I’m home. Being home is good, but it’s also bad.
I’m surrounded by reminders that my husband is gone. This is a necessary part of the process. My brain needs to learn that he is truly gone.
My therapist tells me to listen to my body. The body knows what to do. The mind can get in the way.
I’m trying to ground myself in my body. To listen.
On Sunday morning, I woke up feeling so lost. The big questions swirling through my mind. What am I doing with my life? Who am I without him? What comes next?
I’ve been feeling under the weather, or I would have already gone for a hike. The bilateral motion is supposed to be helpful, and I know that I can give my feelings to the mountain out there.
When Ambrose had his stroke, I entered the first crucible. The trial of shepherding him through to death. And then I got a break. A week and a half or so of knowing what to do.
And then I took a break. My mind couldn’t take reality, so it took a break. I ended up getting arrested and committed by the state. I have no clear memories for several days. It’s as if I blinked and found myself in the facility, confused at the date, lacking my glasses, and medicated.
When I was finally released, I only had a few days at home before leaving again, this time for Chicago. So I wouldn’t be alone.
And I wasn’t alone, but I was lost. I couldn’t even cling to the familiar home that we’d built, and I felt trapped in some ways. Not because of where I was staying, but, I believe, from the aftereffects of having staying the facility. I had to be very contained in the facility so I wouldn’t give them any cause to hold me any longer. That attitude of containment lingered after I left.
I feel so lost without him. The solar weather station fell down in the high winds, and I’m sure it broke, but I have no idea how to fix it. Not to mention, it hadn’t been working for a while, so even if I fixed the physical boxes, it still wouldn’t work. Ambrose never did set it up to tell me our wind speeds up here. I know they’re fierce, but not how fierce.
My life with Ambrose feels so unfinished. I don’t know what I should do.
My therapist tells me to take it one day at a time. It’s hard. The mind wants to range ahead and know what’s coming next.
But of course the mind can never really know what’s coming next. It thought Ambrose would be here for my birthday, but he won’t be. The mind wants something impossible, because I cannot see the future. I just know that Ambrose isn’t in my future. My guiding light has gone out, and I … I need to build a new compass.
It’s hard work. Another crucible. I have to remember that my grief process was interrupted by the break my mind took that landed me in a facility. But that doesn’t mean I’m behind. There is no such thing as ahead or behind in this crucible. Time is fluid inside and I will find my way out in the proper time.
I have to accept that what I’m feeling is normal, natural, and not a sign of weakness. My friends are still here to remind me that I am an incredibly strong person. I have done many hard things in my life, and this is just one more hard thing.