Eagle-96

YES. Grief fights dirty. Very dirty.

It's so hard to ignore the self doubt. I know in my heart how great our marriage was. I know what we meant to each other. I know the love we shared. But then that doubt sneaks in. It's a hard emotion for me to handle because while Lori was here, I wanted only the best for her in every aspect of life. It's that "Could have done more" mentality. I just have to work through it until I realize that I WAS enough. It's gonna take time.

I think we both know how good we were to our wives. There's just too much evidence in our favor. Deep down we know, but that devil sitting on our shoulder whispers in our ear that we were not enough. That we didn't do everything we could have. It seems that my future is just an existence of living in the past and searching for the Sean she fell in love with. Searching for the realization that I loved Lori as hard and as much as I could and that I was enough. Maybe I'll find that Sean again but he's hiding right now and I'm not sure he wants to be found.

I wish I had the words right now but I don't. It is hard to wrap my head around so much grief for one person to absorb. Butch, I am heartbroken that she is gone and know that I mourn along side of you as you begin this journey.

That is where I am at right now. The thoughts race through my head that I should have told her I loved her more. I should have told her how beautiful she was more often. I could have been a better husband. I know I am just beating myself up for no reason but my heart just won't listen to my head.

Thinking of you Mitch. I hope for nothing but the best for your brother-in-law.

I'm not sure grief ever really releases. It never really leaves us. My cousin is approaching three years since she lost her husband to suicide. She said that she still thinks about him every day and still grieves the loss but she also feels that she can have something that at least approaches joy in her life. That's what we have to shoot for. Some joy. Some happiness. Some smiles. Some laughter. There will be sadness and tears mixed in to be sure but hopefully the mix will swing in our favor with time. We will never go back to the person we were before we lost our soulmates. We are changed forever, and that's ok, but we CAN find something that approaches joy.

Grief is like living with Mike Tyson. He sits in the room over in the corner. Most of the time he's silent but every now and again he whispers "Lori". When he's really angry with me he he jumps up and starts punching me. Sometimes just a couple of blows to make sure I know he's there. Sometimes he pounds on me mercilessly. Blow after blow. He doesn't care what I'm doing or where I'm at. He's always there and always ready to pummel me day or night.

It makes me reflect on how I acted when I heard of co-workers, friend's relatives, or acquaintance passing away. Did I say the right things. Was I compassionate. Did I use platitudes. It's strange to think that people have a 50/50 chance of ending up in our shoes one day and they don't even see it coming.

Even if we posted the right-hand picture to describe what grief is like to those who have not gone through it they would still see it as the left-hand picture. Everyone on the outside desperately wants grief to be linear. They want so badly for us to have a set time-frame with pre-determined steps so that we can get back to being "ourselves". The truth they don't want to hear is that we will never be ourselves again.

That doesn't make you selfish. It makes you human.

I envy them as well. To know that there grief, while intense, only lasted a few weeks makes me both jealous and happy for them. I am so glad that Lori isn't here. That she doesn't have to experience the despair that I do. I prayed many times during our marriage that If someone had to go first then I wanted God to take Lori so that I could take the pain instead of her. And now that I know the intensity, I am glad she doesn't grieve for me.

Alive? Here maybe, but not really alive. Not living like we used to be anyway. It's kind of like hearing the roll being called in school. We hear our name and answer "present". Being here or being present is the best we can hope for most days.

It's like we, who have lost our soulmate, are speaking a language that we each understand and speak fluently. Sadly nobody outside of this terrible club has a clue what we are saying and they can't learn our language until they are on this side of the fence.

I still go to our favorite Tex/Mex restaurant because we had so many great times there. I do not, however, go to our favorite sushi restaurant because we had so may great times there. There just doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to it.