Help for Widows. New Grief has us remember old grief.
“When you stumble, make it part of the Dance”
Our local Jiffy Lube imparts weekly wisdom on its billboard, and this little tidbit stared me in the face as I dropped my daughter off to school this morning.
I was thankful when I read it because this month I really stumbled. I stumbled and stumbled and stumbled. I made scheduling errors, I was short with my daughter, (and she with me), I forgot my dentist appointment, lost my license, (again) and paid my credit card late. Finally, after once again having minor words with Anneke as we were making dinner this evening, I realized what was happening.
We are putting our beloved standard poodle down tomorrow. She has late stage osteosarcoma and we spent much of this month trying to figure out a way not to have to do this. Instead of dealing my sadness, I became tense and anxious, all business and snippy. Stumbling.
So, while stirring the pasta, I found myself looking at Deboney resting on her bed, and I finally let myself really feel what was happening. I let myself feel what I had been trying so hard, in my efficiency, not to feel. Anneke looked at me looking at Deboney, and allowed herself the same. Tomorrow we will say good-bye to our sweet Deboney, who has loved us and let us love her. We will miss her dreadfully. Anneke and I embraced as she also realized what we had been running from. We embraced Deboney and cried.
New grief has us remember old grief. It never fails.
I wonder, for those of you have been widowed for as long or longer than I, do you get tired of remembering?
I do. I am so tired of remembering. Don’t get me wrong – I don’t get tired of remembering Mike.
But I do get tired of this very familiar pain called grief. I know this pain so well that going there is like sitting on a like a greased slide. It takes little provocation.
The thought of Anneke going to college, a sappy chick flick, and now losing our dear family dog. Not that loosing Deboney is anywhere near a chic flick, but rather I am saying how little it takes for me to feel this deep, deep familiar pain of loss.
I really don’t like this. I don’t like it for me and I don’t like it for Anneke. I want grief to be a feeling that I have to work at to get to. I want grief to be some distant memory that shows up maybe once every ten years. Sometimes, and I know that this really isn’t what I want, but sometimes, I just want Anneke to be shallow for a day and not to have known loss. Silly, I know.
I did not mind it as much when I was a new widow. Grief and missing Mike reminded me that I was alive.
Now, today, I don’t want it. Today, I want to send Deboney off to the next world with love and kisses, and happiness; She was so good to us.
But that is not how it is. I selfishly want to keep Deboney, I want her to be healthy, and I want her to live another 12 years. She was my husband’s idea, and she became my love.
Maybe they will meet again.
In the meantime, I will accept this sadness, as much as I don’t like it, and I will accept my stumbles, although others may not. I will understand, that where there are stumbles, there is always a reason; I will make amends when needed, and understand that it is my job, as it is yours, to have loads of self-acceptance on this long journey called life.
Blessings, Mie Elmhirst, MBA CPCC PCC The Widows Coach
Coaching and Help for Widows
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