Last night when I heard the rain hammering and wind blowing I thought about how my life is like the weather! An odd comparison, perhaps. It seems possible that anyone who is in transition is truly in the “November time” of our own calendar.
Some days we close the curtains, put on our favorite pajamas and generally withdraw from activities
Observers whose life hasn’t yet hit a serious snag watch and wonder what the hell is the matter with us – we just “aren’t our usual self”. Some wildlife rescue programs on T-V show rehabilitated animals being released back into the wild – their cage door is opened and they’re free to go, but some just don’t rush out into the real world again. It feels safer somehow to be in a cage with a blanket over it than hurrying into the unknown.
Familiarizing myself with “Stages of Grief” chart; was when “the penny dropped” for me. It’s like a calendar. I can identify what stage I’m at, and can see both how far I’ve come and how far there is to go. For me, keeping in mind that I’m on the path to recovery is important. Things will improve as I move forward.
The peculiarities of being a new person in a new world are difficult concepts. It makes perfect sense that I want to make the “old” still a part of the new. When I see others with sad hearts and trying to make sense of it all, “November time” is an excellent adjective.
Sometimes I’m aware that people are giving me space. In fact they seem to be almost avoiding me. The journey from bereavement of what we had, who we had, and what was familiar into stronger more sunshiney days is a long trek. Nobody can help me get there except to give me time. While I’m obviously scurrying around and keeping busy, I’m also healing. It’s a slow process.
My niece keeps reminding me that “I think too much”. Over-thinking makes us sad, we have to turn our thoughts away from negativity and find a glimpse of light instead of shadow.
The burden of Christmas looms, with all its lights and glaring commercialism. It’s too bright and hurts both eyes and my heart.
I’m still trying to find a little corner where everything fits together and feels just right. There’s no such place.
I’m not my old self yet; and never will be. I’m becoming my new self.
An accident last March was an unkind setback for me, not only from a pain perspective. Recovering from more than one grievous loss at a time once is really tedious. I think, sometimes with a smile of sorts, about my own journey from Tony dying in December of 2014, to our dog dying in January, then my only sister dying in February; then listing and selling our home and moving…and then to falling, immobility, and then moving again all in a within two years.. Ouch for sure!
Putting one foot in front of the other every day is like a slow march along the Camino Trail I’m discovering, every step of the way, and it can’t always be perfect weather or I’ll miss some of the beauty.
This quotation from Samuel Johnson’s Selected Writings suits perfectly today. “The natural flights of the human mind are not from pleasure to pleasure, but from hope to hope.”