Tomorrow will mark two years since my husband left mortality. Trapped in his cancer-filled, stroke damaged body, I knew I needed to remove him from life support. Since I made that decision, I knew a few days ahead of time I was to become a widow. “Please,” I implored my friends, “don’t forget me”. I knew I was heading into a dark, unknown place and I didn’t want to be by myself.
My friends stuck with me as I entered the widow fog. I would have ups and downs, catching glimpses of sky before diving into the clouds again. At about six months out, I found myself in a dark, lonely place. Again, friends and a good doctor helped me and I began to ascend.
About a year out, I felt I was in the sunshine. I would still dive into the thick clouds and fog, but would be okay. It was a different kind of sunshine than what I was in before D died, but I was thankful for it. While genuinely happy, I still did not find joy in some of the things I knew I liked to do.
An interesting part of this grief journey has been I have thought I was in the sunshine, but as I have moved forward, the sun has shined even more brightly. It makes me wonder if those past times when I thought I was in the sun were actually days of high cloud overcast, blocking the sun from really shining on me. For the past couple of weeks, I feel I have truly come out of the clouds and am really in the sun. However, from past experience I know that someday in the future, the sun may shine even brighter and I will reflect on today as being partly cloudy. I don’t know, but I look forward to finding out.
Today, I went to the cemetery to place a large, terrifying looking gourd on D’s grave. I will tell that story on Thursday. His grave overlooks the large, beautiful valley where I live. It was mid-afternoon and the sun was shining on the lake to the west. I just stood there and faced the sun, taking in its great light. Oh, how I love to be in the sun again.
