autumn days

Sunday, January 15, 2017

Trusting the process

I have been meaning to write little snapshots of how I am coping with grief 10 weeks after my beloved partner's death.  Writing about my experiences is a way to focus in upon and release my processing.  Yet I find myself falling asleep with my children each evening, wrestling with the wee one all night, and waking to their morning sounds.  My brother-in-law suggests I get my work done after the kids go to bed....  There is no time in the day I am alone.  With children talking and asking for my responses (and food and clothing and attention), I haven't processed my grief in the ways I would with one hour alone each day.  I am so grateful for connecting with friends by telephone and email when I am so lonely for adult conversation.  We have had eight days cancelled due to snow and ice, meaning my two older children have been away from me only five of the last 33 days.  They will be with me for at least three more.  This explains why I feel unproductive and restless.  I know I am not alone in these feelings over the long winter days.

I am processing a lot in my grief.  So are my children and our extended family.  At one point near the bottom of my endless task list is to find professional grief counseling for my family.  There is so much to do before I even get down to that.  I have had so little time alone that I hid in the closet today to send emails.  (This would have been a radical statement for me before I had children.  Now it is what I do to be alone.)  My oldest then led the youngest in to bang on my door.  I am so grateful for getting to tackle small tasks while standing near my children.  When I sit, my three children descend immediately upon my lap.  I make time to sit and cuddle and connect.  I focus upon being present and available for them when they need me.  Everything in balance.  I have stood to sort my mother-in-law's seven boxes of photos, put away holiday décor, clear counters and doors, organize cupboards, and keep up with laundry and dishes.  I am now standing in the bathroom to type as my children make requests.  We do what has to be done.

As with so many other phases and imbalances in my life, when I start to hear myself complain, I remind myself to move into gratitude and trust.  I am grateful for the opportunity to talk about how things are going for our family.  I trust I will one day drink enough water, get routine exercise, eat a salad because I want to.  I trust I will get to the zillion tasks on my list.  I trust I will dust baseboards, wax the floor, and regrout counters.  I trust I will paint the deck areas I sanded when my wee one napped one day five months ago.  I trust I will be able to find loving homes for our unloved goods.  I trust the bills will get paid and the "dream home" completed and sold.  I trust we will love each other as much as we can manage.  I trust the icy snow will melt, these babes get on the school bus, and I will again believe in the possibility of homeschooling these children as they request.  I trust I will at some point be awake while my children are asleep, that I will make time to tackle my tasks, that I will get to that salad because I want to.  I trust these waves of grief will wash over and flow through.  I trust it will all work out.

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