Grief is a process
Last week: Much texting, anger, hurt, sadness, crying.
Southern Biscuits and Gravy Potato Chips, Green Beans, Bacon, and Red Potatoes, Scalloped Potatoes. The week of potatoes. Judith's comfort food.
This week: Less texting, emotions balancing out, dry eyes. Feeling peace at being alone and no longer responsible for the sacrificial dressing of the warrior's wounds.
Eating healthier. Less cravings. Less hunger to fill.
Along with signs of other things new:
Actually finishing entire books, which hasn't happened in years.
Actually journaling, which also has not happened in years.
Faithfully listening to The Liturgy of the Hours on audio.
Fresh, from scratch Roasted Tomato Marinara Sauce on the stove at last, simmering. Soon to be frozen for the winter.
You're not there yet.
Can't expect to be.
You are sad. It's normal.
But letting go of something you never really truly had.
Is a lot different than letting go of something Real and Tangible and Present and Returning all you've given.
A lot different and a lot easier.
Not a piece of cake. By any means.
But easier than other griefs you have faced.
God is close.
You feel His breath.
And the brush of His feathers.
You know you are covered.
And that, above all.
Makes the difference in this grief.
You no longer have doubts about Him.
And His love.
And plans for you.
It's a gift to have such faith.
It took decades.
You are grateful.