Just keep swimming

We’re coming up on 4 weeks. A month. A cycle of the moon. And one holiday is done and dusted. 

The good days are so...well, good. I feel pretty even emotionally, I have confidence that I will make it through this. 

The bad days are... the opposite. Up and down, leaking tears all day, fear about the future and how I will cope and whether or not I will be able to handle this process of grieving and healing in a healthy way, without falling into a pit of sadness. All I want to do is stay in bed with my cat or watch stupid TV. Or disappear into the mountains for a month of solitude and sleep and beauty and crying alone on a porch as the snow falls. 

So laundry piles up, bills aren’t getting paid on time, I’m scattered and leave the grocery store with strange combinations of food. But we have food, so that’s good. And I’m putting some systems in place to help me keep up. And I’m determined to keep on living, because Matt would be pretty angry if I didn’t. He’d give me that look and say something that anyone else would find incredibly rude, but I’d smile and know he was actually saying, “I love you. Be strong.” 

The emerging Christmas lights and carols floating through the air bring moments of panic. How will I Christmas shop? (I probably won’t do much at all. Homemade Christmas this year will allow me to stay home and avoid those happy crowds.) How will I get through Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, remembering the times he spent at our house, the quiet community we shared, the joy he brought us? (I’ll keep my eyes focused on Jesus and the gift of Emmanuel, God with Us.) And I’ll cry and cry. It’s ok, though, because I remind myself that my God has not given me a spirit of fear, but a spirit of power, love, and self-control. I can claim this promise and hold onto it like an anchor for my soul. 

So I say out loud the things I know are true even if I don’t feel them. I affirm to my soul that God will bring comfort and healing. I speak the choice of forgiveness for those who have wounded me. And I call on Emmanuel, our Comforter, my Father God to carry me and bring me through to the other side. 

He will. Even when I don’t feel like it’s true, I know it is. For that I’m so very thankful.