I layed in pain this morning in the only position where 80% of the pain was subsided.  A position I can’t get into while working, driving, doing anything in my daily routine but sleeping.  I thought about the pain I was going through, then tried to refocus it, to ignore it.  Maybe if I ignore it, it will go away.  I prayed.  I cried.  I shouted, did anything I could to not feel it.

This is such a similar to post to one I would have written in the slow months after losing Kevin.  I prayed.  I cried.  I shouted, did anything I could to not feel it.  I was numb.  I’m numb now.  I was angry.  I’m angry now.  I was frustrated.  I’m frustrated now.  I prayed only out of a selfish need.  I pray only out of a selfish need now.

I hurt in ways I have never hurt before.  Then.  Now.

Maybe that’s what’s so scary about this?  The unknown.  Tomorrow I’ll get an MRI and maybe I will get some answers.  With the loss of Kevin there was no test I could take to see how far along I had come in my grief or how deeply enveloped I was in it.  It just hurt and that’s all that I knew.

Pain In and Out

I hate not having answers.  It amplifies the pain.  Not understanding Kevin’s death made it worse.  Not understanding my current pain makes it worse.

It’s a call to faith.  For someone to finally say to me “Brenda, this is your call to stop, slow down, soak it in, reach out.”  So I’m stopping, I’m slowing down, I’m reaching out and still I feel pain.  I’m not sure what’s next, but I know that with widowhood it took time and dedication to my needs to find some healing.  I imagine this will much the same.