Friday, December 11, 2009
originally uploaded by BjørnS.
Tonight as I headed out of work, and onto the road to pick up my son, a familiar feeling began sweeping over me.
I realized that the end of each work week is very difficult for me. I find myself in tears as I get onto the road to start my weekend. It may be due to being tired from the emotional work that I do, or it may be from a cumulative lack of sleep throughout the week. Or it could be a combination of both.
There is also the fact that we have entered the winter season, which is cold, wet, and very dark, very early. It used to be that my long week at work was rewarded with having a cozy time at home with Michael and the kids. By this time of the evening I would have been curled up on the couch with Michael at my side. These days my work week is rewarded with the reminder that I am alone. I know that I am not completely alone, the kids are still around, but I am alone in the sense that my soul mate is not at home waiting for me when I return.
I can't help but wonder when my body will start getting use to the lack of Michael's sensual comfort . My mind knows that Michael is gone, it's day 89. My heart still lacks understanding, and together my heart and mind are trying to make sense of it all. I know I need to start taking better care of this quickly aging body of mine. I'm not feeding it as well as I used to. I'm not giving my body nearly enough sleep to properly function. And I rarely take this body out for a walk around the neighborhood, or get it into the gym. In general, my poor body is being mistreated compared to the special care it once received.
Somehow I need to strike a balance between healing my mind and heart, with helping my body feel nurtured and cared for. I'm realizing that this is part of grief's cruel reality. We widows and widowers can go for long periods of time without physical touch or intimate discussion. Again, I do have my children, who give me great hugs, yet we all know the difference.
Tonight's thoughts are not spoken with tears, or with a whiny tone. If that is how you interpreted my words, go back to the beginning and re-read this post with a bit more emotional distance. It was actually a moment of clarity when this all came together for me on the drive home. Understanding what triggers my longing for Michael, and the hurt and pain that accompanies it, must be part of the road I travel.
While I am mourning Michael I must also start rebuilding my life. I must learn new ways to take care of myself, because he's not here to physically comfort me or make me feel good. I need to find new ways of rewarding myself for all that I take on. If I don't find this I fear that I will just begin to feel detached from my body. I will just learn to go without pleasure, or end all of my weeks with a sense of emptiness and pain.
It is such a challenge to keep learning more about what I have lost, but learn I must. Each day feels like a new lesson. I can choose to turn away from these lessons, or I can choose to face them head on. I know which way I am choosing, and it's going to be a painful process.