Coping

 

I shared a post on Facebook yesterday about how different people express and process their grief. It resonated because I recognized not only myself in it but those grieving around me.  All of us are struggling in our own way.  My boys seem to find some solace in the distraction video games provide but they are burdened with bouts of sadness and anger, too. A good friend of ours has decided to remodel his entire house. Others have made it their mission to take care of me and the boys as much as we will allow it. 

I welcome the distractions my friends and family provide. The things we do and the places we go bring much-needed smiles and laughter. They give me something to focus on other than the empty recliner in the living room or Ken's clothes hanging in our bedroom closet. 

In the months since Ken has been gone, I've done so much. It wasn't always easy but I'm glad I pushed myself to say yes even when I really wanted to say no. Saying yes kept me connected to the people most important to me and my boys. Saying yes has kept me sane. 

It would be easy, too easy, to sit home and do nothing. To go into seclusion. To disconnect.  To submit to sadness.

Not that I don't have my moments when the loss hits me like a sledgehammer.  It most certainly does. The truth is, though, I cry mostly when I'm alone. Sometimes, I'll be in bed, snuggled up with my dog.  Other times, I'm watching tv by myself or I'm driving alone. Tears aren't the only physical expression of my heartache, either. On a few occasions, I've screamed into my pillow. Heck, I've even talked myself out of panic attacks, assuring myself the tightening in my chest and the difficulty in breathing is an emotional response and not a heart attack in the making.  

I've gone into therapy. 

I've taken up journaling. 

I've also indulged in some retail therapy, which is probably less healthy. But you should see my bookshelves! Also, who doesn't need new clothes every now and again? And shopping for others serves a purpose when you (mostly) save the gifts for Christmas. 

I know my grieving journey has just begun. I am well aware that darker days, weeks, or even months may be ahead of me. There are, after all, many things I can't yet bring myself to do. The idea of cleaning out his dresser, the closet, even his bathroom drawers, is too much right now. Figuring out how to include him in the upcoming holidays is a puzzle I still don't think I've fully solved.

Each day brings a new challenge. Each day, I do my best to cope.