Abandonment and Betrayal, I find those most painful emotions must be felt, looked at and recognized for what they are…abandonment and betrayal…the rawness of it. A present reality that springs forth the hurt of years past that have not been given their due.
As a recent widow, coaching women who have experienced devastating loss, I’m very aware of the impact of these disruptive emotions on my everyday life.
The flood starts in my heart and spreads to my throat and solar plexus…hurts that are far too familiar. The depth of suffering and loneliness calls forth tears. Tears of hurt, anger and helplessness.
I have to stop and remember how to go on.
And so I stop and feel what I’m feeling, acknowledging the reality of my pain and hurt…when I call them by name in gut-wrenching honesty…when I don’t run away because of their power…or feel guilty for their potency…or strike out in anger, but instead embrace them and give them their due, healing begins.
It’s not a solitary road though. I need a friend…a friend that sees me and hears my deepest longings and guides me along my way. In fact, I need two friends, one from above and one right here on earth. I am blessed to have both.
As the shock of these shouting emotions subside, anger melts into deep sadness. Betrayal and abandonment are seen in their reality of fear.
Death has happened to my husband, as it is abounding throughout the world. I am not alone. This can be a matter of character-building and honoring the seasons of life and death, the ebb and flow. It is not fixable. It is a crook in the road that can be used to celebrate life and death or used to keep a broken heart defeated and alone. It is a new reality.
It is a time of forgiveness. Forgiving myself for missed opportunities to express love to my husband and forgive him of the same. It is forgiving circumstances, and events, and poor choices, and giving up on dreams that could have been. It’s a time of great activity and pushing forward as well as it is of rest and sleeping on the couch curled up with my dog…who missed him, too.
It’s one step at a time. Often two steps forward and one step back. Sometimes it’s staring of out the frosted window, reliving the past in moments of incredible clarity. It’s all good. I will mourn until the mourning is complete. Until I am complete again.
For now, I’ll curl up with a cup of tea, heartfelt music, a warm comforter and give myself that sacred space that’s desperately needed for healing. Trusting that grace is mine, assured that the sun will come up tomorrow…maybe behind clouds but it’s there, all the same.
8 Jan 2017 (Written the day before what would have been my husband’s 76th birthday.)