I've pondered this post for quite some time ... and to be perfectly honest, who wants to read about the dark place I've been this past month and a half. Having talked with some friends recently, I think that people really do want to know "how I'm doing!" I'm not sure I can put in words how I'm doing, how I'm feeling ... it seems best described as a dark place.
My dark place isn't the dark kind that needs some medication to get through each and every day, it isn't the dark place that makes me want to take up drinking (well not all the time anyway) and it's not the dark sort of place that makes me want to curl up on my bed and never get up. The dark place I've been in is kind of quiet, melancholy, and sad. I miss the companionship, I miss the touch of his hand, I miss so many little things, that it's hard to even explain. Some days the tears are more prevalent than others, and as my book tells me ... I embrace them. I've had some really good cry sessions, I've walked around the house, down to his shop, and just plain old cried.
I've been so very blessed in the past month to spend time with friends and family ... probably way more time with them then they bargained for. I've been surrounded by friends, my kids, my siblings ... working in my basement, garage or garden shed; celebrating my B&B's wedding, celebrating the 30th birthday of April, sitting around the living room and just laughing. And in the midst of each of those work days, celebrations, and visits ... I've felt so lonely, so alone. I've sat quietly thinking about how much fun he'd have had at all of it. Six months and I still think he should just come home now.
You can run from the sadness, you can try and hide from it, I can even manage to walk around and look quite happy ... but at the end of the day I'm still alone. At the end of the day each of us has lost an amazing man, an amazing friend, an amazing daddy, and an amazing, wonderful, sweet husband.
In the past month or two I've found that stage that everyone refers to as the "anger" stage. I've been pretty damn mad at God ... I've searched for answers, tried to have it all make sense, and still find myself wondering how God could "let" this happen. And I know He didn't let it happen, I KNOW He cried with each of us ... But come on ... He's God ... His Son healed the sick, turned water into wine, walked on water and raised Lazarus from the dead ... how is it that He couldn't prevent that accident that made time stand still. And I'm reminded, time and time again, that the promise is that He will always be with us ... and HE is with us, He cries with us, He feels our pain, He understands our anger and sadness ... and He Is with each of us in our sorrow!
So that's a glimpse into an answer to the question, "Vickie, how are you?" I am doing ok, I am well, but I am battling the darkness ... and you know what readers ... I will win. I will be great again. I will be happy again. I will be better than ok. It just will take some time.
I sent an email to family and friends (those whose emails I had) ... and I know I missed a lot of people. I've copied it below ... because yesterday it was SIX MONTHS ... a half a year ... and this is what I wrote:
Today we look back and remember ...
Today is a milestone ...
Today is a sad and lonesome day ...
Today is a day to remember so many blessings ...
Today is a triumphant day
Today is a gift from God
Today is a day when I can say, "I did it."
Today is a day when I should be saying, "WE did it!"
Today for a moment, please remember an amazing, funny, laughable memory of Doug ...
For today marks 6 months of our loss ... but each day things get a little easier (I think and hope)
So for today, remember his smile, his whistle, he work ethic, his ice fishing, his joy of life, his laughter, one of his silly jokes, his Zobel walk, his joy and gift of gab, his love of family and friend, his pride in his kids, his story telling, his beer drinking, his quirky inventive abilities, his "I can fix that" attitude, and any little thing that says Doug.
For today it's time to move forward ...
To think not of what we've lost, but what we've had
To think not of what he'd be doing today, but what he did
To think not of what he'll miss seeing, but what we got to do with him
To think not of heartache, but the joy his life gave each of us
Today ... is six months ... six months of searching for our new normal ... and we've done it well ...
I miss my husband, friend, love, and companion ... just as each of you misses your dad, brother, friend, brother-in-law, and "buddy".
All my love and thanks to each of you for carrying me through thus far ... I could not have accomplished all we've accomplished alone.
With love, affection and deep appreciation,
Vickie and my kids
Until soon,
Vic
