Chicken Soup for the Soul

The more I deny my brain the right to remember and the right to processs, the harder it is to concentrate. From the beginning, I made a conscious decision to work hard to get to the other side and not to be the kind of widow who is still screaming and fighting what happened five years from now. I am entirely aware that there is nothing to be gained by maintaining my grief for a prolonged period of time. The guilt that comes with progress, however, makes letting go extremely difficult and very scary.

What I need to fight, isn’t the grief, rather my reluctance to deal with it. I need to submit to my grief on a moment by moment basis. It varies that quickly sometimes.

Tonight I am sad. Not depressed. Sad. I’m making my apartment-renowned chicken soup, which Chris raved about to his mother and possibly to others...but at least to his mother. I have butterflies in my stomach. I’m nervous. My heart is beating faster than usual. I’m sad. I know how foolish this is. it’s not like ceasing to cook all of the dishes I cooked when he was alive would make him come back. It won’t. Sometimes there’s a voice in my head that tells me I didn’t love him, because how could I continue to cook my chicken soup even though he’s dead? It’s mean. I’m going to hurt his feelings. I still feel like I’m going to hurt his feelings.

Today was so much fun. I woke up, drank some coffee, showered and took off to Malden for the Memorial Day parade that my sister and little niece and nephew were marching in. I adore them with everything I have and I was so proud of them today. The sun was out, finally. It was warm. I was with my father, step-mother, brother-in-law and his mother. Life was grand. The looks on my niece’s and nephew’s faces when they saw that I came to watch was worth the entire two hours that we waited for the parade to arrive. No. It was worh more than that.

As the day wore on, a sense of sadness and resignation began to seep into my being. How could I have had that much fun? How could I have felt that much joy? My husband is dead.

I have love in me. There are still people on this earth who enjoy my love.

Sometimes I need desperately to cry but can’t. The sadness is in me but the tears won’t come. It’s like having the dry heaves. My body needs to purge in order for me to feel better, but it just won’t happen. It’s like emotional purgatory and it’s a most unpleasant state to be in.

I wish he could come back. Healthy.