As I get farther and father away from the last time I held my husband in my arms, and the last time I told him I loved him to his handsome face I find a sad thing is happening. Sometimes I feel less close to him. When the pain was raw and horrible and the tears felt endless, I still felt so close to him. My heart overflowed with all the love that I could no longer share with him and since he wasn’t here for me to express that love to, all the heartache and love with no place to land just spilled out all over my face in tears instead. We widows love our husbands so intensely as if he is still present even when he is no longer a physical presence in our lives.
After almost 4 1/2 years, the less frequent tears sure do help me get through the day more smoothly, but those signs of a little more healing sadly sometimes feel like less connection with my dear husband. More movement forward into a future he will never be a part of feels like more distance, like he is getting farther and farther out of reach. Grief is so complicated. I miss him every day, and everyday imagine how much better and right the day would be if he were a part of everything. I prayed for healing because the excruciating experience of losing him at times felt absolutely unbearable and the pain was so intense like none I’d ever felt, that it scared me. Getting through the day was so hard, and I am grateful to feel less sharp pain and less trauma. So grateful for progress, yet so sad that progress can’t include him.
I have come to describe the feeling of this part of the healing journey as “the middle place.” It is that awkward, confusing and numb sort of section of the healing road that feels a bit lost and aimless. In the middle I have come to accept that everything in the past can no longer be a part of my present. But I still have no clue what the future holds. That lack of feeling like I have a specific something or someone to reach toward in life’s future can be so stressful. It is that feeling of wanting to know the whole plan and wanting to see the whole roadmap, but only being given a small section each day to go by. It is that journey of faith and trust in God’s plan and goodness that is so easy to type…but so hard to put into practice, yet so important.
Have you ever felt like you were in the middle place on your grief journey?
In Hope & Prayers,
From This Widow Mama
Beautiful comment, Carmen! Thank you.
Dorothy, thank you for sharing your journey with us. It’s a form of therapy for me. I found your writings today and although I’d like to, I can’t respond to them all. So I’m using this post to thank you for your bravery and obedience to share your life with strangers.
I lost my husband last August, suddenly, after 13.5 years of marriage. We have 2 sons: 12 and 14 but they were 11 and 13 when he transitioned. I loved my husband although we had a hard marriage. He was a good father and he loved me but we struggled a lot. Nevertheless, we both loved Jesus! I miss him and more so for my boys. It’s hard to process my emotions but your writings help.
Holidays and birthdays that we used to spend together as a family, are definitely different now. Family who promised to be a support are ghosts, but God always takes care of us even if He has to send strangers. That’s why gratitude has been my super power. It keeps my eyes fixed on the truth that God is a Father to the fatherless and a defender of the widow Ps. 68:5
Thank you for this wonderful comment. I so appreciate you sharing your story as well as your encouraging words and your faith. I so appreciate Ps. 68:5. What a comfort.
“The middle place,” is a good term for it. I came to that place in the 7th year. Even though I long stopped breaking down at the site of applesauce in the grocery store, even though I’d traveled on road trips and internationally, enjoyed many times with family and friends, started a widow’s group, and kept getting out of bed every morning facing the day, I still felt empty.
It was the 7th year that the full-force reality hit me that he’s never coming back, we’ll never grow old together, and I have to either keep existing or I have to create a new life and “live” again. It’s been 10 years. I took big risks, faced my fears, and bravely created a new life for myself. On the other side of the middle there are different challenges as the grief remains because love remains. It still is a day-by-day healing process. There are some days that are brutal with the missing of him. But discovering who I am without him and designing a whole new life is an eye-opening, mostly enjoyable, adventure.
I love your sharing. What a great honest description and also a hopeful one. A mostly enjoyable adventure sounds well worth pursuing!