1 year. 1 year. 1 year. How many times will I have to write it for it to sink in. It won’t, until it does. There is no magic number. There is no magic pill to take this all away. It’s here. It’s staying. Because he couldn’t.
Fair warning, I’m pouring my heart into this. It may get ugly… I have ugly parts. I’m not quite sure what is going to come out and I’ve promised myself I’m not going to edit it. Free will means you can read as much as you like and STOP when you want. It also means you can say anything you want… As much as I think I’m a big girl and I can handle it, I am going to ask that you listen to your momma… If you don’t have anything nice to say, say nothing. This is my grief journey. Yours will be different. I’m sharing for the ones who will find a piece of it they can hold onto.
When John first passed, I couldn’t find any rhyme or reason to anything. So I stopped looking for it. Purpose became a silly thought. To have it, to know it, all of it. Some might call this depression. I started taking the moments as they came. But I didn’t feel. I wanted to and pushed myself to feel the deepest of my feelings. Before I knew it, before I was ready, there was more rhyme and reason to my life than I knew what to do with.
Daily, I was overwhelmed with things… Events, thoughts, words said… just making sense. I felt every emotion you can think of and many I couldn’t name. The one I felt the most, was love.
John’s love.
He loved me. He loves me. Past and present.
His love was intense and calm. Dangerous and safe. Unpredictable and steady. It was his. I can’t say enough how incredible it was to have the opportunity to be loved by John.
My biggest fear was a selfish one (but isn’t all fear?). I feared not being loved by him. I feared forgetting his love. I feared not knowing what to do with my love for him. Me, me, me.
Slowly, as I opened myself to his love now, he showed me more and more.
The whole time he was alive he wanted certain things for me…
He wanted to be able to take care of me. In every way.
He wanted me to be happy. Even if it meant not being with me.
He wanted me to shine. To uncover the light I held inside. To breathe. To live. He wanted to see me become the greatest version of myself.
I wasn’t very good at letting him take care of me. I’ve always been independent and it gives me satisfaction to be able to take care of myself. But letting him take care of me wouldn’t have taken away my independence… It would have made me vulnerable and brave.
If you asked me then, I said I was happy. With or without him. Happier with. But FEAR. Damn fear. I could have been happier.
Probably the question I was asked the most by John was “what are you so scared of?”. Daily. More than once a day. I’d ask him why he wanted to change me. I’d tell him I was never going to be that way. I’d say it’s just the way I was. Scared. A scaredy cat. “I don’t know” I’d say.
He didn’t want to change me. He just wanted me to be unapologetically ME. He wanted me to breathe fully. To let go of trying to control everything out of fear. Most importantly, he wanted me to live. Not for him. For me. He saw the greatness inside of me. He wanted me to see it too and share it with the whole world.
He wanted me to let my badass light shine.
What was I so scared of? I was afraid of being seen. I was afraid of being big. I was afraid of the power within me.
Heartbeat.
It’s a powerful sound. A sound you can feel with your own heart. If you think of all the intricacies of the heart and what makes it beat… I’ll leave it at that. John’s heartbeat is a sound I listened to often. One of my favorite parts to memorize of him. One of the many thoughts I had after he died was “I don’t get to feel his heartbeat ever again.” I learned just how much I relied on the sound and the feeling to pull me back to earth. To help me find a steady pace when I let my thoughts spiral out of control.
I never tried to find a reason for why I did it so I didn’t know all of this. It wasn’t a conscious dependency. It was natural. It was a place I let myself be vulnerable. A time I was brave enough to let him take care of me. I know he knew though.
When John first died, I was in a fog. Nothing mattered. Making any type of decision was next to impossible. Getting out of bed took time. I’d sit and stare at my feet willing them to go ahead and hit the floor. Eventually they would, but then I’d forget what came next. Getting dressed. Right. Cue the staring and no thoughts entering or leaving the mind again. Time was completely irrelevant. I don’t know how long this lasted. I don’t know how long I stared at my feet willing them to move. Or how long I lay there telling myself I could get up. I’m better now, but some days I catch myself staring and not moving or thinking.
I’m better, but I can’t tell you very much about how I fill my days. I don’t know. I’m sure I fill my days with meaningful stuff, but I don’t know how the days come and go.
Time is still irrelevant. The fog is still here. I don’t think it will ever go away. It’ll change shapes, it’ll shift, it might even lift for a while, but it will always be there.
Grief is this way. John is this way for me. He changes shape and shifts to meet me now. He knows no time.
Please don’t tell me to move on. To get over him. Or that continuing to love him will only make my pain worse. That any of this will prolong my healing process.
Grief doesn’t go away, John isn’t either. Feeling my grief will not cause me more pain, neither will loving John. Through my never ending journey of leaning into my grief and holding tight to it’s hands while it takes me places I never dreamed I could or would go, my healing is taking place. My healing won’t ever be finished though, because this hole will always be here. It’s here to stay, because he couldn’t.
I struggled with how to explain to people who John was to me. The terms that people can relate to, just don’t fit. Boyfriend, best friend, my person, love of my life… they aren’t enough. I wanted you guys to relate. I didn’t want to be alone.
I struggled with who I was. I’m not a widow by definition, yet this is the group I most relate to, or so I thought… I later realized I don’t fit here either.
