Grief Cares Not...

Yesterday I broke down with a gut wrenching cry. In the middle of helping hang the large map of the farm Mike had created some years ago. I'm sure to everyone around that I appeared as a complete lunatic because one second I was full of excitement at the cool changes to Conner's room, then literally it gripped me by the throat and I had to leave the room. Grief cares not that you were smiling just a second ago.

Seeing what my husband built and worked so hard for, and knowing that I AM FAILING him kills me. I cannot keep the farm. I cannot do it on my own. We are soon to be sitting in this house, looking out at someone else's farm. So that is what hit me yesterday as I looked at this awesome map of the farm, adorning my son's new log siding wall in his bedroom. 

See the thing about grief is this: it cares NOT about you and your hopes, dreams, plans, mood, and so on. Grief has a beating heart of its own and it will grip your heart any time it so chooses. I have written of grief being a living, breathing entity before and there is nothing more true. 

A person in grief has no hint as to when grief might come rushing in. It comes most definitely without an invitation. A person in grief has no control over muffling the sounds of that grief. It grabs hold and kicks and screams until it gets its fill of leaving you weakened. I'm telling you, it is so surreal sometimes and weird. Grief literally just swoops in. 

I guess I better just "suck it up buttercup" because I've been told the grief attached to widowhood will never leave my side. Even if I fall in love again, or choose to remarry, or whatever life may bring...my stupid buddy grief will tag along for every ride. Even if nothing else it will come in the form of worry--am I good enough for this man; is he good enough for me; does he really even like me; does he think I'm beautiful like Mike did; what if he doesn't like me as much as I like him; what if Conner gets hurt; am I doing a good job with work; what if I don't do well at work; what if staying here once the farm is no longer ours is too much; what if I never truly find happiness again; what if my son DOES become a Marine; what if he becomes a punk...wow...it never stops. And I guess it makes sense. It makes sense because I do have so much love left to give and so much life left to live, but there will always be that grief of my old life just ending so abruptly and tragically. 

I didn't just lose Mike...I lost a way of life. I lost comfort and security, peace and acceptance, romance and spontaneity, daily compliments and being swept off my feet time and time again, my own confidence physically and in all other ways, and the just knowing that he would be home eventually. I lost the assurance that my life was finally settled and what it was supposed to be. And now, I have to start all over. All by myself. I have to build from the ground up, from the inside out, from the beginning to the end...and you know what? Grief cares not.