Hello everyone ❤
First, I wanted to say I’ve decided to take a blogging break. I’m putting so much sadness out into the universe and I’m not comfortable with it. I think I’m in a depth of pain that no longer can be done any justice by blogging about it. I feel like my screams are going out into cyberspace and echoing through the wavelengths and just creating an energy that isn’t good in the world.
I’ve never experienced pain like this before. The PTSD is overwhelming. The memories of Michael’s rapid illness and death haunt me, mostly at night. I wake to his screams and cries regularly, and it takes me a few minutes to realize it’s in my head. The images of his decline invade my mind and take me down a road to remembering my dad’s death too. I may be driving to the store, and in that few minutes all I see is a slideshow of the deaths of the two men I loved more than anything in this world. I close my eyes and see the suffering and remember the painful goodbyes. I hear the sounds of the dying; the wailing, the rambling, the rattling. I recall conversations and wonder if he was coherent when we had them. I have photos of him during that time that are so painful that I wonder if I should delete them, but I can’t bring myself to delete anything Michael-related. I desperately search for signs of Michael all the time because I truly don’t feel strong enough to live without feeling his presence. I catch myself thinking I should call my (now dead – oops that’s right) dad. When I was on my girls getaway, many many times I thought “I should call (now dead) Michael and check in”. Reality isn’t easy for me to keep up with. As my physical condition deteriorates, I’m constantly reminded of why this is happening. And I tease Michael aloud, telling him he’s killing me but he’s doing a shitty job of it. RA? Really? If you’re gonna ruin my life, give me something that will do me in instead of slow suffering, would ya?
I miss him so much. Nothing will ever, ever be the same again.
My goal was to hopefully help other widows at some point and right now, I’m not helpful. I’m whiny, depressed, needy, inconsolable, pissy, grumpy, self-pitying, sick, and tired. I’m questioning my sanity and my reason for living. My instincts are keeping me inward and isolating. I’ve never been through anything like this before. There’s no textbook. No amount of therapy in the world makes it better. It’s just unbearable, indescribable, horrific, nightmarish, brutal, unrelenting, unforgiving pain. It’s hell on earth. Hell.
It’s not a good time in my head right now. And I know those who actually do read this, don’t know what to do with it. And it leads to silence, and me questioning what I’m doing, and every reader questioning what the hell they can even say to me. It’s causing me more and more insecurity, so I’m stepping away for a bit until I can hopefully get my head straight.
Before I do, I wanted to share this picture with you. I had forgotten all about this photo, but with my daughter moving in next weekend I’m cleaning some things out. This was taken in 2005. Michael surprised me with an early morning balloon ride. It was amazing! We drank champagne as the sun rose. We swooped down really low and picked grapefruits off the trees. We floated above everything and felt no wind, because we were the wind. We traveled with it, so it was surprisingly quiet and still up there. It was one of his favorite memories right up until he died. But the power of the photo is this: When we had it taken and they handed it to us, Michael said “Wow. I think this is the first photo I’ve ever seen myself smiling.” We got home and sure enough, looked through hundreds of photos and couldn’t find any with a smile. Sometimes a grin, but you never saw his teeth. He said this picture was the perfect definition of who he was now. Happy, secure, and where he belonged. One picture says so much. ❤
Thank you for reading if you are, and thank you for reaching out if you are. I’ll be back when I feel I have something of value to share.