Spiraling

They tell me this is the way grief works...one day you're fine, the next you're back in a spiral of heartache, sadness, fear, loneliness, or whatever emotion has elected itself your captor this time. On the good days you think you're finally getting over it, moving on, feeling hope again, then suddenly, you feel like you're right back where you started. That's how I feel today. The only difference is, I've finally learned I can't reach out to him. That no good will come of that.

I've been using all my tools to try and hold the despair at bay. I suppose you could say they're working, but I'm still not through this particular rutty spot. I'm holding my own; that's the best I can say about where I'm at. Someone once labeled loss like this: When you're with someone, you spend years digging a big hole that becomes your relationship; when loss happens, you have to fill that hole back in, with a teaspoon! In other words, it's going to take a LONG time to fill it! Don't I know it?

And then there are the shadowy spots you try to avoid while you're digging--the places that say why doesn't he call; why isn't he hurting; why is it so easy for him to just 'move on'; why do I feel so very alone? Those places must be avoided at all costs. The insecure ego pulls you there--it's pulling me there, telling me terrible things about myself that at my core, I know aren't true, and yet this little self would have me believe all those hurtful lies. I choose not to believe them, but that choice is a hard-won fight, a moment by moment battle.

I think of those around me, my friends; those before me in this house. How did they do it? How did they suffer one loss after another, greater losses than mine even, and continue to have faith that all would be well again. Yesterday I knew that; today I'm not so sure. But I continue to tell myself, moment by moment, it's only a feeling. This too shall pass. All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things shall be well. (St. Julian of Norwich)