I'm like a turtle: head out for a bit then back in. No matter how good it feels when I put myself out there, there I go. Run away. Play dead. I was getting a massage today and in the middle of the comfort and the silence I realized that I spend most of my time trying not to feel. I talk about feeling. I get angry about everything. (I'm having a no complaining day tomorrow - wish me luck!) I watch DVDs, do amazing things but I keep my mind so busy I don't have time to be mindful.
Even three years later I can't take it in. I can't absorb the shock. I talk to him. I talk about him. I take off my wedding rings, I put them back on. I did this lovely thing for the third anniversary of his death. Inspired by Kelley Lynn who had pay it forward day for her husband Don, I had An Act Of Kindness Day For Artie. I wrote about it, posted it on Facebook, e-mailed it. some people did some amazing things to - as I asked - keep Artie's smile going. I was so happy reading what people did that I forgot to be sad. I tried not to feel sad about the folks who didn't respond. Then I couldn't sleep all night. Another lag in writing the blog. The funny but true statement that the problem with leaving everything to the last minute is that the last minute isn't long enough.
Me? Having some great moments but overwhelmed, stalling, trudging through quicksand. Trying to keep Artie's smile going. Heady, romantic stuff that. The problem is Artie doesn't have a smile. He doesn't have a face. He has his spirit, I have his spirit. No matter how much I say, "I know he's dead.", I'm afraid to stop keeping my mind so busy that I am present enough and brave enough to really feel what I feel about his death. I don't know what that means yet. I'm at a health spa in California. No DVDs, no sugar,no busyness. Will I be able to be? I am so proud of being Mrs. Arthur Warner. Who am I now? Who is Jan without Artie? Without alive Artie?
This week I'm going to try to take another step. Writing, which I want to do, and don't, taps into my unconscious. My dreams, often of searching and not finding, do too. I have to be willing to grieve on a whole different level to become honestly unstuck. Without techniques and showing up and constantly soothing and medicating myself. Just being me out of my comfort zone. Me on earth with a husband who isn't. Mindfulness in the true sense. Being present. Seeing beauty alone. Enjoying it, maybe. Listening to my own inner silence without crumblings or doing my favorite thing - being snarky. If I feel like I'm lost in the wilderness, wandering there for a while instead of...what? I'm not sure. All the same, hold on. Here we go. "Come back!" I say. "I can't. I love you but I can't come back." he says.
So...for now...I go on alone. Our constant paradox. Always alone even if never alone. I believe we can do it. We can learn how. xo
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