Face to face

Today marks 4 weeks since George died. Although the days seem to be inching along, 4 weeks feel like it’s been only 4 days. When I close my eyes, I can still see George laying on the hospital bed in my living room. I can see his face turned toward the right side, with his Kiss shirt pulled up over his belly button. I still remember how he looked in his final days rather than how he looked at his healthiest. It tears me up inside that I can’t remember him at his best. That’s why I keep posting pictures at the end of these blogs of when he was happiest and “healthiest.” I hope the more I look at those pictures, it will overpower the gruesome ones.

Today was a monumental day in understanding my grief and carousel of emotions. I’ve read about what it means to be grieving but I was really looking forward to speaking with a professional bereavement counselor. Although, when I first walked into her office I could see her smile drop for a second when her eyes met mine and she saw how young I am. Age was a big discussion in our meeting today, because ultimately I’m going to feel the sorrow of this loss for the rest of my life. Just over time it won’t be as raw and my body will learn to deal with the pain.

We talked a lot about my concerns, now and then, and what George’s concerns about dying and being sick. I’m not going to go into it so much on this post because I think overtime these things will reveal themselves. But my immediate concerns do have to deal with my lacrosse team, and meeting my niece in 5 days. Today is her 2 month birthday and well, that’s a whole other bag. I’m sure if you think long and hard about new life and death you can understand my trepidations about meeting her at this time.

One things I’m really looking forward to exploring is some writing prompts I received from my counselor about starting to come face to face with my emotions. It’s supposed to help me sift through my thoughts, and hopefully be a catalyst in finding clarity, understanding, and eventual peace. So let’s have at it:

Dear George, I miss how you would roll over on your side in the morning to grab me and hold me tight. The warmth of your body and the cadence of breathing in my ear made me feel safe and secure. I miss how you would point at your cheek whenever you wanted a kiss. You never were short of expressing your love and I never hesitated to reciprocate. Even if I was grumpy, you would just point to you cheek and I knew that you were always sweeter than sugar. You showed me there’s always light in everything. I miss how you always demanded to cuddle, just because every day was a good day for a cuddle session. It was just you, me and Bodie, but we never doubted that we were a family. We fit perfectly together, and from our first date we knew we were made for one another. You brought excitement to everything and anything, no matter how boring it was. Even waiting in the airport on a 6 hour delay became a tolerable adventure. I miss how you had the biggest bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, and I loved how you looked at me with them.

There’s so much that I miss. This will be a prompt that I come back to.



About J.

Fitness professional, fitness & nutrition writer, widowed at 28. Writing about getting through grief through self-care, physical activity, and the ​constant feeling of being uncomfortable.
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4 Responses to Face to face

  1. positivagirl says:

    Thank you for commenting on my post. I am so sorry to read about the loss of your husband. Life can be so incredibly cruel sometimes. I believe, with all of my heart (well I have have evidence of this) that all that you write here, he can see you. He can read your words. I am sure that he is with you, in spirit. Bereavement is so very hard. Especially with someone that you planned to spend the rest of your life with. It is not only the loss of the past, as those memories will always be there, at first, causing pain in your heart. It is the loss of the future. This is what hurts like a knife…. the things that you planned to do and the cruel loss of those plans for the future.

    I described bereavement was for me (loss of my daughter) – like standing at the edge of the ocean. Sometimes I looked out and the sea was calm. the sun shone down on the sea, creating beautiful shimmering images on the sea, everything looked calm and peaceful. This is where I looked with love and beautiful memories. And then from nowhere…… the sea would change, the weather would change, things would become dark, and the sun went in behind a big cloud – and the wave a huge wave crashed to the shore, and swept over me. It felt overwhelming. I could barely breath. I felt like I was drowning…. just as I felt I couldn’t take this pain anymore….. the sea went out and i was once again looking out at a calm sea….. that is how bereavement has felt for me.

    It will be 4 years in January….. when someone said to me that time was a great healer. I wanted to hit them how could they be so insensitive? It was true, as time moves on, you allow more of life into your world…. as your world gets bigger and your grief becomes smaller. On anniversary dates, it becomes you again.

    I hope you do not mind me writing such a long comment on your beautiful page. I just wanted to say something to you! Nikki x

    • J. says:

      I’m sorry to hear about your daughter. I love your take on grief. The intense and renegade emotions certainly come in waves, just like an untamed massive body of water. I sometimes feel guilty that I’m not crying enough and judged that I should be a walking tear drop. But I just feel either sad or numb. Only blips of joy here and there. Usually directly related to the company I keep.

      I’ve heard time will heal everything, but sometimes I just want to wake up and have it be June.

      • positivagirl says:

        Yes absolutely I wished that I had a time machine. You know, going back to that time, when the grief comes in such strong waves. The time when you don’t feel sad (and everyone expects you to) enjoy those moments, as that is when he is holding you up, and holding you tight 🙂

      • J. says:

        That warmed my heart tremendously. Thank you!

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