Tomorrow will be one month.
I know the saying “time flies” is something that everyone is aware of, but I’m not sure I can describe to you how much this past month has been a blur.
Initially, I feel like I was being led through it by my family and friends. I guess I was, because if they weren’t here I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have gotten out of bed or eaten or planned a proper memorial for my husband. That first week it was a constant state of swollen eyes and to be perfectly honest, complete lack of will to live.
Don’t interpret that statement as thinking I’m suicidal, because I wasn’t then and I’m not now. I just couldn’t fathom eating, because there was no point. I couldn’t sleep, because there was no peace. I couldn’t find joy, because there was no joy.
After the memorial, time has just run together. I differentiate the days by people coming and going. I went back to work a week and a half after Tim died. Luckily, it was quiet at first due to summer vacation (and people being afraid of me a little bit). I went through the motions because I knew how, but I remember thinking it was a “good” day if I accomplished three easy tasks… don’t tell my boss though!
In the month since Tim has died, I have laughed and smiled. There are times I forget, and I have even had a day or two where I didn’t cry one drop! Mostly though, my grief has been like a storm. In the beginning, I’m tossed out into the sea and I don’t know the sky from the water. Then for a while I manage to float, but still the rain beats down and the lighting strikes dangerously close.
Now, it’s more like a heavy fog has settled. There’s still rain and the occasional howling wind, but mostly I shiver with wet clothes and a chilling dampness in my heart.
I know people mean well, but I’m really tired of hearing “how well I’m doing” or how strong I am. I don’t feel strong… I am a mess. I worry his family will see me functioning too well or listen to me cheerily talk on the phone, and think I didn’t love him enough. I worry my panic over large bills arriving at my house that I can’t pay will be interpreted as “Wow Lauren is just looking to get as much money from everyone as possible.” Actually if I’m being honest, I worry all the time about so many different things.
Slowly, I will get back to the established routines I can keep and also create new routines in this new life. Some things I’m a little excited about, like my niece being born in a few weeks and decorating 100% my own place for the first time. Others I will do because I must.
A few weeks ago, Tim visited me in a dream. Unlike the concert event I blogged about, I knew the minute that I opened my eyes that it was him speaking directly to me. I deeply crave that kind of interaction again, and am so fearful I won’t ever get it. If I don’t, I will learn to accept that he’s moved on to something greater that I can’t understand. Even so, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t plead to him out loud and in my journal to come talk to me and reassure me one more time.
Things are heavy here now, because my heart is heavy. I’ve been reading blogs by other young widows, and they’re very helpful for me to see that there is a future for me after all this. Right now, I can’t fathom ever having a “normal” life again… but others I’ve read about have. However, none of those bloggers were writers before they were widows, so they didn’t start telling their story until around 6 months after their husband’s death. I’m not sure if it’s a good or a bad thing, but I’m documenting my reality pretty much real time for whoever wants to follow along.
I don’t know what I will do in the future, or sometimes even who I am now without him, but I have one month under my belt. Just 30 more days until the next.