I meant to write here...truly I did. Instead, I made a decision to spill the worst of it into my paper journal this week, instead of onto all of you. It is a lovely journal that my brother bought for me a few years back. Tooled, pressed "recycled" leather with an interchangeable insert. I have filled 5 inserts up since then, and I shall probably break the record this year with three inserts already used up.
You see, it was like this: I spiraled very far down this week. And, yes, I was afraid to put it all out here, because I anger and scare myself sometimes. Because I sometimes think that this might be the best I ever get. Which is a sometimes dull, plodding through life, with bits of smiles sprinkled in over time spent with my children, a knowing I have to do this. A forceful acknowledgement that this is my life now, whether I want it or not. Because I still do believe that life is a gift, and I cannot take it for granted. My children need me. My friends need me. My father needs me...
...and then he tells me how it is "Time To Move On". I have discussed it here before; the many angles my father uses to try and "shake me out of it"... "It's killing me to see you like this", "I miss my best friend", "I don't know what I would do if something happened to you", "You're not creating any sense of normal for the children", "He held you back", "You can be better because of this...you can be better for losing him", "Stop This Right Now"... Followed by "Sweetheart, I'm sorry, I love you, I only want you to be happy again and I won't ever bring it up again..."...until, of course, the next time I see you crying. I didn't mean to make you cry. Only he isn't the one who made me cry. Leonard made me cry...and only Leonard could truly only make me stop. No, I don't cry all the time. I cry worst at times when I see my son so sad, my daughter looking at me, the places we used to be all the time, his empty chair, his senior picture (God he was gorgeous), our bed, his clothing, our wedding pictures. This sounds like I cry all the time, but I don't...it's just been a lot lately, as winter drags on and reality sets in even deeper. But I get it out, and I went back to the gym (which heartily stinks, but anything to kick those endorphins into gear) and I steel myself against the pain, and long for him to hold me, all at the same time. I just felt so very alone today, after my father left. I have told him that he doesn't have to do this...to take some time away from me. I've mentioned that here before. I love seeing him, but hate it to. These should be happy times for him, after a lifetime of loneliness.
I am still here, I am just not the same, even though those who love me best wish for it. I wish for it to because it would mean that somehow the fates allowed Leonard to come back to me.
I bit of the "old me" resurfaced this week. I allowed myself to get into heated political arguments on a message board I used to frequent. I'm not quite as nice though..and I'm sure I made the ignore lists of a few.
We picked up Nicole's proofs today...Wow, this is really real, I have an "almost" graduate. That can't be, when I am only 29.
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19 comments:
Until I was 9 years old, my mother told me she was 21. I believed her; 21 was really, really old at that point. :) It was my babysitter who ratted her out as being 30.
Perhaps the next time he starts in, you can tell him that no one has ever been bullied into happiness. Of course he doesn't want to see you sad; you don't want to be sad, but there it is, and it's not about him. You take your time. Just because he loves you doesn't mean he's right.
We put "Happy Birthday Jack Benny" on Mom's cake one year -- she's been 39 years old ... for 45 years:-)
I am so so sorry for your anguish, Laura.
You once said it might be easier if you didn't love so much. I think you're right.
Praying for peace & comfort,
haylee
xoxo
Oh sweetie, I wish I had a magic wand that would make it better. I do know that some weeks will be okay, and some weeks will be bad. That, I think, is normal. It just sucks that you have to live it. I don't think it's this way forever... but I've never lived it. The one person I know who has - who is - has a life she's happy in. It took time... but she made it. And I know that if she can, so can you. You are so much stronger than you know. It's hard, and you MUST grieve and just deal in your way and in your time.
((hugs))
Hugs to you! I don't get to visit as much as I used to, but I still think of you often.
I think I will stay thirty, flirty and thriving forever! :)
You're not the same and you won't be. Life can be good again, but it will take time and it will never be the same as it was. Grief changes us and it's hard for people who haven't been through it to understand that. Thank you for blogging - your words touch so many of us and we wish you strength.
Hi Honey,
Good to see you posting again. :o)
Please don't let your father's words hurt you, he just doesn't know what else to do. It must be so hard to see your children aching. Unfortunately, his way of making it better isn't helping.
Hang in there and know we love you!
HUGS!
