left behind

As I lay in bed the other night, I realized that:

No one will mourn when I die... not the way someone who has lost their other half mourns.
No one will touch my pillow and miss seeing my face there.
No one will gently touch the clothes left in my closet and bring them to their face, trying to remember my scent.
No one will feel the emptiness in the house, every minute of every day.
No one.

But that is okay... because I wouldn't wish these feelings on anyone.

Not yet

I know I should donate the contents of this closet. That is what my head tells me, but my heart... my heart will break again if I go through theses clothes, folding each sweater or shirt and placing it into a box. Others have offered to do this for me when I am ready and I may have to accept. There is no rush, I don't need the space; it's just that they are fine clothes and there are those who are in need.

I wonder if there is a tiny part of the grieving heart that believes everything should stay exactly as it was, just in case...

Yes, I should fold these clothes and give them away, but not just yet...

breathing

In the book I am reading, there was a mention of a line from "Moby Dick" which began with the phrase "At last the anchor was up...". It occurred to me that is how I am feeling these days. Grieving is a bit like being held motionless, while the rest of the world sails onward.

But lately, it seems like I have begun to make progress in moving forward. The small steps have me taking deeper breaths... feeling as though the anchor's hold is weakening.

watching her

What grief counselors tell you:

"It's okay to cry."... I knew that.
"No one can take my grief away."... I knew that.
"Everyone grieves in their own way."... I knew that.
"There are stages of grief."... okay, if you say so.

It all feels the same to me.

It feels heavy. It feels as though I have been set adrift.
I'm not drowning, just drifting further away from what I knew as safe and comfortable.

The dance that was my life has stopped. The days and nights pass... and the calendar pages turn, but I do not own this new life.

What has the cardinal to do with all of this? I am not a bird expert, but I have observed that the male cardinal is never far away from his mate. He watches as she feeds, usually going in to the feeder in advance... making sure all is safe before he calls to her.