Feeling lost and dreaming of death. Thanks, winter!
The missing part. I know why I miss him. I love him and he’s gone forever. So it only makes sense I ache to hear his laugh, see his smile, hear his voice. I long to kiss him, hold him, hug him. I miss his sharp wit; the way he would respond to my teasing, the way he would use that wit to turn around my tough day and do what he could to make me smile.
There’s no reason I’m missing him more these days. There’s no special occasions to mark, either happy or sad. Maybe the occasion is I just miss him, damn it!
Last winter was my first without him, and it was rough but I chalked it up to the fact that it was the first six months of firsts and all of those months were rough. With this being my second winter without him, I’m wondering if this will always be the time of year that hurts more, cuts more.
Maybe I’m missing him harder because fall makes me grumpy and winter makes me bitter. I associate both of these seasons with death. Fall starts the decay and winter preserves the death of everything that has passed. My memories tend to reflect this and are sadder; more melancholy. I only know I have to work harder to find the joy; to find the balance between life and grief. I’m not always finding it immediately and it leaves me unsettled.
The good news when it comes to my grief is that I know I WILL find my balance. I’ve worked hard at finding my way through the emotional jungle before and I know I can navigate my way forward again. My toolbox includes humour, patience and a willingness not to dwell in the dark place I fell into right after his death. Our life together wasn’t about the dark so why should my life now be lived there? I know how to bring the equilibrium back and I will.
The other thing that has been stirring up these restless feelings are the strangest dreams I’ve been having. Dreams of death. Impending death. My death.
They aren’t an everyday occurrence but happen often enough that they make me both fearful and inquisitive. My friend Google has provided me with information that runs the gamut but one common theme keeps popping up: dreams of death can mean change. Major change. A fresh start. The death of a piece of the past and the birth of something new. Am I surprised? Not really. Scared? Shitless. I feel like these past 15 months have been nothing but change. I’ve had the biggest change I could imagine: the death of MFH. What other change could compare to that?
I’m not afraid of change. I’m not scared of different directions, new paths, a fork in the road. I’m not nervous about the intensity of my feelings missing MFH evoke. I know I have the skills to navigate all of it.
I do, however, wish that this restlessness would come to an end. I’m ready to move forward with more certainty.
I’m ready to be back on an even keel.
❤️
You’ll get on that even keel. More or less. New chapters are full of restlessness and it’s so hard to abruptly go from a totally satisfying life to a WTF life. I am grounded and yet I feel restless as well. like I should be doing more. More of what I have no idea, but perhaps sitting home, writing on the ipad on your blog that I just discovered isn’t enough. But it feels right.
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