At the start of each day, I always find myself longing for my husband and cry to sleep at night. If pillows were alive, they would have drowned in tears. I always ask for God’s mercy for His daily comfort and peace in my prayers and tell my husband how much I love and miss him very much. It will be his 6th month in heaven in five days, and I am still having a difficult time moving forward with him. I still feel the heaviness in my heart, knowing that the only ones that get me moving are his memories, and the more I think of him, the more I miss him.
Missing someone you love and love you in return with the same intensity is a different kind of pain. As days and weeks and months passed by, I thought I had loved my husband more than he loved me, but as these days unfolded, I began to discover that he loved me just as I loved him and perhaps even more. These revelations are the ones that keep me from loving, appreciating him more.
We know that my husband was not perfect, but my children and I witnessed that he was a man of words and remarkable to the people who knew him well. It just saddens us that he was not given that much time to others who knew him otherwise. We will continue to honor this version of him. He is not here to defend himself, explain himself, or do things to make things right, especially to those who were offended or hurt by him. We grieve for the person he was to us despite his flaws.
Our hearts are torn to pieces but at the same time leaps with joy and gladness because he lived serving and loving the Lord.
Grief gets better with time; it is not because you have exhausted your all through the tears and emotions and eventually forget how the pain felt but because the grief was already embedded in your life. It is the price of loving. You get used to the heartache; you learn to live with it. I believe that the depth of grief reflects how deep the relationship was, not because of the guilt, past hurt, unfulfilled promises, and would have been, though they add fuel to the grief.
I am still scared of many people. I tremble at the sight of them, but I am coping well by God’s grace as I start to attend Wednesday worship services. I began to adjust to seeing people around, but I still do not like to show myself; I still stay away from them. My whole body trembled when we were presented for church membership. I had to hold on to my children while we were in front with many pairs of eyes on us. I tried to appear calm and confident, but it was just a show-off; I believe those who knew what was going on with me are holding on for me, for us that time. I still do not like people to see me. I do not want to be pitied nor judged upon or to see me weak. It is a form of defense mechanism, which could be because of the label “widow.” My husband’s loss gave me that new title. A title no one ever wants and I am not taking it either. I do not want to be even labeled as such. I am still very much married and will forever be. This is what I told my husband during our usual conversation every time we know of a widow or widower getting married again.
November 1 and 2 are looming while the world celebrates the so-called All saints and all soul’s day; we don’t celebrate the day as such; we will set aside the day as a special Memorial Day for my husband, that he once lived, loved, and walked in this life with us and will never be forgotten. Our life and home will never be the same again. Our house has been silent and empty since we moved. We tried to be happy by remembering the good times with him, but we ended up quiet after and went on with our daily chores. My children know how much I grieve for my husband, and they understand. At first, they pushed me hard to move forward because they could not bear me seeing sad and eventually got used to it.
My memories of my husband are what keeps me. Often, I look forward to signs, just as the first dream I had with him during my early part of grief. I had some share of random dreams that kept me going through the day. He always assures me of his love and affection in my dreams, just as he used to when he was still here. I know dreams are things of the past, but it somehow gives me a sense of relief and comfort from this grief, and they appear during the times I least expected but badly need it.
I know my husband knew me to be strong-willed; he never doubted that; I also know that he would want me to make an effort to work with my emotions because this is what is putting me in a difficult situation. If he is with me right now, he will remind me to control my feelings although, he will also allow me to cry and feel pain.
My long-term (and short-term) comfort will be the assurance that I will see him again, but for now, I live one day at a time by God’s grace.