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Perspective

 


It's been three months.  

"Wow, I can't believe it's been three months.  It seems like it just happened."    

Does it?  Does it seem like it just happened?  From my perspective, it feels like it's been three years, or three decades, or three lifetimes.  How has it ONLY been three months?

I started purging.  I felt ready.  The shoes went first.  Then the clothes.  Tools.  Trailers.  More clothes.  Ski stuff.  Snowboard stuff.  

"That seems fast.  Are you sure you're ready?"

Yes, I am ready.  It seems fast compared to what?  Is there a written timeline or checklist that I'm not aware of?  His shoes sat by the garage door for weeks.  Initially, I couldn't imagine them not being there.  Finally, I got tired of tripping over them.  I was ready.  

"Don't make any big decisions in the first year."

I can't remember how many times I've heard this.  Partly, it makes sense.  I am not going to sell my house and all my possessions and move to Australia.  Also, I am not putting my life on hold for a year.  Every day that passes is a day I don't get back.  I am not going to sit and wait for a year to go by.  I have to keep living.      

"Your relationship seemed like a fairy tale."

Yes, I see how the stories I have told in this blog have made it appear that we had the perfect relationship.  In the initial stages of grief, we only remember the good stuff, the great stuff, the fun and amazing and funny stuff.  In the three lifetimes that have passed, I now see more clearly.  Scott was human, as am I.  We had our faults, and our relationship was far from a fairy tale.  And that's okay. With each passing day, more and more emotions arise.  Distance and time have made room for clarity and honesty.  Some of it is rough.  Bits of it are really rough.  A lot of it is good.  All of it is heavy, and that's okay.  I continue to seek lessons in my healing process, and the rough stuff is what fosters growth. 

Every day, I process, contemplate, feel, and check in with myself.  Sometimes it feels like I am in a self-imposed, never-ending therapy session.  It is exhausting.  This morning, as I set out for my morning dog walk, I fell into my new and now-familiar routine of checking in.

How do I feel this morning?  Scott, any words of wisdom today?

I immediately felt tired.  

I don't want to do this today.  My brain is tired.  I am tired of processing and thinking and feeling.  I don't want to do any of this anymore.  Not today.  

I could feel myself becoming irritated.  I walked on.

I didn't ask for any of this.  

I shook my head, stomped up the hill.  And then I heard Scott whisper in my ear, I'm sorry.

I shook my head again.  Aloud, I said, "I know you are, but I need a break.  I don't want to do this today.  I don't want to think about any of this.  I don't want to process.  I just want to be."

I heard him whisper again, That's okay.

I continued on my walk, then went home, hopped on my gravel bike, and headed to the mountains.  It took a while to settle, but eventually, I felt the anger and irritation dissolve.  I relaxed into the rhythm of the ride, soaked in the stunning views, and allowed my mind to wander in any direction it chose.  

I don't know how to grieve.  I don't know if any of us do until we are forced to figure it out.  I don't know what seems fast or slow, or right or wrong.  All I know is what feels right for me.  Some days, all the good things flood my memories.  Other days, I get bogged down in the tough stuff.  Then there are days like today where I want to ignore all of it, so I allow myself a break.  And it's all okay.      

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