Summoning Courage
My devoted daughter has been relentless about my writing. "Mom, all my friends are waiting for your next blog. Mom, you've GOT to write something. Hey, Mom, you haven't written on your blog for months."
I know. I know. And truth to tell, it's been because I've been afraid. Afraid of what, you might ask? I can't really define it. Afraid. Afraid of almost everything - and I really don't understand why. I suspect it's one of the "phases" of grief, but I'm not sure.
I've been trying so hard to be brave. Trying so hard to adapt. Trying to cope. Trying to accept the alone-ness - and trying so hard not to sound like some mewling, self-pitying whiner. That gets very old for other people, very quickly.
Most of the time, I'm fairly successful - at least, when I'm out where someone can see me. But I had a sucker-punch meltdown the other night that hit me totally out of the blue when I was here alone. First, I'd been feeling kind of "down"' all day, for no discernible reason - and then I stumbled into a movie on HBO that was so reminiscent of my relationship with my husband - and the memories and the "poor me's" just rolled over me and left me flailing about in an ocean of tears.
I've always said that tears are God's release valve - at least, that's what I say to my friends, but I hate that feeling of being on an emotional bender. I feel so weak, so vulnerable, with no one to comfort me but me. I feel like a child who can't be consoled - and I hunger for someone to hold me. Just hold me and rock me - calm me - reassure me. An inner voice wailed, "I want my husband back!"
And then the grown-up side of my soul kicked in. "Suck it up, Woman. He's not coming back. Not ever. Deal with it!"
Miraculously, I did. I dealt with it. I hauled myself up and out of the hog-wallow of tears and heartbreak and emptiness - and the rawness began to abate. Once again, I don't know how or why - maybe it was that "release valve" I'd preached to so many others. Maybe it was a change in the barometric pressure. Maybe it was the fact that in talking to my daughter the next morning I learned that she, too, had had a rough day the day before. Who knows?
Whatever, I've broken through whatever wall I'd constructed around my fragile self - and I've summoned the courage to tell you the REAL reason I've been so silent. The muse is waking up again, and I hope I'll be able to get back to the therapy of writing - because that's why I started this blog in the first place.
I think my courage has come back. I just pray it stays with me.
