit crying.

I feel incapable of dealing with things that were Mac’s responsibilities. The broken fireplace and the propane tank, the garage door opener and remote, which eye insurance option to choose. Oh wait, time took that decision out of my hands. I dithered over this decision so long, the deadline to change came and went, and for the next year my eye insurance remains as it has always been.

On the other hand, I actually made a decision about replacing the blinds in my great room area. At first, I looked at colors and style and said to myself, “Mac wouldn’t like that”, “Oh, Mac would like this”,  and then I realized how ridiculous it was to worry over what Mac might or might not like. After all, Mac isn’t here and he really doesn’t care what I put on the windows. (Just image the breathtaking views he has in heaven!) I finally found the courage inside of me to chose what pleased me—and that seemed strange.

I’m more comfortable being alone, and I’m thankful I’m no longer having to explain why Mac isn’t with me when I bump into someone.

I feel guilty that I’m not mourning so deeply—and that’s the most ridiculous emotional roller-coaster ride I’ve ever ridden.

The best thing in all of this is that I every morning I wake up knowing:
"The joy of the Lord is your strength."—Nehemiah 8:10
... and for that, I’m extremely thankful and grateful.

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