I’m not good at being alone.
I’m not good at silence.
I’ve had a lot of both lately.
Hubby has been traveling a lot. I’ve gotten used to it, and have learned to cope in a lot of ways. One of those ways is the knowledge that at least my sister, Rachel, will come home from work at night and be with me.
This week, everything was different. You see, my sister went on a short trip to visit some friends and family in FL. No big deal, because Hubby and my FIL would be home this week, but that changed too. Hubby’s Auntie had been sick for a long time and was in the hospital again. It was very evident that she would not recover from this bout, and that it was probably time to say “good bye.” So Hubby, FIL, and Hubby’s sister hopped in a rental car as soon as they could on Thursday and drove 16+ hours to be with her for mere hours before she went home to be with our Savior.
Circumstances left me home alone with two sassy toddlers. Abruptly. I don’t do “abruptly” well either.
I felt trapped. I understood why it wouldn’t make sense to try to pack up the babes and make the trip with them. We would have all probably missed being able to see her if we had done that. But I still felt left out and trapped.
Four years ago, Hubby’s grandma breathed her last surrounded by her family in the home she had lived in for 70+ years. Hubby was there, Gabe and Jeremiah were there, even Rachel was there. I was not. I missed it. I was coming home from work, and I missed the moment she went home to glory.
Now I was missing this too. And I was missing it alone. And I was missing Auntie alone. And I was missing my daddy and my grandma alone. And I was missing my husband’s smell, and warmth, and security, and presence.
There was something so strange about these emotions that were overwhelming me. They were all over the place. I have experienced more PTSD flashes in the past 4 days than I have in months. I was double-checking locks. I was panicking after tripping over toys. I sank to my knees and sobbed uncontrolably when Busy Boy threw a fit over not being able to play in the bathroom sink, and my confused toddler just hugged me and said “You okay, Mama. You be happy. I sorry Mama. I be happy boy.”
And then other moments I am fine. I am strong. I am happy. I am “Super Mom”, or at least “Darn-Good Mom.”
Grief is a strange monster, isn’t it?
Hubby called me today suggesting that he might stay a little longer to support his grieving uncle and cousin. Of coarse! That makes sense, right? Then why did I burst out with huge, ugly, snot-drenched sobs? I haven’t cried that hard since the night my daddy went home. I can’t explain it clearly. I still can’t. I just want him near me. How horribly selfish of me! I told him that even though it was hard, it was the right thing for him to stay there. I would snap out of “it,” and Rachel would be coming home, and I will be strong again. I don’t think he believed me.
Whether he believed me or not, delays with the hospital and such pushed the timeline way back, so Hubby is coming home. He will be home tomorrow morning. And I will breathe. I hope. I will process, I hope. I will heal, I hope.
Is that the true extrovert in me? My woman-ness? I need to process these feelings with him. I need to talk to him about what he went through. I need to feel a part of this experience again.
Where has my faith been in this? At the core. My conversations with my Heavenly Father have been deep and endless, when I’m not distracting myself with Food Network. I’ve also been memorizing Romans 12, so praying through that has been a very healing exercise as well. Oddly, I have not been journaling, and I’ve tried to figure out why, but I think some of feelings that are rooted in grief just sound too ridiculous to me sometimes for me to write down in concrete words. Hard to admit to myself? Maybe.
These have been emotional times without losing a beloved woman like Auntie. Just a reminder of our human-ness. Oh, human-ness.
Blessings!
Hannah
