I find that life now is like a roller coaster, except that I'm blindfolded and I don't know what's coming until I'm already falling. Maybe it's kinda like space mountain... but not as fast.
I wish time would go faster. It's only my second day without him. It feels... so long ago.
Sometimes, it feels like every exhale is a silenced scream of anguish. Sometimes, I feel just fine. Back to baseline.
I want to let you all know that I do cry. I do not restrain myself and I do not put on any front for anyone. I'm actually having a hard time controlling other emotions as well... like anger or irritation. I can't open the floodgates to let my grief without also letting all the other stuff out as well. When you see me, I may be just as stoic as you remember me... but with slightly sadder eyes.
I'm not angry at God. I actually feel carried by Him. At this very moment (and day times are always better for me emotionally than night times), I feel like my heart is cradled in His hands and He's gently rocking it until it heals. I feel protected. Thank you for your prayers. My feelings are undoubtedly the product of the prayer-songs that are floating up into our Father's ears.
I have come to know more and more that the love that Anderson and I shared... was not a love that we could have contrived on our own. I feel mostly OK when I think that Anderson's been released and his soul is free. In a previous post, I considered that he shared my pain with me the moment before he passed... I take it back. He's endured considerably more pain than I have. Infinitely more pain than I have. He not only had his physical pain from the cancer... he also suffered his own loss of life, his loss of what could have been... separation from me... and he also suffered my pain for me as well. He always... ALWAYS comforted me and put me first. If he was crying, I would always cry too. And then he would stop and comfort me. He was comforting me right up to the very last days. And it was only on that Saturday... the night that I couldn't bear it anymore... that I ever prayed that God would deliver him by taking him to heaven. I prayed it before, but I never put my full heart behind it. It was always the #2 option. I wanted him to be healed so that I could be with him a little while longer. It was selfish. That Saturday was the first time that I truly prayed an unselfish prayer that God would take him home.
I'm reading through C.S. Lewis's A Grief Observed... as recommended by a friend. He writes about his thoughts and feelings after his wife passed from cancer. He also married her knowing that she had cancer. I really thought that it would speak to me more than it does... but when I read his thoughts... I feel like I can understand what he's feeling, but that his grief is still different than mine. It seems like he struggled so much more with God. I actually think that he was in much worse shape than I am.
All I want to do is talk about him and remember him. I want to have happy conversations reliving our best moments. I'm glad that things are starting to come back to me and I'm starting to remember the things we talked about and what he said about this and that. That comforts me.
I think I'm out of thoughts right now. Time for lunch.
WAIT! I have one more thought. I had a dream last night. It was a bizzaro dream... a combination of watching that reality TV show where the 10 strangers try to survive the end of the world scenario on discovery... something with werewolves... but anyway, he was in bed with me on a ventilator but it wasn't a real one... it was like the one they had in heroes where it was just hanging on his nostril... and he asked me how he was breathing and I remember looking at the ventilator and it said apnea (no breathing). I remember thinking... hm...it's amazing he's still talking to me if he's apneic. And then I woke up. It wasn't sad. I have weirdo dreams. I've always had weirdo dreams. I'm glad I got to interact a little with him, even if it was just a dream. I think this one tells me that I might be watching too much TV.