I know it’s been awhile since I’ve written here, but I promise I haven’t completely neglected this blog.

I just haven’t had the right words to post here, lately. And to be honest, I have three other blogs that I keep up with, (one for almost 9 years); and sometimes the eloquence that I take pride in for this particular publication doesn’t show up when I need it to. I hide in my LiveJournal.  And my other blog is cruder, filled with my angst, as opposed to my “wisdom,” as so many have suggested is here.

But I do want to document a few things that I’ve dealt with over the course of the past five months.

I’ll try to be structured:

October: If I can be honest, without fear of judgement (or perhaps without care), I would like to confess that October was a bad month for me.  I struggled with bad decisions and stupid mistakes that I knew were wrong to begin with. Alcohol and I are no longer occasional acquaintances. And in October, I let it throw me off track. Fortunately for me, and everyone else in my city, the only that it affected was my pride. But I learned a very valuable lesson: A cocktail (or five), only makes grief worse. Especially in my case.

We’ve since stopped talking altogether, although I have had some weak moments. But the shakes and the panic attacks the following morning are enough to keep this back-stabbing frenemy from hanging out with me again. Hopefully, I’ll gain some of my self-control back.

November: I moved. I moved to a different part of town and I still hate where I live. I’m currently looking for a new place to move. Again.

November also saw a restructuring of my parenting, especially with my oldest daughter. She suffered from her own form of grief, and it was evident in her schoolwork and attitude. Moving relieved some of that, and for that reason, I’d much rather live where I do now, than where I did. Incidentally, she’s back on the honor roll.

December was a monumental month. Not only did I turn 33, but things seemed to change drastically from the first day.  There was significant improvement in my mood and mindset. I could see where I was spending time with people who were detrimental to my psyche, and just halting those people from affecting my life gave me a sense of reconnection to people I shouldn’t have abandoned after Jon died. Or maybe I should have. Maybe their moment to re-enter my life came right when it did. I only know that I took too long in extricating toxic friends from my every day existence. And I have no regrets.

The past two months, I have just been rethinking a lot of things. For one thing, I realized that there has been a small measure of denial that I haven’t even begun to deal with. It’s kept me from leaping off the deep end and becoming overwhelmed with grief, but it’s also kept me at a very twisted plateau.  If I don’t focus on the fact that Jon is not coming back, (and that is hard to type as much as it is hard to say), I can easily float through my life, saying things people want me to say, and acting mostly normal (and somewhat detached – which has been remarked upon), without too much consequence.  It’s been easier to just give in to the belief that this life – this tragedy that I am faced with is not permanent.

I have only recently begun to realize how much I counted on that idea to get me through the day, let alone my life. I’ve been living every day as if Jon was on his way back home, and that I’ll simply see him when he gets here.  It has only recently occurred to me that I am going to have to accept that he will not be back, for as long as I live.

It’s overwhelming to think about.  I can’t seem to grasp that the man I vowed to love for the rest of my life, as well as his, will never return to me.  He will not walk through my door and prepare us for departure.  He will not see me through the next phases of my life. And he will not help me parent our children.

I’m willing to accept that his memory and legacy of who he was in my head, will help guide me in my future.  I often resort to a silent conversation of what he would say, when I say something to him.  It’s comforting to know that I can still conjure his voice, facial expressions and mannerisms to pretend as though he can hear me.  Maybe he can.  I honestly don’t know anymore.

But he is not here.  I cannot bring him back.  I have prayed, bargained, cried, pounded the earth above his body and become completely apathetic to the whole process.  But nothing works.  My Jonathan is gone. He is gone about as much as I miss him.  And that is very very far away.

I realize this means that I am not ready to restart my life, as I thought I would be, by this time in my grief, nearly two years ago.  It’s incredibly hard to believe that it’s been nearly two years since he walked this planet, and shared his life with me.  I can still picture him as easily as I ever could.  I can imagine his gait, and hear his vocal tone.  I know how he shifted his weight from each leg to the next, when we walked next to me.  I remember what his hair felt like within my fingers, and the cooling touch of his brow when I kissed it.

I still feel like “he was just here.” It makes no sense to me that he has been gone for nearly 22 months.

So, here I am, finding myself still broken and not close to being as healed as I would like to be.  I’m still missing him as much as I ever did, and I am still actively grieving the life and future we had as a couple.  There is very little that has changed, save for the fact that I can fake a smile on a dime, and keep my aching feelings to myself, most of the time.

I have more to say, because it’s been so long, but I’m fading.  The hour of the wolf has been staved off by 5-HTP, but it doesn’t help if I don’t sleep, even a little. I promise to write the other things that have been bothering me lately.  And I won’t wait four months to do it.

Til next time…

Advertisements