And it emphasizes the fact that there is not just one way to deal with the shit reality of losing your partner in the midst of life. For me it has been a mish mash of everything.
I have run away and I have stayed in the same way ...
For a long time I thought I could run away from the pain by just keep going and getting shit done.
I also thought I needed to clear out the reminders of D being gone.
I donated his clothes within a month.
I cleaned out drawers and cupboards and I hauled out everything that reminded me of him being sick.
I cut his hot tub in pieces and threw away - and I made the bathroom mine.
And yet, for months I felt as if I was an intruder of my own house.
I went back and forth between obsessing thoughts of moving and a panicking mind of wanting to keep everything as it was.
No matter what I did my heart or my mind couldn't rest.
Losing D changed everything - and it made me doubt everything that had ever been me. Things I used to laugh about did not amuse me anymore.
I felt like an alien among people whom I, in before loss life, had seen as my rock.
When I looked myself in the mirror, I saw the reflection of someone whom I no longer knew or could relate to.
I wanted to tear everything down and rebuild, but I had no tools for it.
However, while the months moved on - (and now years), I realised that the feeling of change doesn't lie in where I live or what things I keep - or not keep.
I can't run away from grief or the missing.
Where I live doesn't change any of that.
What counts is what I do with the life I've been left to live on my own - while being true to my heart.
I think that running away can mean any of many different things, it all depends on your perspective. I was unable to physically run away from my life, despite how badly I wanted to and sometimes still do. But, I can say that in another sense, I did run away from the old life that was. This honestly includes friends, places, things, and dreams. I have a much shorter list of people I chat with, and I no longer participate in activities that I did before her passing. These changes provided my brain a sense of change, and by starting something new, a challenge to be able to put my thoughts aside for a little bit. Grief still follows, but its different when compared to something that was shared between us. I knew that I could not run away, in a literal sense, as everything I was trying to get away from would be right beside me, waiting. It was a hard pill to swallow, and even harder work to navigate. I am a little bit over three years since her passing, still in the same house, but with it reimagined in the light of my now current life. I live with a malamute so decorative stuff has been put away, and the living space changed to accommodate the two of us playing. If she were to pop in, she would not recognize this as the home that we made, and I actually can't remember exactly what the house was like before. Despite not running away physically, I have managed to "run away" in a way that has worked out for me, mostly.
This is such a strong piece, Dana!
And it emphasizes the fact that there is not just one way to deal with the shit reality of losing your partner in the midst of life. For me it has been a mish mash of everything.
I have run away and I have stayed in the same way ...
For a long time I thought I could run away from the pain by just keep going and getting shit done.
I also thought I needed to clear out the reminders of D being gone.
I donated his clothes within a month.
I cleaned out drawers and cupboards and I hauled out everything that reminded me of him being sick.
I cut his hot tub in pieces and threw away - and I made the bathroom mine.
And yet, for months I felt as if I was an intruder of my own house.
I went back and forth between obsessing thoughts of moving and a panicking mind of wanting to keep everything as it was.
No matter what I did my heart or my mind couldn't rest.
Losing D changed everything - and it made me doubt everything that had ever been me. Things I used to laugh about did not amuse me anymore.
I felt like an alien among people whom I, in before loss life, had seen as my rock.
When I looked myself in the mirror, I saw the reflection of someone whom I no longer knew or could relate to.
I wanted to tear everything down and rebuild, but I had no tools for it.
However, while the months moved on - (and now years), I realised that the feeling of change doesn't lie in where I live or what things I keep - or not keep.
I can't run away from grief or the missing.
Where I live doesn't change any of that.
What counts is what I do with the life I've been left to live on my own - while being true to my heart.
I think that running away can mean any of many different things, it all depends on your perspective. I was unable to physically run away from my life, despite how badly I wanted to and sometimes still do. But, I can say that in another sense, I did run away from the old life that was. This honestly includes friends, places, things, and dreams. I have a much shorter list of people I chat with, and I no longer participate in activities that I did before her passing. These changes provided my brain a sense of change, and by starting something new, a challenge to be able to put my thoughts aside for a little bit. Grief still follows, but its different when compared to something that was shared between us. I knew that I could not run away, in a literal sense, as everything I was trying to get away from would be right beside me, waiting. It was a hard pill to swallow, and even harder work to navigate. I am a little bit over three years since her passing, still in the same house, but with it reimagined in the light of my now current life. I live with a malamute so decorative stuff has been put away, and the living space changed to accommodate the two of us playing. If she were to pop in, she would not recognize this as the home that we made, and I actually can't remember exactly what the house was like before. Despite not running away physically, I have managed to "run away" in a way that has worked out for me, mostly.