Nine months

Well … I don’t know where or really even how to begin.
It’s been nine months since my James lost his battle with Multiple Myeloma.

During these nine months I have reached depths of darkness I never knew existed. The weight of overwhelming sadness has left me panicking to breath. I know I’m taking in air. I see my chest rising and falling. Yet, I believe I’m going to drown.

There are times I still expect him to walk through the door. I still expect to see him standing next to me when I’m looking in the mirror getting ready for work.

I still instinctively reach for him when awakened by thunder and lightning; or when I’m cold and need his warmth. I still seek his presence.

I want to feel the warmth of his hand in mine. I want to wrap my arms around him at the end of a long day. I want to smell him, kiss him. I want to hear his laugh. I want to talk with him. Tell him, “I’m sorry.” Tell him, “I miss him.” Tell him, “I love you.”
And hear him tell me he loves me, too.

I’ve been told numerous times to write in a journal. Honestly, I’ve had no desire to do so. No strength to sit in a chair long enough to accomplish the task. I still have difficulty concentrating. Until recently, I’ve had no energy to care about anything.

I found myself laying in the dark wishing the world would stop.
FOR ONE MINUTE CAN EVERYONE JUST STOP ?!?!?!?!?
DON’T YOU REALIZE WHAT HAS HAPPENED ?!?!?!?!?
The tears - uncontrollable. The sobs – all consuming. The silence - deafening.
Why, Lord? I don’t understand!

The harsh reality is life waits for no one. Time waits for no one. You can join in or get left behind. It’s up to you. James and I spoke of that a few times during his stem cell transplant in St. Louis. I would stand at the hospital room window watching all the people coming and going. Then, I’d look over my shoulder to see my husband laying on the bed literally fighting for his life. Even then, I was screaming on the inside for everyone to just stop for one minute.

Well … I thank God for my family, for my grief counselor, my friends. In tiny ways, I am gaining more control of myself. I am able to look away from myself more often and see the life that continues around me; to begin reaching out to others for help and to recognize when it’s a chance for me to give help, again.

I have wanted to post something eloquent, profound on James’ blog. He was always so positive; so uplifting. He found humor in almost everything. I’m trying to follow in his footsteps. I hope that as I continue working through my grief those attributes will become evident. For now, please forgive me. I am trying. I really am.

Tida