Spring Time
So I always used to look forward to spring time. New beginings, a fresh clean smell in the air, green grass. Spring is beautiful. It's like the light at the end of the tunel we call winter. Spring has always been a symbol of new life for me.
This year is very, very different.
It's so beautiful here in Phoenix. I mean, it's picture perfect. (Sorry Ohio, I know you are not there yet) There are flowers on the trees, bright blue skies with no clouds, and it's about 75 degrees everyday. It makes me want to call off work and spend every moment outside. I want to walk barefoot in the grass, take a blanket and a book to the park, hike and rollerblade. It inspires me and makes me feel ready for anything. There is no room at all for complaining or feeling down when you are surrounded by such beauty.
But the wierd thing is, the flowers, the smell of the air, the blue skies and sunshine; they all remind of where I was at this point last year. It's coming up on a year since Michael's death, and with that comes a rush of memories and emotion that I have not felt in a very long time.
Last year was so strange. After Michael died I felt a range of emotion. There were obviously nights of overwhelming lonliness and emptiness. Days I didn't want to get out of bed because I couldn't stand the thought of a day without him. And then there were times I felt ready to face the world head on, no matter what that meant or where it took me. Days I wanted to embrace my situation, as horrible as it was, and prove to myself and to everyone else that I could survive it.
Well, I did survive it, but not without many, many stumbling blocks.
I think thats the strangest part of the grieving process. It's such a roller-coaster. The smallest thing can trigger a painful memory, and two minutes later you can hear a song on the radio and feel ready to face the world again. It's like the most extreme feeling of being completely out of control. What I wanted was a step-by-step manual of how I would grieve. I wanted someone to tell me that week one I would feel this, week two I would feel this, week thirty I would feel this. Ha. That didn't happen.
So today as I was driving to work, I began thinking how wierd it was that the smell in the air could cause my mind to think as many things as it did. I felt sad. And happy. And hopeful. And then sad again. I never realized you could feel so many different emotions at one time. In a matter of seconds I went from missing my husband, to being homesick, to feeling hopeful about my future, to enjoying the weather, to thinking about how I was going to afford my move back home.
The next few months are going to be another big hurdle that I will have to get over. I have so many things to look forward to, but as I have learned in the last few days, so many painful things that will come back to me. I have to prepare myself for rough days. I have to embrace the good days. And be thankful that I have the opportunity to live through both.
This year is very, very different.
It's so beautiful here in Phoenix. I mean, it's picture perfect. (Sorry Ohio, I know you are not there yet) There are flowers on the trees, bright blue skies with no clouds, and it's about 75 degrees everyday. It makes me want to call off work and spend every moment outside. I want to walk barefoot in the grass, take a blanket and a book to the park, hike and rollerblade. It inspires me and makes me feel ready for anything. There is no room at all for complaining or feeling down when you are surrounded by such beauty.
But the wierd thing is, the flowers, the smell of the air, the blue skies and sunshine; they all remind of where I was at this point last year. It's coming up on a year since Michael's death, and with that comes a rush of memories and emotion that I have not felt in a very long time.
Last year was so strange. After Michael died I felt a range of emotion. There were obviously nights of overwhelming lonliness and emptiness. Days I didn't want to get out of bed because I couldn't stand the thought of a day without him. And then there were times I felt ready to face the world head on, no matter what that meant or where it took me. Days I wanted to embrace my situation, as horrible as it was, and prove to myself and to everyone else that I could survive it.
Well, I did survive it, but not without many, many stumbling blocks.
I think thats the strangest part of the grieving process. It's such a roller-coaster. The smallest thing can trigger a painful memory, and two minutes later you can hear a song on the radio and feel ready to face the world again. It's like the most extreme feeling of being completely out of control. What I wanted was a step-by-step manual of how I would grieve. I wanted someone to tell me that week one I would feel this, week two I would feel this, week thirty I would feel this. Ha. That didn't happen.
So today as I was driving to work, I began thinking how wierd it was that the smell in the air could cause my mind to think as many things as it did. I felt sad. And happy. And hopeful. And then sad again. I never realized you could feel so many different emotions at one time. In a matter of seconds I went from missing my husband, to being homesick, to feeling hopeful about my future, to enjoying the weather, to thinking about how I was going to afford my move back home.
The next few months are going to be another big hurdle that I will have to get over. I have so many things to look forward to, but as I have learned in the last few days, so many painful things that will come back to me. I have to prepare myself for rough days. I have to embrace the good days. And be thankful that I have the opportunity to live through both.
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