I don’t fit anywhere. I am alone. No matter how hard I tried to find a box to put myself in so that I could be with people who get THIS, it’s not going to happen. So I scattered myself into many groups. I took every label off. I let what was and what is remain nameless. I’m not going to define it. It is too big, too great, too precious to be given boundaries.
Right before the memorial service for John, I looked around and everyone had their person… Not couples, but everyone had someone. I didn’t. The room swirled around me. The people’s voices distant. I wanted my person. I wanted my hand to hold. My person to hug me and tell me it would all be okay. I wanted to walk into the service with my person. The music started and I tried to run away. Literally. My Granny didn’t let me. She wrapped me in her arms and told me I could do this. My mom was next to me a few short seconds later. Both of them holding me, saying with their actions that it would all be okay. I said I didn’t want to do this and they said they knew.
My Mom and my Granny… Together trying to be the person they knew I needed the most. Together knowing they couldn’t fill the space, but catching me anyways. I am surrounded by many wonderful people that love me beyond measure. I love them also. When I say I am alone, I haven’t forgotten about these people. I know, without a doubt, they are always here.
When I say I am alone, I mean I am without John. I have faced 365 days, many of which have been occasions that make the day harder, without John. 365 days I have faced alone. 365 days that I have said “I don’t want to do this without you. I don’t want to do this alone.” 365 days I have risen and done this alone. I have learned to walk into every situation alone and find my place.
I did everything I didn’t want to do. I faced all the days alone. I took steps all the times I didn’t want to. I took risks alone.
I didn’t look for someone to save me. I looked deep inside myself and learned how to love me. Me was all I had. My connection with John, our relationship, was only ours. I had to learn how to validate for myself that it was real, that the memories were there, that he is still here. That what I have now, is real too. I had to learn to be okay with knowing this, alone.
A couple months after John’s death I saw some beautiful places. Water was most entrancing. I would watch it and think about how nice it would be to let the current carry me away. I wasn’t scared. I could meet this thought head on. I could understand what it wanted. I would say to it, “I know”. And then I would daydream about seeing John and being with him again. This is all the thought wanted, to be with John again. To know that it could go to him if it needed to. So in my mind, I went to John. I spoke to him. I laughed with him. I remembered with him. I yelled and cursed at him. And I listened to him. I listened to him tell me all the ways I was here to live. All the ways I was here to love. I let him carry me.
I let him be the current.
His love now.
Is powerful. Perfect. Full. Where I failed in so many ways before, I now thrive. It’s different than when he was in body on earth. At first, I was scared of it not being the same. Slowly, oh so very slowly, I’ve learned of his love now. How to see it and feel it. What to do with it. And what to do with mine. I’m still learning. And I imagine I will continue to learn what to do with all of this as long as my heart is beating.
I have walked through a field painted red with wildflowers and known they were just for me.
I haven’t learned the words to tell you all the ways he loves me now. I may never as this too is too great, big, and precious to be given any boundaries.
One of the most used phrases by myself has been “I don’t know how to do this”. Over and over again. I don’t know how to do this. I’ve grown to be okay with not knowing. Sometimes I get overanxious and I want to fall to the floor and tell anyone who will listen that I don’t want to do this because I don’t know how. I’ve learned to quiet myself and listen for John’s love to wrap me up and hold me.
Sometimes I can’t hear him or feel him around, but it’s not him that’s left, it’s me that forgot to stay open. I retreat into a cave in my mind where I don’t grow or love or live. I’ve learned to recognize for myself that I’ve gone down and I know how to be still. How to become present. How to feel the peace that surrounds me if I let it. If I let it…
All of the hope and joy, peace and love that I experience, is only around if I allow it.
Through every darkest day, I have found reasons to laugh.
I have laughed at the most inappropriate times. I have said the most inappropriate things, and then laughed at them. I’ve found a new sense of humor, that I suspect was there all along and John knew it.
I have laughed when I wanted to cry, or yell in anger and sadness. I have laughed at pain, physical and emotional.
I have made others laugh countless times.
I have laughed. I’ve lived. I’ve loved. And I’m just getting started.
I have felt joy. With the deepest parts of my soul, I have felt it. I have known it when it is there and not when it is already gone. I have experienced an abundance of overwhelming moments full of love, joy, and peace. I have heard the birds sing. I have seen the butterflies dance.
I heard this lyric the other day. It’s a song I’ve heard many times, but this time I heard it differently. He’s all around me, trying every which way to show me his love…
“I’d die for her, she’d live for me.”
I can think of a million reasons to still have John be here in body on earth… But I know him and I know, in every way I want to say you had no right to choose this for me, he did anyways. Because he did, I vow to live. When it isn’t enough to live for me, I’ll live for him.
To all the people, my people… The ones that have held me up in all the ways I couldn’t hold myself. Who have made an extra effort to make me laugh or to make sure I know I’m loved. Who have been brave enough to reach out to me not knowing what they might get back. The ones who have been steady for me when I didn’t have the strength. The ones who have stayed. The ones who have listened to me for hours. Who have encouraged me to keep living. Who have gone beyond how are you and asked me about John. Those that have willingly come into the space with me. To all of you, my greatest love.
Olivia 💜
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