I havent been commenting as much lately because I feel like I am so redundant. But I want to say something. It is OK to move on. It is OK to be happy again. It is not a disservice to Leonard for you to continue living (not just existing). And it is OK for Leonard to have not been perfect. No one is. Sometimes I wonder if you get angry at others instead of getting angry at him. Which is also OK. It sucks to be angry at someone who cant fight back.
I hope this doesnt get me on the ignore list. I just think the (virtual) world of you and can sort of see your Dad's point.
It's so hard for anyone who hasn't been through it to even grasp.
Someone told me this when Dale died in 2002, and I remember thinking how arrogant it was for her to suggest it then (she wasn't a widow) but I found it to be true - it takes the average person two years to start 'moving on' after they lose a spouse.
At the time, I was still incredibly in love with Dale - I think our relationship was very much like yours. We were very close, and I'll be honest - even though I am remarried and happy, I still cry over the tragedy that was Dale's life and his death at the age of 35.
I think it would have helped had I known what 'moving on' meant, or rather, what it didn't mean. It didn't mean that I would no longer love him, or think of him, or miss him. I think (to me) moving on meant being able to see a life without him, and that came at about 18 months. For me, it became about acceptance.
I think that you will always carry him with you. I doubt you will ever move on entirely, even if you decide to stat dating again, and that's okay.
Have you thought of writing your thoughts down for your dad? It might help him if you asked him to be gentle with you for the next few years. Healing takes a lot of time.
I hope that this week is a little better for you. *hugs*
Thinking of you.
I can't wait to see the photos.
Laura, Can't say much that hasn't been said. Just sending good thoughts and hope that your journal helps you hold on.
Love and hugs!
Ah Sweetie....But you're HIS BABY! Can you see yourself trying to help your Babies? Gads...I To wish I could carry this For you..just as He wishes he could...bless your hearts...hugshugs
Laura,
You do what you want, but as I have often said about my own blog, it's my blog if you don't like it don't read it. If you feel the need to write something, if someone doesn't like it then they don't need to read it. If you aren't comfortable writing it then don't. That is your decision and one that only you can make.
As for your father, he doesn't want to see you hurt. That doesn't make his words hurt less or make them right, but it is what it is. You need to make the decision what to do about it, but no matter what, you have a lot of support on here that I'm sure won't stop no matter what.
Best of luck to you this weekend.
Hugs
I was 29 for along time.. this year I decided that 30 is the age to be! See? I age. Just in my own timeline! Prayers for peace of mind for you.
You're not 29! You're 26 and a half! :D And I agree with you, dear, the gym does indeed HEARTILY suck. Hugs, kisses, and lots of love to you!
Reading what your dad has said to you reminded me of when my youngest had colic: we kept trying everything and anything to calm him down and help him when he'd have his crying and screaming episodes. None of it ever helped, but we couldn't stop ourselves from trying whatever the hell we could think of. It made us miserable to see him suffer so much every single night. As it dragged on and on, we eventually just held him and rocked him and waited for it to resolve itself in time. Maybe this is all like that, in a way.
Yes! I was much gratified to see you plunging into the thick and din of that debate (which you seldom did even before!). As it happens, another member of the same board, who recently lost his spouse in her 30s, has been back to his old online self of late, too (for better or worse...) Is this a sign of better times ahead?
I like Nance's analogy of colic, as my son is often inconsolably fussy lately. And even though I know my walking him and rocking him doesn't seem to help any more than just laying him down to scream himself to sleep, I can't bring myself to leave him. I'm sure in his own confused, human, blundering way your dad is trying to not turn his back on your pain.
Also, I'm glad you're hitting the gym, much as it does indeed suck. I've been trying to work out harder lately, and I can't believe the endorphin rush it sometimes provides. I highly recommend running on a treadmill until you feel like you're going to pass out- when the pain passes, it's like a drug for a few hours! ;)
Maybe I should try the gym thing. Your dad is like my friends...move along, get over it, so that THEY will feel better and can stop worrying about me.
You have to do it on your timeline. Right now, every step you take is helping.
I don't know, I haven't been there. But I think it must be putting one foot in front of the other until eventually they turn into steps. But at your speed.
As far as aging goes - I didn't turn 30 for a long time. I was twenty-ten, twenty-twelve, etc. Until I finally gave in and now I'm just plain old 48. Sigh-h-h.
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