It hit me again and I crumbled. Like a wave hitting the side of a boat, grief struck me out of nowhere and sent me rocking. I was having an okay weekend. I went out with a friend, watched some movies, paid some bills, did some shopping and spent a few hours with my son. I was doing okay. Then, when I was cutting onions for dinner last night, I glanced at a picture of Peter – a picture I always see and talk to – and it hit me. A tidal wave of grief knocked me back into a furry of sobs with deep, gutt-wrenching despair. And I hated my life.
A few hours later, after I needed to puke out all that hurt, I texted three friends who have held me up many times in these past ten weeks. I sent a text on how I was hurting and how much all of this sucked. I ended it by questioning why this was my life now? Why me? Why Peter? One called me right away and we talked. Well, she talked and I sobbed. In her calm demeanor, the demeanor I’ll always miss from Peter, she told me I wasn’t going backward; I was experiencing grief. She advised me I needed patience which we both kinda chuckled about. Me and patience. It’s like saying Trump needed to get off of Twitter. At the end of our phone call, my weeping slowed and I asked her questions about herself. The conversation and the supporting text from the other two friends, got me to sleep last night.
Today, it is ten weeks since Peter died. Ten weeks and shock still taps me on the shoulder and kicks me in the gut. Saudade is still there, holding my hand every day, as I go through, sometimes push through, my waking hours. Grief still does not allow me to rest long with its constant annoyance. And so many of my days, too many of them, are still taken up with thoughts of how much I hate living this part of my sucky life, a life without him. I didn’t expect it to be this way. I thought ten weeks out, it’ll be easier. I suppose it is…until it isn’t.
I rejoice in the days where I feel the normalcy again, my new normalcy, until the longing for what was halts any mini victory celebrations. Some say it’s all too soon to accept anything else. They say it’s only been ten weeks, and since I loved Peter so deeply, I can’t expect to crawl out of the cave of despair completely just yet. Memories and the constant ache for him will keep me there for a while, even with the climb. It’s the way it goes. The journey of grief, the journey of spousal grief, the journey of my grief.
Knowing all of this doesn’t help my pain. It does nothing to ease the yearning in me nor the want for this horrific nightmare to end. Knowing this is all part of my life now, my grieving, sucky life, does not make me shake any of the anguish off of me. I am always thirsty for knowledge, yet this type does nothing to relieve any of the agonies in my heart.
It’s ten weeks today and yesterday night, grief again racked all of me and still hangs on this morning. I’m writing about it now as it always seems to help. I’ll even sit with it this morning. Then, I am going to say ‘enough with you’ and move. It’ll still hang onto me like an unwanted albatross. Yet, I’ll be strong enough to move with the wave of grief that rocked on me. And then, I know, another one will hit, as it always does, as it always will. The key, I suppose, will be learning to surf those waves of grief and hanging onto my new normalcy.