Grief is relentless. Over the past couple of weeks, I felt as though some of the worst was on its way out. This morning grief told me in no uncertain terms just how wrong I am.
It told me there is no hope, no relief, no way to move forward, no reason – good nor bad – to think anything will ever change, that it is a permanent resident in my life and has no intention of ever moving out.
The pain and tears today lack the intensity of what I’ve endured the past several months. Instead, they contain a bone-deep despondency that I fear will loiter for the rest of my days. How do I cope with this?
A beautiful drive lacked the power to lift grief’s grip on my day. Redbuds spoke of the soft sweetness of Spring. Wild mustard glowed in the gentle sunlight. Broom sedge held the color of Fall as a reminder of the cycles of life. God’s beauty brought some peace to my heart but grief prodded my memory, bringing to the forefront Greg’s appreciation of God’s handiwork, and that I’ll never again share a beautiful Spring drive with Greg. Forcing me to acknowledge that I know I will never again share any part of my life with Greg.
So, I’ll back off on hope for a bit. Back off on doing things that strongly remind me of Greg, like a drive down scenic roads on a pleasant Spring day. Back off on considering the remote possibility of ever having another relationship. Regroup and start over on a life by myself.
I can survive this. I may not be happy. I may be lonely. I will yearn for all the little things that made up our life together.
In the end, I will survive, for I am strong enough.
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