Goodbye gripping sadness
Goodbye bad habits
Goodbye negativity and negative people
Goodbye financial stress
Goodbye caring what others think
Goodbye bad luck
Goodbye deep grief
…. my parent’s home with their clean, relatively modern furniture, good food, great company and pleasant atmosphere
… or with his large, loud, argumentative family at the farm.
There were no fly screens on the windows, so the heat-and-humidity-loving flies, dung beetles, spiders, large moths, frogs, mice and *snakes* also enjoyed sharing their home with them. Dust and fly-spots covered everything. And the very first time I ate a meal there, I was sitting under the fluoro light at the tiny kitchen table and a dung beetle fell onto my plate.
One Christmas, when I mentioned that a pervasive odour was making me feel ill, they lovingly and laughingly blamed this on the fact that I was pregnant and feeling morning sickness.
Until they found the dead cat under the water tank.
It’s December 1, 2011.
I bought a new car today.
My very first new car ever.
The very first car I have bought all by myself.
Something bright and shiny and new to replace the old and falling apart, frustrating and faded.
I should feel happy.
But I don’t.
I am gripped by the worst grief I have felt in months.
“A new car – you are so lucky” she said.
“I am not lucky” I wanted to shout. “The only reason I have to buy this is because Greg is dead. If he were alive, he would have fixed the old car.”
“…and all that bright, shiny money I paid for the new car wouldn’t have been available because it would have still been sitting in his superannuation account.”
This conversation never took place though.
The second half of it … my half of it… took place in the shower as I washed off the dirt of the day like so much armour surrounding my heart.
…and I broke.
By the time I dragged myself from under the hot water, big, fat, salty tears were plopping onto the bath mat at my feet.
I gripped the door frame for support as drop after drop fell from my eyelashes to puddle onto the floor.
My whole body was heaving with silent sobs as I crawled into our (my) cold bed, and as I lay down the tears ran in a steady rivulet down my face to soak the pillow behind my head.
…and I wonder if I am feeling this way because today marks 21 months since Greg’s head and chest were destroyed so badly by the bulbar of a truck, that I never saw him again.
… or am I feeling this way because I am having to face my second Christmas alone.
….my second Christmas as a sole parent.
…trying to put some sparkle into the children’s lives to make a semblance of a happy childhood.
…trying to fake a joy that I don’t feel and trying to summon a belief in God and goodness that has long since gone.
I don’t know.
Right now, all I want to do is to sleep through this horrible season and wake up when there is some light back in my world.
Just wake me up when December ends….
(Reposted from my post on Widow’s Voice)
I am strong.
I am incredibly strong.
I never knew how strong Before.
I wonder how I survived those first few minutes of knowing, those first few hours of screaming, that first night, week, month, year.
But I did.
…and so I know I am made of strong stuff.
I know it’s true because I am still here, raising two children, finding joy where I can get it
…. and I am not dead.
But sometimes I think I am so strong that people don’t see past the incredible feats of strength and endurance I am constantly displaying.
…and they forget that it takes every ounce of my strength to keep moving forward.
…and they let me carry too much of their load.
…and I do it because I am strong.
But I worry that I can only carry so much.
So I am going to pick and choose those extra things I must carry.
I’m not going to take on everyone’s minor problems.
Because I need every ounce of my strength for us.
(This is a repost of my post on Widow’s Voice this week)