Friday, May 10, 2013

I seem to be back in a similar space that I was during the time David was in Solace.  I'm exhausted but can't really sleep.  I drift, my mind going in a thousand different directions, when I should be focused or better yet, sleeping.  When I was with him and he was dying, it made sense and felt almost normal.  Now it just gets in the way.  I am trying to find my way back to normal, I have to work and go to meetings and deal with life outside of the protected environment of the Solace Center.  This isn't really working.  But like so much else, I don't know what to do and I simply have to accept it and trust it and work with it.  There is a lot to be learned in this process, about control or the lack thereof. 

I had a meeting with the grief counselor today.  I am so very grateful for her.  Grief is what she DOES, everything I come out with seems to make perfect sense to her.  And she tells me the truth, which can be hard to come by.  "yeah, it sucks.  Yeah, it hurts, and it's gonna hurt for a long time.  Yep, this is some of the hardest work you will ever do."  And then she somehow helps me find something to hold onto.   

Today we were getting ready to do some difficult work and the begining of that process was to get in touch, as clearly as possible, with a "safe space."  You know, that place where you are calm, at peace, safe.  That magical place in your mind where  everything you need, you have.  For most of my life I have had a very specific place, I was on good terms with this space and could get there quickly and easily.  Today I noticed a great sadness in this space. Here is why: When I realized that even though I had told David, myself, everyone, that I had let him go, I really hadn't and I knew I was holding him back.  I had to find a way to let him go and the only way I could do it was to go to that place and mentally and emotionally keep myself there while I watched him walk away and into the light.  It was truly the hardest thing I have ever done and I had to leave the building after that or I would've taken it all back and held on as tightly as I could.  Two hours later he began actively dying and was gone four hours after that. 

That safe space made that possible, but it holds that moment for me and the pain of it.  I need to find a new place in my mind, my heart, my soul.  So many goodbyes and so many new beginings.  My heart breaks over and over again and I do not yet approach the new beginings with anticipation, only a weary sense of duty. 

Where is your safe space?  That place where your heart expands, your soul rests, and you are given the strength to face what needs to be faced? 

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