What does grief feel like?

It feels like I am walking around with a hole in my chest. Not a little hole where my heart used to be - a big gaping hole that you can see straight through.
It feels like the roof has been blown of the top of my house and I am still expected to carry on as though life were still normal.
I could go on with the metaphors but I think you get the picture.
Life is not right any more. I used to go about my daily routine and have this feeling of safety, normalcy, home-ness that surrounded me that I took for granted. Something would catch my eye, or I'd hear something and my first instinct would be to tell myself to remember to share it with John later that day.
If I had to leave to go somewhere, as I pulled my car out of the driveway, I'd look back and John would be at his make-shift worktable in the garage working on a car part he was refurbishing and he'd smile and wave at me as I pulled away and I'd wave and smile back, knowing he would be there when I returned and we'd share the rest of our day together.
In the evening we'd eat dinner and watch TV while we ate and we'd talk or play with the kids.
We'd snuggle at night and if I woke during the night John would be there and I could listen to him breathe and feel his weight on his side of the bed.
Every day, all day, I went about my life knowing that John was part of the fabric that made up my life.
And now he's gone. And my life is frayed. And there are big holes where he used to be.
And I am smacked in the face with that every day, every night.
All. The. Time.
And there is no end in sight.
There is no prize for doing grief right. No one comes and says "Okay, you've accomplished that. Now you get to do something else. Your grief is over."
Grief doesn't become over. It might evolve. But it's never over.
And sometimes, in the wee hours of the night, I dream about John and we are together again, and we're talking and laughing about something and I wake up and for one sweet second, everything feels right. The world shifts back into place and I feel that whole-ness again.
And then I remember.
And John's gone-ness hits me again.
And grief is back.

94 Weeks

Have I mentioned how much I hate Sunday nights? Tonight marks 94 weeks, not a very momentous milestone but every week takes me farther and farther from the last day and night we had together. The flashbacks are still with me. I don't know what to do about them. I suppose I should do something. Some times they are worse than at other times but all of the time they are very hard to go through. I can distract myself  sometimes. Leave the house. Go for a walk or a drive. But when they hit during the night there is no place to go. And that makes it harder to deal with.
I find myself getting irritable with the kids. I'm sure they are picking up on my mood.

People with foot in mouth disease

A woman I know who also lost her soul mate recently found herself defending her grief with a total stranger who claimed that grief that lasts "too long" [and what is the definition of too long?] was really suffering from co-dependency and not grief.
Spare me the armchair psychiatrists! What hogwash. Obviously that person never had a deep interdependent love with a soul mate. John and I allowed each other our own space. We did things together and we did things apart. He had his interests and I had mine and we had interests together. But just because the best part of my day – and life – was time spent with him and I still grieve the loss of him in my life now doesn’t make me codependent. John was my best friend, my counsel, my helpmate, my buddy, the person who knew me better than anyone ever did or will. The person who could just say my name and my heart would be so happy. The person I enjoyed doing things for because it made me feel so good to see him smile and know I did that for him. Is that co-dependence? No, that is love, pure, unadulterated love. A love worth grieving for the rest of my life.
Wonder what this person would think if he knew I feel I am still connected to John in Spirit?

Today I was driving home and thinking about John and missing him and a truck passed me and there on the back bumper was the word “Collins”. I like to think that was John saying Hello. And on top of the truck was written “Home of the Eagles” which made me think of the music he liked. That had to be him saying Hi to me. It was too much of a coincidence and we know there are no coincidences.

Love reaches out across the physical if we but look for it. Spirit doesn't die and true love doesn't either.

There's No Me Without You

 

The sun doesn't have to shine

  It doesn't matter what I do  

There's no me …without you  

We never have to be afraid 

Heaven is a place for two  

There's no me…without you
We shall be forever two 

There's no me…without you
Once upon a lonely day  

God came thru 

He Blessed me…with you  

I'm never gonna fade away  

Your love won't allow me to  

Can't you see? I love you
We shall be forever two  

There's no me…without you

Happy Birthday, Bunkie

Today is my birthday. I'm 64, the birthday made immortal by the Beatles. When John turned 64, I played their song as he blew out his candles and before we sang Happy Birthday to him.

Now it's my turn. If John were here, he would wake up and with that beautiful sleepy smile he would look at me with love and say "Happy Birthday, Bunkie." And he would make the day special. We'd be together and laugh and enjoy the day and tonight he would take me out to dinner. He might buy me flowers and there would be cards and a present.
But even though he's not here physically, I still feel his presence. I hear his voice wishing me a "Happy Birthday, Bunkie" and I can see that smile. Yesterday I had the urge to buy myself flowers and I felt that urge came from him. I even thought I knew which ones John wanted me to have. They will arrive today. And tonight some friends are taking me out to dinner.
It's not the same. It will never be the same. But I know John loves me and I know he is smiling that wonderful smile and I am going to enjoy this day for him and for me.
Thank you, Baby. I love you.

John's Garden

I recently added some plants to John's Garden.
I think it looks very nice, very peaceful.
I hope John likes it.

21 Months

Friday February 24th marked 21 months. Twice - on Friday and Saturday - I made plans to sit down and write about it and twice I fell asleep and woke up after midnight. Guess a part of me didn't want to think about it too much although I know I thought about it all day that day and since.
On the surface it was an ordinary day. I went to the Fountain Hills Fair with a friend and bought some things. I cleaned the front and back yards. I shopped for groceries. I ran some errands. That night I went out with friends for dinner. But I didn't forget.
Am I dwelling on it too much? What is too much? And who can expect me to forget what this date means?
No answers. No profound thoughts.
Just sadness. Some anger at what we were denied. What will never be.
And a big hole where my heart used to be.