Lost in a Wilderness

I am lost in a wilderness that has no landmarks, no trails to follow. I have no compass to show me how to navigate through this trackless land that is now my life.

I have seen no signposts. If I have expected one to appear, this wilderness shifts its axis, relocating me in new areas of loneliness and confusion, positioning memories to lead me further into uncharted territory.

I knew there was no easy path through grief. No GPS. No guide book listing points of egress. No sherpa to lead me to the top of a high mountain where I can see tomorrow and a way out of grief.

I did not expect this wilderness that has no logic, no rhythm, no rhyme. Nor did I expect a turnpike of four lanes, with some slight curves and a few steep grades that I could easily travel. 

I did expect tears and sadness, and to grieve from losing Greg until the end of my days. 

I did not expect to be thrown into this wilderness of grief by the simplest of things. A “How are you doing?” yesterday afternoon had me crying off and on the rest of the day. Tuesday afternoon, tales about Greg had me laughing. 

I receive clues on moving ahead. Some kind . . . Don’t sit home alone. Do something different. Get out and talk to people. Go shopping. Take a trip. Some blunt . . . Move somewhere else. Get Greg’s belongings out of the house. You can’t live in the past. And one that I consider hateful . . . He’s dead; get over him.

I have done the kind clues, without anyone mentioning them to me; they don’t lead me out of this wilderness. Our home is where I’m staying. I have given away some of Greg’s things; other things will stay with me. 

Get over Greg. There is no way that is possible. I will always love him and miss him, no matter what may happen in the future. Greg was my rock, my strength, my love. 

All I can do right now is to gather my strength and utilize it to wander this wilderness alone.

I will survive.