As with some of the many unfair daily realizations a person faces with loss, it seems inhumane that the torment of guilt and doubt must be among, and cover over, every other emotion.
I feel guilty when I grieve too much. . .or too little. I doubt if my emotions are lining up they way they are 'suppose' to be. I doubt my sanity at times (and from someone who doubted her sanity at times prior to my loss you can imagine my uneasiness in the face of this). I feel guilty when I feel good, when a day passes and the images of him from that day haven't been around to haunt me. I feel scared I am losing him, forgetting somehow. I get pangs of fear when I pull inside myself for a moment and feel unsure if I even remember the feel of his skin. . .remember the warmth and comfort that accompanied our touch. I remember how I laughed with him; an unconscious and unhindered joy by simply occupying the same room, but yet I can't remember the words he used to bring those feelings up inside me. I know he filled a room with his presence, for I have told the story of how this was what first brought me to him time and time again, and yet without him here I begin to doubt my story. If Matt could fill up a room by simply entering it, why is there no one else like this? Maybe I simply made the whole thing up.
I fear my sadness, the grieving process itself. The more time that passes, the more real it becomes, and the absolute truth that it will arise within me, and take me over, becomes harder and harder to avoid. I feel at times that there should be a sense of romance to the grieving process. I picture the widow who loved her young husband so dearly sobbing quietly into her pillow it night, their wedding photo near, all while listening to their song. But that is not grief, that is a poorly staged Lifetime movie. My grief of Mattyo is in my gut, it is dark, ugly, and it has no end. The cries that come out from within me are painful, the sound like nothing I've ever known. The anger of why this would happen. The fear of untruth in those who say God's purpose and plan for me will be shown.
I want to believe God's will is for us to live life now, to understand that the kingdom is not somewhere we are going (although we will), but more importantly it is under our feet as we speak. Jesus spoke these words time and time again. Those with ears. . .right? So I'm determined to open my ears to my Savior, open my soul to His Spirit, and open my mind to the possibility that even though life here as it looks right now is not what I would have chosen, He still longs for me to start living eternally in this very moment. I am being refined, we all are. If you feel as though you aren't maybe you aren't listening closely enough. And I'm certain that in order to do this work within me I must grieve Matt. I must allow in the pain that I want so desperately to push away. I must stand firm that eternal life starts here and now. That death here happens, and regardless of whether or not that will change for us in that next place, it does not give us a ticket to ignore our complete refinement in this life.
So, I'll let it in. Ugly, dark, painful. I will lose what I thought I 'knew' certain. I will continue. And when the world seems too overwhelming to handle, I will walk out into my yard, I will take my shoes and socks off, I will sink my toes into the soil, and I will remember. . . .Heaven is going on, right here, right now.