How it's going...

and where I've been.

Nine days before entering hospice, he walked our daughter down the aisle. It was a day fraught with joy, love, and sadness. It’s amazing how so many emotions can live within you at one time.

When I think back to those days in hospice as my husband lay dying, I never would have believed I would be where I am now. How far I’ve come. How I got here. I was in the throes of anticipatory grief which ultimately led to an oppressive, soul-crushing grief once he left this earth.

My heart ached for the man who was, it ached for us. The before. After he died, I recall wishing I could be with him. I wanted time to move quickly. The years that lay ahead seemed so daunting. I didn’t care whether I lived or died. I was indifferent to it.

Grief is a forever thing and it’s personal. We will all experience grief in some capacity in our lives. And it will always remain a part of us.

There is no finish line. There is no prize for getting through it. It is what it is and we learn to live with it living on our shoulder. So when I say “how far I’ve come” I mean the peaks and valleys I have climbed and descended and the oceans I have swam across. The ebb and flow of it. The sleepless nights. The tears that were shed. The deep longing and desperation. The sadness.

No explanation necessary.

But just because we now have grief in our bones and in our spirit, that does not mean we shouldn’t continue to live. It does not mean we aren’t worthy of feeling joy again. Because we are. Now more than ever.

In the time that my husband has been gone I have learned quite a lot about myself. Mainly out of necessity. We as widows are thrown into the fire so to speak. We can prepare as best we can but ultimately we all have to fight — need to fight — for our lives.

I know that sounds dramatic. That’s because it is. Our spouse died. Half of ourself is gone. In my case, it was the half who handled it all. I had to step up. I had no choice because there was no one else who was going to do it for me.

After a cell phone got turned off and I was late with a couple of bills, I learned. YouTube became my best friend, and I googled the hell out of everything that needed attention. If I still couldn’t figure it out I had neighbors, plumbers, electricians, a handyman on speed dial. I endured a long, exhausting, and expensive probate. I fought with his ex-employer and insurance companies. I made so many phone calls that if this was 1990 it would have broken me financially.

And I did this all while I grieved.

I got a house ready for market, packed up, and bought another. And as I sit here thinking about what lies ahead, I am allowing myself to feel that joy. I am no longer indifferent to whether I live or die. I do look forward to seeing him again when my time comes, but hopefully that won’t be for a long time. I have future grandchildren to meet and places to see. A house to build.

Some packed up boxes in the house I shared with my husband. It’s essentially sold…just waiting for the closing.

I am proud of myself. If you told me this is where I would be thirty months after Don took his last breath, I would have scoffed. I never would have believed it. It would have terrified me. The thought of what I have been through emotionally and physically the last couple of years would have seemed far too daunting to handle.

What I had to endure practically broke me. But it didn’t.

A little peek of the plans for the first floor of my new house. A house I am building alone, without my better half. I wonder what he would think of it all?

This is why we take it one day at a time, we take one step at a time. Some days are heavier than others but we will survive. It does get better. Yes, the grief is still there, but you learn to live with it. And you will be able to breathe again a little easier. I promise.