Purgatory ...

I took a full month off this summer in anticipation of the painful time brought on by the second year anniversary of Bill's death.  Overall, it was a very wise move.  I did not, nor could I have anticipated the truths that would come from being quiet in my walk with grief.  The biggest truth of all is that I am lonely.

One can argue that loneliness is inherent to grieving; I agree with this argument.  However, this loneliness hurts in a very different way.  My loneliness associated with grieving Bill is more a sense of yearning.  I love Bill so much but he is physically gone - I yearn to have him by my side.  I need Bill so much but he is not here physically - I yearn to have him back to help me with this.  I still grapple with the fact that this is just not fair.  I love, miss and need him so much and I am lonely because I yearn for his physical presence.  This I have come to accept because he is a gift and I accept to walk this journey because of our love.

This new loneliness is different.  It is a kind of loneliness that plagues me; a loneliness that says "I am alone in the world."  At the end of the day, I feel like I have walked through my day without actually being part of it.  I feel disconnected from those who share my existence and with myself while being engaged in living my life.  I find myself wondering if anyone even really gets how much I still feel the pain.  How could they?  I'm quite good at being the "good little griever"; my actions are governed by my thoughts of, "I don't want to bring anybody down," or "I need to be strong for my family," or "Nobody wants to hear about this anymore," or my favourite "They think I am fine, why burden them?"  It is no wonder that they have lost sight of my pain or have not lost sight of it and would rather not open my wound because I seem to be doing okay.

This loneliness is not about losing Bill.  It is about the real physical need for touch.  The need to sit with a cup of java in the morning to plan the day and the glass of wine at the end of the day to share the day's events.  To have that one person who is vested in me and I in him.  To have someone on my side when  life has handed me a lump of coal and that same someone who knows me well enough to gently balance my perceptions when I was in the wrong.

I wonder sometimes if this my own purgatory ... time spent between two loves.  In this is hope.  It is about having known a great love; a love so pure that makes it worth risking to love again despite the reality that I may one day again walk this journey with grief.