Breathing Again

I think I made it through the valley of the shadow of death, because that's what it felt like. I crawled out the other side broken, with pain down my back and in my chest every time I took a deep breath. I guess that can happen with the depth of my grief and the fact that I pretty much cried every day for 36 days. My hubby kept trying to tell me to stop grieving because I was making myself sick. More than once he wanted to take me to the ER. If I thought I had heart attack symptoms I surly would have gone. At first I thought, "Who cares, at least if I died I could see her again." And then I realized that was too permanent and not a good solution, so then I worried that I actually would die of a broken heart, like Debbie Reynolds when Carrie Fisher died.

Reading some comprehensive articles about grief helped me come to terms with it. Understanding that my scary thoughts were pretty normal helped. Knowing that I wasn't actually going to physically do something dangerous helped me to realize that I was just going through a horrible process. It also helped me to understand that my grief is a process that is dynamic and changing, and as long as it was changing then I am doing OK, because eventually the change will be to the better, and if not, if I get stuck, then I know to get help.

I see my doctor tomorrow. My chest is still a bit congested. I want her to check me out.

Going back to Harrington Beach was a turning point. It was the last nature walk with my daughter, on May 5, 2017, 26 days before she died. Hubby and I decided to go last Saturday. It was sunny and pleasant. Hubby was about halfway there when he noticed tears rolling down my face. He almost turned around to go home. I told him "No, let me work through this, I will be OK by the time we get there." He had doubts, but I was OK and we enjoyed our walk.

Yesterday I was able to look at my daughter's former apartment and I was OK. I was able to talk about her without tears.

The new friends I found at the showing didn't pan out. We are friends on Facebook, and we say "Hi" at Walmart, but that's about it. I understand. I'm not my daughter. I couldn't replace her in their lives. They can't replace her in mine, nor did I expect them to. It would have been nice to have some friends, but right now grief is in the way. People just want to get on with their lives, they don't want reminders. I have Facebook friends. I have my husband. I have my daughter in Indiana and her hubby and his two kids. They are most precious to me, and I am making a concerted effort to look forward.