Moving Sideways

I did a good job at managing my day yesterday.  I want to be able to do everything.  To go to work everyday and meet all my commitments at night and take care of the house and the yard and pretend that I am okay and I'm superwoman.  But what I learned from last week is that I can't do everything and I'm not superwoman--at least not yet.  And when I try to do it all, it's too much.  So I went to work yesterday, but was a little late because there were errands I had to run beforehand.  And I didn't go to choir because I'm not ready to be out at night and not be home until late.  And on one hand, I want to do these things, but I know I need to pace myself.  And I felt better last night.

A woman I work with shared with me yesterday that she lost her husband 7 years ago to cancer and she said the first year was blur.  She moved through life and went to work, but there was a fog that surrounded her for that first year.  Two things I took away from this--(1) I immediately have a strong connection to those who have lost a spouse because you understand the depth of grief and (2) I need to cut myself some slack.

I have always been a "glass half-full" kind of person and I truly believed the "Life is Good" motto.  I used to be able to find the good in situations or if I couldn't, give me a little time and I will get there.  Even when Ed was in the hospital, I learned to be thankful for our time together and what a gift that was.  And since Ed's passing, I know I'm surrounded by loving friends and family and many who care about me.  But I do feel as though I am in a fog.  I move through the day and accomplish tasks and there are moments of happiness, but I can't say "Life is Good" and I struggle to see the blessings of each new day.  Yes, I find comfort in the blue sky, the growth of spring around me, the birds at the feeder, the smell of flowers....but could I tell you "Life is Good" and believe it?  Not right now.  Maybe someday though.

I want to learn to live with my grief and move forward.  I look at the calendar and it's been three weeks since Ed passed and I wonder how long does this process take.  After three weeks, there are days that are harder, not easier.  And how can that be.  I received this newsletter from the VNA Hospice group and in it there's an article that talks about how we fear that in the ebb and flow of grief, we somehow remain in place (so true) and we wonder if we'll ever feel better (true).  But the problem is that grief is not a linear process.  We do not slowly get better.  We don't move forward--but instead, like a crab, we move sideways!  And that is so true.  And so each day, I move, maybe not forward, but sideways--and that's okay.