It's ok that I'm not ok.

The underlying worry that surrounds me is palpable.  People who love me are concerned about me, and understandably, want me to be happy.

If I’m being totally honest, for a lot of people, (especially my family,) it makes them uncomfortable.  They want the problem fixed.  They want me to be free of the grief and pain.

It’s one thing to be on Facebook, or read my blog, and support me and the process that I’m going through…it’s entirely another thing to be in the same room as me and watch the tears gather in the corner of my eyes and feel helpless to stop it all.  I liken it all to a spouse having a cold…we want it to be over the day it begins.  “I know you are miserable, but do you feel better yet?  A little better today?  But you slept good right?  You’ll feel much better tomorrow.  Please say you’ll feel better tomorrow!!”

I understand.

But it’s important to note, that right now there isn’t a solution available to my problem.  Medicine might mask the pain…but it doesn’t negate the fact that my husband is gone.  I would consider taking said meds if my grief got in the way of my responsibilities.  If I wasn’t able to do the things necessary to get through my day.  If I wasn’t able to feel joy at all.  If my process was negatively affecting the boys.

But anyone that spends real time with me knows that isn’t needed.  I’m still silly.  My personality is still in tact.  I just freaking miss my husband.

So I reach out to all of you today and say, it’s ok that I’m not ok.  I am completely cognizant of the fact that what I’m feeling is completely normal.  I know that how I feel today, won’t be how I’ll feel forever.  I mean I look back at how I was between October and December of last year and it’s an outer body experience.  I wasn’t that person before, and I’m not that person now.  But I needed to go through the process of to make it where I am today.

I’m proud of who I am today.  I’ve come a long ass way, and I know what a milestone that is.  I also know I have a long ass way to go yet. 

Let me.

Let me take that road the way that is right for me.  Let me be angry.  Let me be sad.  Let me be crazy.  Let me be silly.  Let me try to forget the pain some days and other days let me embrace it.  Let me walk this incredibly uncomfortable walk.  I don’t have the luxury of hiding myself away until it’s all over.  I know that would be easier for you.  I know you have all moved on.  I know your family problems have taken precedent over my grief, and I know you wonder what the timeline looks like for this all to be better for me.  I hate to break it to all of you, but it may never be all better.

And believe it or not, I’m ok with that.

I had a friend call me today and say, “How are you?”  And I said, “I’m ok.”  And she said, “Liar.”  And I love her for it.  She laughed and said, “I know you’re not ok…but I’m thankful you try to be.”

I’m trying.  Let me try.

Nothing you can do can fix it.  Sure, your friendship is a balm of sorts.  Sure, your love is healing.  The best thing you can do for me is put your arm around my shoulder and let me feel it…even if it makes you feel awkward.

Let me.

Don’t pity me.  Don’t rush me.  Don’t be frustrated with me. 

Let it be.

I mentioned in a previous post that I read an article that stated the second year is always harder than the first.  I was relieved to find out through hospice, that this statement is mostly true for the widow, not for the children.  I’m so thankful for that.  They have made so much progress, and as such, I try to feel my way through this as honestly as I can with them.  They see me cry.  They see me struggle.  They know I miss him, and they know it is always safe to say how much they miss him too.  I think we’ve been handling it all in a very healthy way.

Ryan had a saying, “Every day a bit better.”  It was on a plaque around his car license plate.

Every day a bit better. < < That is me.  Sure some days I take a few steps back, but I’ve found out that is because I’m a human being.  A normal, human, grieving widow, who in all honesty lost the love of her life way way WAY too early.

It’s ok that I’m not ok. 

I will be. 

And knowing that makes all the difference.