Journaling Through Grief

     After my husband passed away, I held it together until after the funeral, then my sister, Pookie, got an earful from me as she held me in my bed. At first it started with just fun memories, as the three of us used to go out together before I had kids, and after. Then it moved to memories that were just of our family unit. We giggled through tears, and then the sobs of despair came next. The sobbing that follows the realization of permanently losing the love of my life. The realization that I no longer have a partner to help me with our kids. That there is no longer someone to tag team with in regard to giving our kids "the talk" and teaching them how they should expect to be treated or how they should treat their respective partners.

    Then she came up with a brilliant idea: journal like you were writing to him.

    It took me a few weeks to start writing to him. I decided to date the entries I wrote to him, so that anyone reading it would know when the respective timeline of events. Sometimes I only write once a week, other times it's once a month, but I usually write several pages, front and back. I write about any difficulties I have with the kids, anything exciting, just anything that is typically in a journal, except it's written like a letter to him. 

    I don't know if there is really a heaven or hell, as I'm agnostic, but wherever his soul is, I hope he's comfortable, especially after so much pain he endured his last few days.

    Listening to some songs makes me cry, sometimes ugly cry, sometimes into a panic attack, sometimes softly into a beautiful memory. I get asked why I don't just change the song; it's because the song wasn't an issue until halfway through the song and I suddenly started paying attention again. By then I need to just go through the motions and "get over myself". Occasionally I hear the beginning of a song and I can change it before the singing starts, so it doesn't hit me, but I still get a little in my feelings, simply because it came up. When this happens, I usually get back to normal rather quickly.

    After panic attacks or being in my feelings throughout the day I usually have to write to him. I feel like I don't have enough words to tell him about what I felt and about how I felt, but looking at my journal entry and its four pages, front and back, I feel like I potentially got to the point. Or maybe I was just rambling and only touched on the subject.

    In fewer words, my little sister, who I lovingly call Pookie (my kids call her Tia Pookie), advised me to journal as if I was writing to my husband who was simply unable to receive calls, and it's the best advice I've gotten thus far. It helps me process things. I've been told to let his spirit go, to stop crying for him so he can be free. I can't stop crying for him, tough. As the quote (loosely) goes: Grief is the love I have left for the person that has nowhere to go. Okay, probably VERY loosely. 

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