Hello, loyal readers. I’m back. 🙂
There’s so much to say. So much to share. Many of my followers are also my Facebook friends, so there won’t be many surprises here as I’ve been regularly posting on Facebook.
Throughout that time, I realized that I needed to take my pain and my challenges off Facebook and move them to a bit of a more remote spot. My FB audience and my blog audience are two different intended recipients.
For those Facebook friends, I apologize as most likely, the next few posts are going to be a repeat for you. But it’s important to my walk through this life that I recount it in my way. I’m hoping it will help me continue to process.
Because I’m not okay.
I know it’s OKAY to not be okay. I know that. But I’m really not okay. I’m overwhelmingly sad and my grief actually seems to be intensifying. I’ve lost touch with the widow blogs I follow, and need to get back to them because they TRULY are such a valuable resource. I hope to become that resource one day as well. I hate that I will need to, but I hope I’m doing this right. Because if future widows are anything like me, reading a real and raw and honest story from someone who has been there themselves, might save their lives.
Chapter Two is my Life in the Dominican Republic.
Alone for the first time in my life, DR for the first time in my life, and a WHOLE 180 from anything I was living just a few months ago. I am working on writing this out in a way that makes sense; the things that have happened that have led me to where I am today – physically, mentally, emotionally, geographically, and spiritually. There is a lot of humor in my tales, that’s for sure. But it’s not all funny. Just as always, it’s going to be a bipolar swing of writing styles and moods because I write true to myself in that moment. And always, when things are funny, I turn to tell him and he’s not there. When there’s overwhelming sadness, pain, and loneliness, I turn to him for comfort and he’s not there. It’s not for lack of company. It’s him I miss.
We used to talk and half-joke that for both of our sakes, he had better die first. We both thought if I were to die and he were left alone, he would crumble into a tiny ball. Maybe even end his life. Man, how wrong we were. I think back to very trying times; the loss of his mother and my father, the loss of countless loved pets. And in those moments, he made me proud with this strength. When the chips were down, when there was conflict or disagreements, when someone needed a hand, this unassuming gentle guy became a force to be reckoned with. He had a beautiful talent for being strong and converting into a mountain when a mountain was needed.
And I gotta tell you, I think he would have handled losing me better than I have handled losing him. Gone is the strong bad-ass woman who could overcome anything. Recently some memories came up on FB that took me back to a time when I really liked who I was. I looked at those memories and thought, man that was my time. I felt alive and fulfilled. And I was killing myself. I remember coming home from that trip and throwing up for two days because I was exhausted. And he was there. And when I said I was going again 10 days later, he didn’t flinch. He knew it was what I had to do.
Looking at those memories made me proud and sad at once. All of a sudden I feel like an old woman looking back on a younger stronger me. But the memories were only 2 years ago. And it reminded me. That Lisa died. She’s in the urn with him. And I miss her. I miss her because she would have handled this better in some way or been stronger. I think she would have made him proud.
Until next blog very soon, thanks for reading. I hope you come back.