I’ve come a long way.
I’ve made progress.
I’m eagerly looking forward.
I am enjoying the return of confidence.
But at the same time, I am also hanging in limbo.
I don’t know why … but this week has been a struggle to get through; and it’s only Wednesday. The days have been crawling by with a sluggish drag – and this morning I was shocked awake by a nightmare that seemed so real, I was in a cold sweat when my eyes popped open.
And my first instinct was that I wanted Bob’s comfort.
But of course, that is not possible.
That impossibility is still hard to get an emotional grip on.
It was only 4 AM, but I got up and made a cup of coffee, and stared out the livingroom windows; watching the rain fall, and thinking that sometimes life is just plain hard … no matter how far you’ve come, how much progress you’ve made, how good you feel anticipating a future again, or the joy you experience when your confidence gets a boost.
Sometimes, life hits you really hard again; the truth of emotional weakness, and the reality of where you are grief’s complicated and twisting journey.
And what you are missing.
I don’t know what has brought all this discomfort on, this week.
But I do know that I am missing the one person who could chase the boogeyman away and comfort me – and he can’t come back.
That is a hard truth to take in sometimes.
Maybe it’s the waiting.
The waiting for sanity to return to America.
The waiting for people to stop embracing fear.
The waiting for the rainstorms to let up.
The waiting to get back on the road for adventurous excitements.
My life is pretty busy most of the time.
And I like it that way.
Less time for my thoughts to wander.
But it all catches up to me, every once in a while.
I’m thinking the nightmare this morning was a “catch” moment.
Being hemmed in by four walls due to the constant rainfall; and the regional flooding, that keeps the car tethered to the carport pavement, has me feeling antsy.
It all becomes too much – and everything comes crashing in on me, all at once. My thoughts get scattered. I get nappy. My hands start shaking. I recognize the telling signs of strain.
And every ounce of my being wants Bob’s comfort. Every part of my being remembers when Bob was here, giving purpose to my days, direction to my thoughts: soothing me from ominous dreams, and reminding me that bad days never last.
But he’s been gone from my life for 2 years now.
That reality isn’t going to pass.
I’m not going to wake up one morning and find he will miraculously be by my side again.
So, as I drank my coffee, in the darkness of early morning hours in the livingroom; I concluded that life is still hard. I don’t foresee it being any less hard in the future. But I’m growing. I’m not stuck in a dark place, like so many others are. I can see light at the end of the tunnel, and I feel hope.
And as I put the coffee mug in the kitchen sink,
I prayed for a brighter end to this week, and determined never to lose hope
that one day – soon – I will breeze through the limbo, and have some semblance
of peace and happiness again.
