My beloved husband passed away on June 24, 2016. Writing often helps me process the pain and manage the flood of emotions. So below are just some random thoughts, prayers, and revelations, as I attempt to navigate this road of grief, by the loving grace of God. 2 Corinthians 1:3-4
Sunday, August 28, 2016
friends
Making new friends here is still a "work in progress" for the kids and I. I just no longer want to open up and talk with anyone new. And to be honest, I do not think the kids have wanted to either. Simple questions like, "how are you doing?" or "how was your summer?" or "are you a military family?" or the dreaded, "what brings you to California?" just do not have simple answers for me. And so I try to avoid having any type of "real" conversations as long as I possibly can. I never realized how much us mamas like to talk about our families and our husbands until I started trying to avoid the topic! But often as I begin to converse with others, I end up getting "cornered" into explaining my situation anyway. And then the silent shock or the pity or the attempt at comforting words follows. And it is awkward. I do understand that. I almost want to wear a sign on my forehead that says, "warning, converse with at your own risk." I know it will take time before I feel comfortable coming out of this shell I have hermited in and even more time before I feel comfortable sharing my story out loud with others. I have met a few ladies at our new church and am so thankful for their unconditional kindness towards us. But other than church, I have been avoiding most social situations. I know I sound whiny when I say this, but it is just too difficult. Grief is difficult and awkward and messy and lonely. I find it so impossibly frustrating that I crave normalcy, I crave joy, I crave companionship, I miss laughing and smiling, I miss my own cheerful personality - and yet I can not seem to obtain these things which I crave and miss so much. And the moments where I do have of a connection, a smile, a laugh, a joyful blessing, they are so often quickly followed by that shadow of guilt or pain that Ryan does not get to experience it with me. It is exhausting. So it is a continuous process of seeking after joy and focusing on God's promises in order to keep the darkness and hopelessness at bay. After fighting the battle to keep lying all that down at God's feet day by day, minute by minute, there really is little energy left to attempt most social interactions, let alone new friendships. Mostly it still feels like I am just trying to keep my head above water most days.
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