Alone Doesn't Mean Lonely #widow #single #reality #spirituality

Grief and Self-Reflection

I've returned to myself after four years of noise that kept me from thinking. I filled my alone time with friends, earbuds blasting, playing the piano, singing, traveling, and even alcohol until I realized alcohol was not my friend. One or two is OK. Anymore, and I'm on the floor. Fortunately, I never did anything to be embarrassed of, well, maybe once or twice.  

When I shut down the noise, I began to remember things. Painful things, like the loss of my father, mother, brother, sister, mother-in-law, father-in-law, brother-in-law, adopted brother-in-law, and lastly my husband, not including friends, grandparents, aunts and uncles. None of which I have properly grieved. When you've got that much noise going on, it makes grieving difficult.  It makes thinking difficult. 

In early September I began a journey into myself.  Self-reflection is never easy, but I'd decided that I do not want to exit this life without knowing who I am, deeply and intimately. I have always held the belief that I have a purpose on this planet. Since humans are separated by physical bodies, I can never really know another person. I can try, I can listen, ask questions, probe, even learn from others, love intimately, but I cannot know another human being.

Who I can know, is myself.  

In preparing for this journey, I prepared myself for pain, well aware that I keep many things buried. I started slowly with a self-reflective exercise. I allowed myself to be alone with my thoughts for short periods of time. It is painful and it is one of the hardest things I have ever done. Gradually, I lengthened my thinking time. I spent Thanksgiving alone with pneumonia and I spent Christmas with family for a few hours then spent the rest of it alone. I will do the new year alone after having dinner with my kids.  Because it is uncomfortable for me to be alone, I questioned as to whether or not this was harmful. It wasn't. In just beginning this exercise, I already see the benefit. 

The Couch

I had a problem with my couch. I replaced it after Dennis died because the kids were uncomfortable in the living room. It wasn't the kind of couch I'd pick, but I did it for them. It's big, made of leather, has recliners and is filled with electronic devices.

When my husband was alive, he had his recliner, and I had the nice soft cloth couch I'd curl up in. When he was sick, I spent many nights sleeping there while he was in his hospital bed. Now I have the big leather couch that I hadn't laid down on since I bought the behemoth. I use the recliner, but it's not comfortable. 

Four years later and I decided to lay on the couch. This past Sunday, I mustered up my courage, rearraigned the pillows and actually laid on the thing for the first time, ever. I spent the entire day there. I relived memories, cried, relived more memories and eventually found peace for myself.  I also watched several movies. It was a good day. Though lonely. 

Grief is a strange emotion. It burbles up and down. Only someone who has experienced the grief of losing loved ones (which is everyone, right?) can understand the enormous burden it places on a human being. Grief is like a giant rock you carry around with you but as you get stronger the rock gets lighter. 

The rock has grown lighter. It is light enough now that I can begin to look back on myself and my journey. Grief is the strongest emotion I have ever felt. It is an amalgamation of all other emotions coupled with extreme loss. I literally did not know who I was. I had to rebuild my life from scratch. I did things I've never done before and said things I've never said before.  I've traveled to places I'd never considered going. I am putting myself back together bit by bit. I make mistakes. Lots of them. Especially in human relations. It was just my husband and I, the kids, and the grandkids. We didn't need anyone else. Consequently, I never grew in that direction. 

I have discovered that growing means making mistakes. You can't know what you don't know. I have misjudged people and probably have looked like a fool more than once. True self-reflection is a hard journey but the benefits it brings far outweighs the tears. I am discovering that I am enough all by myself. I can take care of myself, and I can nurture my creativity. I create my own safe space no matter who I am with. I expect no one to bring me peace as finding peace is my responsibility. It is not the responsibility of others. The only one who needs to approve of me, is me. 
 
This Christmas, I did some deep thinking about where I am spiritually. I am a lifetime serial spiritual seeker. I didn't settle down until about ten years ago. I love my church, and I love the people in it. This year, I went to church, I prayed, I talked with people, I laughed. I also mourned in silence.  I went to Christmas parties and enjoyed myself. I kept coming back to finding peace. I had a dream shortly after Dennis died. I dreamed Jesus held me on His lap and I felt the most overwhelming love pour through me. As I was starting to come awake, He said, "No matter what decision you make, I will love you forever." 

I still don't know what the decision was/is, but I remember that love. I felt it for several minutes after I woke up and missed it terribly when it was gone. I've never felt love like that before. I doubt I will feel it again in this lifetime. I had drowned out the message in fear and terror and noise.  A message meant to give me direction. 

Self-reflection is hard work, and it is doubly hard to do it alone. But I am always up for a challenge, and this is probably the smartest decision I've ever made. I am not advocating my grief path to anyone as it is rocky, and I am not yet done. Everyone finds peace in their own way. For me, I have far to go, much to be thankful for, and many things to be forgiven.  I found my peace in Jesus.  It had always been there, I just had to go quiet before I could hear His voice again.