It’s been 44 days since my world stopped turning. In that time I’ve attacked grief like I do most things in life. I made a plan. I enlisted experts. I set some timelines. And just like life sometimes does, those plans all went to hell. I would normally hit the hiking trail to work through it, but my state is on fire. It’s actually a perfect metaphor for my life right now…miserable, burning, smokey, out of control and no end in site.
What I’ve learned:
- We are a grief-phobic society. After the funeral people are very uncomfortable with your pain. They don’t know what to say, so don’t say anything. Or say the wrong thing. They try, but it’s too much for them to watch. Even the good ones who won’t leave you alone eventually get impatient with how long it takes.
- When your grief counselor says you have to “feel the feelings” in order to get better, they leave out the part where it feels like walking through the firey streets of hell all alone.
- It’s lonely. There are a few beautiful women who joined this awful club before me, and they have been amazing. They tell me it gets better. I trust them, but it is hard to believe.
- I’m not the same. I will never be the same. I need to accept that.
The Wandering Widow 
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