I am nearing the year and a half mark of widowhood. You’d think I’d have this grief thing figured out by now, but frequently, I get a jarring reminder that I’m still a toddler in this journey of loss.
Nebulous Sadness
One day last week, I texted my daughter and said, “I’m weepy today, for no definite reason.” Nebulous sadness is part of the complicated nature of grief.
Over several days, I went through Jim’s closet. I’ve been avoiding that task because it feels too final. As I took shirts off hangers and folded them into stacks, memories swirled. Jim wore this the last time we had a church directory picture made. I loved to hug him when he was wearing this soft shirt. I remember his smell, his arms around me.
Grief is a rugged journey. Sadness lingers. Sometimes forward motion is impossible because sadness pulls you down like a strong undertow, tossing you hard against the ocean floor and filling your nostrils with salt and sand.
At times, you know the cause of sadness; but other times, it’s a nebulous, dull ache.
Undefined Anxiety
I’m not usually given to anxiety, and when I do experience it, it’s not overwhelming. But since Jim’s death, I’ve dealt with anxiety. It’s frustrating, because I can’t pinpoint the source. I know what’s not causing it, but I can’t put a finger on what is.
Perhaps anxiety is the result of sudden loss, a pervading sense of perplexity and wondering what’s next.
Weird Dreams
Vivid dreams have always been part of my sleep cycle, even from childhood. Most of the time I remember them. Lately, my dreams have seemed so real I spend much of the next morning reliving them and trying to decide if there is a message in them.
In one of the oddest dreams, Jim was high on a precipice, motioning for me to come up and join him. I had no way to accomplish that, no climbing gear, no foot or hand holds in a sheer rockface. Ultimately, I yelled, “I have no way to get up there! I need help.” A sad expression spread across Jim’s face before he turned and slowly disappeared.
It’s easy to infer a meaning for this dream. Jim is “up there” and I am down here. I can’t go where he is now, but one day, I will.
Loneliness
Getting used to being the only beating heart in the house is an adjustment. Grief saddles you with the strange dichotomy of wanting to hibernate, while also experiencing loneliness.
Initially, people stay in touch and include you in their outings. But as time moves on, so does the outward concern of others. Your loss, your grief becomes old news, and you find yourself navigating a new normal, solo.
The Distance Between Knowing and Feeling
Recently, our church hosted a marriage conference. I’m glad our church provides this type of opportunity, but for weeks, every time I heard the announcement, it was like someone stomping my heart.
My head knows this was a good thing—a marriage conference—but my heart hurt because I was no longer eligible to attend. In my mind, I know we likely would not have attended the conference because of grandchildren’s activities, but my heart longs for Jim to be present so we at least qualified to attend.
I know God was merciful in the manner of Jim’s death, yet my heart longs for one last conversation and an opportunity to say goodbye.
Peace Despite It All
Any time I write about grief, I want to make sure readers know comfort and hope co-mingle with sadness.
I am grateful for the gift of peace. Peace wraps me like a warm blanket on a cold night. God-given peace has been my constant companion since I found Jim—spirit absent from body.
Sorrow is but for a season, while peace is lasting, eternal.
“I am leaving you with a gift—peace of mind and heart! And the peace I give isn’t fragile like the peace the world gives. So don’t be troubled or afraid” (John 14:27 TLB).
©CandyArrington
Candy Arrington is an award-winning writer, blogger, and speaker. She often writes on tough topics with a focus on moving through, and beyond, difficult life circumstances. Candy has written hundreds of articles, stories, and devotions published by numerous outlets including: Inspiration.org, Arisedaily.com, CBN.com, Healthgrades.com, Care.com, Focus on the Family, NextAvenue.org, CountryLiving.com, and Writer’s Digest. Candy’s books include Life on Pause: Learning to Wait Well (Bold Vision Books), When Your Aging Parent Needs Care (Harvest House), and AFTERSHOCK: Help, Hope, and Healing in the Wake of Suicide (B&H Publishing Group).
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