It’s one of those nights when grief twists inside my body, unravels my emotions, and pokes my mind with the thoughts that “I just can’t do this anymore. It’s too hard.”
Eleven years of missing him, missing his arms around me, missing talking about all those things we shared only with each other, enjoying married life together. I miss being his number one person. I miss hearing, “I love you honey,” I miss being called beautiful, I miss that feeling of being cared for and safe with him and being his “love of my life.” I haven’t been someone’s person, honey, soulmate, private confidant, intimate heart-and-soul lover for over a decade. God said, “it’s not good for a human to be alone.” Yet here I am. Without my life companion.
Aloneness (which is different from solitude or living alone, which I have come to like) is not a healthy existence, physically or mentally. It’s like emotional isolation. It can eventually become debilitating loneliness. I am fine most of the time, or at least I deal with it because what choice is there? Other times, like tonight, reality hits again.
Over a decade has passed. During that time I have traveled, took the leap of faith to move to a distant place I love, made new friends from around the world, done some difficult things I didn’t think I had the strength to do, have enjoyed times with family and friends, tried a new relationship (did not go well, can do without that), and helped other people in fulfilling ways. None of it fills void in my heart or repairs the rip in my soul.
I have faith. Without it I would never have made it this far. I know that God cares for me, and I’m eternally grateful for His ongoing provision and protection. I even feel my husband’s love around me at times or get some comforting signs that make me smile. However, there’s that empty space my husband once held beside me on earth.
This truly is the hardest thing I have gone through. Doesn’t it get easier with time? To be honest, not really. It becomes different, but it does not seem to get better. It appears that time does not heal this kind of grief. We learn to live around it, walk with it, accept as a part of having loved and been loved deeply.
Ten years was unexpectedly one of the hardest, “brutal” as another sister-widow called her own experience. There are those who will read this and say I’m wallowing or I’m stuck in a mire of grief, that I’m holding on to the past, and that I need to “move on,” (which is quite different than moving forward). It is none of those. Most widows on this journey understand. Unfortunately, it is normal. Dr. Alan Wolfelt, Director of the Center for Loss and Life Transition has spent decades as a grief counselor . In doing so, he has observed “soulmates” that he discusses in his book “When Your Soulmate Dies; a Guide to Healing Through Heroic Mourning.” He found that, even though the remaining spouse moves forward into a new life, that the death of their loved one is a deep wound that lasts a lifetime.
It takes a great deal of strength to carry on. It is not easy, but I do. We widows do. I’ve set new goals to achieve. I have my own dreams to keep believing for. I’m just not as attached to them as I was before. I know firsthand that life may have other plans. I have moments of happiness, days of joy, times of laughter, celebrations, but still, there are some days or nights when I feel “I just can’t do this anymore.”
With God’s help, I can and I do. Some steps on this journey are strides while others are stumbles or crawls. There are tears of laughter and tears of sorrow. There is excitement about new accomplishments or experiences and there is the heartache missing my life with him. This land of grief presents challenges each day, but through it all, I am given the strength to live my life forward.
Photos: Carmen Myrtis-Garcia
