Still Here...

So, after a year and a half, I figured I'd stop by and let y'all know that I'm still looking for my life.
I just read through the 4 posts I managed before I abandoned all hope of being able to keep up with this regularly. That first one is a real downer, isn't it? It was odd to read through a description of those final days. I'm kind of glad I put it here. It's not that I've forgotten, nope, not forgotten. Truth is, not a single day goes by that I don't think about that last day. It took me a year to go into a Wal Mart again, a full year. I am glad I put it here because it is honest.
Sad to say, much of my life isn't very honest. Oh, I wish it could be and, in a perfect world, it would be but, in case I need to remind you, we do not live in a perfect world. I manage to regularly put on a good show of resourcefulness, independence, and happiness. Sometimes I even manage witty Facebook status updates. But, for the most part, it is a show. I'm really still trying to figure this widow thing out.
In that first blog post, I mentioned that I screamed when the call came, letting me know that Ryan had died. The truth of today is that though I managed to convince my vocal chords to stop vibrating, though I convinced my diaphragm to stop forcing air out and to return to a somewhat normal breathing pattern, though I often convince my mouth to remain shut, I can still hear the screaming on the inside. Every moment of every day I hear that scream inside me. Every moment of every day I can feel the pain of loss which is not an "emotional" pain at all, but a real, physical pain. And I don't know how to make it stop. I can't make it go away.
I remembered the other day a verse from the book of Isaiah: you will remember the sorrow of your widowhood no more... (paraphrased). I know that verse wasn't written directly to me, but I asked God if he could make it mine. And then I asked him how long this would take. How long until I no longer remember?
And how does one forget? How does this happen?
I don't want to mislead you. There are moments of real joy and they always involve my children. They are the 4 most amazing people I have ever met. Incredible, really, and I take absolutely no credit for them. I promise you that none of my parenting techniques have warranted children like these. I am most simply blessed beyond measure. They make me smile, they make me laugh. There's no one in the world that I would rather be with than them.
Sarah turned 12 this month. She is my youngest. In 6 years, my children will all be gone. What will become of me? All my dreams for a future without children involved Ryan. I've not been able to make any others. I don't want any others, that's the problem. Acceptance is obviously a real issue here.
I realize that I must do something, have some sort of epiphany about life, or I'm not going to make it. I must find joy outside of my children, but how? How does one manufacture epiphany?
So frustrating.
So this is what it looks like, a year and a half out. It ain't pretty.
I mentioned in another blog post having my "5 minutes of normal" one day when I was leaving work. I do still occasionally have those, brief moments in time when I feel like a regular person. I wish they were more frequent. How do I get them to be more frequent? How do I get from here to there? I'm tired of grieving. I want to be done. I want to have reached full acceptance. I want to be happy. I want to have dreams and hopes. I want to live. I want to stop tiptoeing around this great hole in my life all day, and falling into it at night. I want to remember no more the sorrow of my widowhood. I want all these things, but I can't seem to get them.
But we keep trucking on.
The kids are amazing, as I might have mentioned. Joel's graduated high school and works in the deli with me. He's got a girlfriend. Nate's in high school, plays on the football team, and is a hurdler on the track team. He's got a girlfriend too. Jeremiah does kick boxing and is looking forward to joining Nate in football next year. Sarah is still my princess, even if her brothers roll their eyes everytime I say that. They seem to be doing just fine and for that I am extremely grateful.
One day I hope to have figured this all out. One day I hope to come back and announce that there's been an epiphany. Until then, keep me in your prayers. And if you ever meet someone who is a widow(er), remember what you've read here. Remember that this pain is a real pain. Remember that even if they're smiling on the outside, there's no guarantee they're not screaming on the inside.
One of these days, I'm going to find my life. I know it's around here somewhere...