Well, here I am, FINALLY starting a blog. I finally caved to the pressure. ;-)
Before there's any confusion, this blog is NOT about 'life after death' in the whole Medium, Ghost Whisperer kind of way. (Get used to it; I am a t.v. watcher.)
What this IS about is how a person - namely, me - goes on to rebuild a life after a devastating loss.
I have journaled the first half year of grieving elsewhere, privately in a hand-written (gasp!) journal and on public message boards. It's likely I'll share some of that here as time goes on but not tonight. I don't want to go back to that headspace right now.
Suffice it to say that on June 28th, 2005 I lost my dearest friend and greatest love to a sudden heart attack. We had known and loved each other for 8 1/2 years and though we lived on separate continents for a variety of reasons, we talked at length numerous times each and every day and saw each other for extended periods whenever we could. We laughed and loved and saw each other through some very difficult times. In all those years we never ran out of things to say, never stopped being eager to be in one another's presence, online or real world, never stopped missing one another if we were out of touch for a few days, never lost the excitement. His death, just as we were booking our next trip together, left an enormous hole in my life.
And here's where I wish I WAS psychic, wish that there is a life beyond this world after we die, wish I could at least dream of him and find some consolation. Other people do. But me? Nope. Nada. Zip. After many years of constant and vivid dreams and nightmares (typical when one has fibromyalgia) I can't conjure up a dream to save my life.
I didn't want to go on without him. I didn't understand why I should.
But here I am, still here after the nightmarish holidays, still putting one foot in front of the other. And sometimes reluctantly, sometimes eagerly, discovering that there really IS a life after death. That I can still laugh. That I can still feel. That I can still create things to look forward to.
In a way - and I'll explain this more fully one day - his death freed me and now, at 45, I am starting to feel that the adventure is just beginning.
At least that's how I feel on a good day. He would have loved that.
Before there's any confusion, this blog is NOT about 'life after death' in the whole Medium, Ghost Whisperer kind of way. (Get used to it; I am a t.v. watcher.)
What this IS about is how a person - namely, me - goes on to rebuild a life after a devastating loss.
I have journaled the first half year of grieving elsewhere, privately in a hand-written (gasp!) journal and on public message boards. It's likely I'll share some of that here as time goes on but not tonight. I don't want to go back to that headspace right now.
Suffice it to say that on June 28th, 2005 I lost my dearest friend and greatest love to a sudden heart attack. We had known and loved each other for 8 1/2 years and though we lived on separate continents for a variety of reasons, we talked at length numerous times each and every day and saw each other for extended periods whenever we could. We laughed and loved and saw each other through some very difficult times. In all those years we never ran out of things to say, never stopped being eager to be in one another's presence, online or real world, never stopped missing one another if we were out of touch for a few days, never lost the excitement. His death, just as we were booking our next trip together, left an enormous hole in my life.
And here's where I wish I WAS psychic, wish that there is a life beyond this world after we die, wish I could at least dream of him and find some consolation. Other people do. But me? Nope. Nada. Zip. After many years of constant and vivid dreams and nightmares (typical when one has fibromyalgia) I can't conjure up a dream to save my life.
I didn't want to go on without him. I didn't understand why I should.
But here I am, still here after the nightmarish holidays, still putting one foot in front of the other. And sometimes reluctantly, sometimes eagerly, discovering that there really IS a life after death. That I can still laugh. That I can still feel. That I can still create things to look forward to.
In a way - and I'll explain this more fully one day - his death freed me and now, at 45, I am starting to feel that the adventure is just beginning.
At least that's how I feel on a good day. He would have loved that.
posted by SwampHag at 11:19 PM
4 Comments:
*smooch*!
Hey, I knew you'd give up and do it! I'm so looking forward to reading what you write and being made to think the way I know you'll do....Yippee!
*groan* Now I have to be thought-provoking too?
As ever, thanks for your encouragement, Shelly. :-)
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