Everyone is gone now. Life looks different from this perspective. Nothing else to plan, no more family to think about. I went to my first Grief Education Group today. Apparently I am doing everything right...or at least normally. too bad it feels so crappy. You would think doing it right would equal feeling good. Not so much.
There is a bookshelf in the group room and a title caught my eye, "Gray is the Color of Hope". I'm not sure what it was about, I didn't have the energy to look at the book. But I am intrigued by the title. I sure hope it's true, because the world looks pretty gray today. Outside it's gray and snowy and inside, well there isn't much color there either.
I stopped at the grocery and was going up and down the isles when I suddenly looked up and realized that there were all these people bustling around and it struck me that life is going on as normal for all these people. Or maybe not; but it looked like it and I remembered when I was one of them, life going on pretty much normal as I ran through the grocery store, hurrying to get home. I felt stripped bare, raw. I realized I am not walking around in the world the way I did when David was alive to come home to. I felt exposed and insecure. Not quite sure of my footing in this new landscape.
I remember writing on caringbridge about the new landscape of our lives and now I've turned a corner and find a newer landscape still. I can barely keep up and it takes all my energy to keep my footing. I don't have the ability to look around and find out where I am yet. One foot in front of another, head down, hope in the background, but muted, muted.
I didn't know it was possible to hurt this much. Not in quite this way.