It's been 3 weeks.
I can't stop crying. I can't find any reason to go on. I know God must have a reason for keeping me here; but I certainly can't feel it. I still can't hear Him. I still can't feel Him.
I just want my Honey to come back. Really. I just want him back. I can't take this. I can't take this.
The problem with Grief Blogs and Widow Blogs is that only Widows read them.
So only widows know that what I am feeling is normal. That the fact that I absolutely have no reason to get out of bed in the morning, is not abnormal.
Everyone tells me... let's see, what do they tell me? He's in a better place. You'll see him again. Try to move on.Life is short. He's no longer in pain.
He wasn't in pain. He was doing GREAT! He was joking and laughing and doing GREAT on Saturday night! He was supposed to come HOME!
Not GO HOME, he was supposed to COME HOME!
He wasn't supposed to go there without me. We would go together when the Lord came back, or maybe if a tornado took us, the house, and the puppy dogs all at the same time ~ how wonderful would that have been!
I have found out that I am indeed a "young widow" (or 'widda'). I kept reading about young widows, and I felt and thought everything that they felt and thought, but I didn't know if technically I was a "young widow". I am. Young widows are defined as those who were widowed under the age of 60. So, I am a young widow. In heart and in fact.
I wish I weren't. I wish I were 99. Then I would know beyond any shadow of a doubt that I don't have much time left here. But no, I'm still young. And unfortunately, longevity runs in my family. I supposedly have all kinds of reasons to live.
I know I have to be thankful for what I had. I had the best marriage imaginable. I was blest beyond comprehension. I am so very very thankful.
But that does not ease the pain. It does not ease the mind-numbing, gut-wrenching, drive-you-to-your-knees, unbelievable physical PAIN.
Time does not heal. That is a lie from the pit.
God heals. But, as I said, I am not hearing Him or feeling Him.
I always thought that my faith would carry me through no matter what.
Perhaps it is; in that I have not driven off a cliff. It is my faith that keeps me from doing that. It is not even a consideration. I know God would not approve. And I know Kirk would not approve.
And so I get out of bed. I don't take a shower. I don't get dressed. But I get out of bed. At least so far I have.
I know, you have lots of advice for me. But, unless you have been widowed, you really really don't get it.
I thank God for those "widda blogs" or else I would think I was certifiable. Too bad only widows read them.
I have googled everything from "I don't want to live anymore after my husband died", to "When will I want to breathe again after my husband died", to "I want to crawl in the grave with my husband", to... you name it... and there are always plenty of results. I am not certifiable. It does help to know that I am not abnormal.
But it does not ease the pain.
When, oh when, is the Lord coming back?