Amputated

      In both the widowhood blog by Catherine Tidd and a quote from C.S. Lewis I came across a very powerful metaphor that I've been pondering.

“The death of a beloved is an amputation.”

C.S. Lewis 

     While thankfully, we did not have to deal with amputation, all that we went through gave me empathy and understanding of the difficulty and pain that must entail.   The pain, the healing and the adjustment physically, mentally and emotionally that is required of both the patient (and their caregiver) must be described as immense and challenging.   A struggle that takes years to adjust to and not something that you can ever get over.   Prosthetics have come a long way, but they are require a lot of care and maintenance.   Simply put... a part of you is missing.  

     I found it very interesting that Catherine had it interwoven into her blog about loneliness.  I completely agree with her when she says  "I think that lonely is not a strong enough word."   Explaining that she can be in a room of people and still feel alone.   In the video from last week about emotional wellness he said.  "Loneliness won't just make you miserable, it will kill you."    Yet in grief, it's only one of the many things you feel.   

    I hear often from others of someone they knew who was a widow and how it took them a year to "feel normal" again.   But I've heard and read from numerous other widows that the second year is harder.   I can't help but wonder if it's because after a year many people feel you should have "moved on" and so the pain and loneliness are forced unground.   They've found the people in their life who they can turn to and but on a "normal" face for all the rest.   I already feel that pressure from well meaning people.  It's not helpful.   It does however make me even more grateful for the people in my life who lovingly inquire and patiently sit with me.  A recent article I read with advice for a young widow the first advice they gave was "Learn to love the loneliness."  Yikes!   I may learn to tolerate it, but loving it that's entirely different.   I think they may have chosen the wrong word.   Loneliness and solitude are two different things...

    Yesterday I survived a difficult milestone.   Six months since my sweetheart...  Six long, difficult, teary, lonely, sad and hard months.   When talking with my therapist earlier in the week I mentioned the anniversary.   She immediately said "Please tell me you won't be alone."   I had come up with some things that I thought could help me make it through the day.   Having someone to talk with and help distract me was something I considered but hadn't arranged.   I woke up that morning and my brain quickly started to think of the events of six months ago.   I was able to mentally push back and say to myself "Stop... that isn't helpful."   Luckily or perhaps providentially there was also a public television show by a man named Dr Daniel Amen on the TV.   A psychiatrist and brain disorder specialist who had some very interesting things to say.   I can't recall all that was said, but it was a good distraction.   He talked about how trauma and stress can physically change and age our brain.    Hmm... I wonder how old my brain would test?  

     Yesterday morning I was spent keeping myself busy with some of the distractions I had planned.   One of which included was pickup at Wal-Mart of some soil so that I could plant a rose bush in the near future.   It was the second time this week I had left the house.   The first time had been earlier in the week to pick up groceries.  During which I daringly had the radio on and the song "Spirit in the Sky" came on.   I was teleported back to the cemetery on that cold December day where this song had been played at my husbands request.  As well as the times that he had made the request when the song would come on the radio while we were driving.  Music can sometimes be a good distraction, but in many cases it's not.   Returning home, one of my sweet aunts reached out and offered to come spend the rest of the day with me.   While her visits with me often results in reflections about mortality and death, her companionship was a wonderful gift on a difficult day.   

    I learned last night that Ed Sheeran had a new album.   His song "Perfect" especially the lyrics "We are still kids, but we're so in love, fighting against all odds, I know we'll be alright this time"  I considered our song in our fight with cancer.   It was released in September of 2017, just as our lives changed forever.  I learned that his wife Cherry was diagnosed with cancer last year when she was 6 months pregnant and at the young age of 30.  He also lost his best friend and has struggled with the heaviness of life.   I couldn't yet convince myself to listen to the songs but was intrigued at what his lyrics might say.   These from a song called "Eyes Closed" 

No one is ever ready
And when it unfolds, you get in a hole, oh, how can it be this heavy?
Everything changes, nothing's the same, except the truth is now you're gone
And life just goes on

     As hard  as it is, life is going on.   But slowly I'm finding things that help easy the pain of the gaping hole in my life.   I desperately miss my other half.   He is my soul mate.   Life still feels impossibly difficult most days, but there have been days where the weight is lighter.   I can see small changes and recognizing that little bit by little bit I'm doing better.   

      I'm still terrified of the difficult anniversaries I have that will come in the next six months, but I've somehow survived the past six and so I'm sure I'll somehow survive the next six.    Our love sustained us both through so many difficulties, that I just need to figure out how to allow it to help me survive the future.