Even in the Stark Gray of Loss… We Can Find Living Water
During one of my last therapy sessions, my therapist casually mentioned she’d like to do some work with me regarding Russ, my late husband who vanished at sea over 33 years ago.
I didn’t bat an eye, because I know she’s intuitive enough to know that I need to probe a bit further there, as my habit over the years–sadly–has been to numb or suppress my grief through being overly busy. In the initial year or so following my husband’s demise, I was too busy raising boys and working and yes, numbing my pain with the most wrong relationship ever. That’s when I stepped back and just focused on my sons and me. Factor in my mother’s dementia, and I had the added layer of that worry and a bit more added to my already busy life.
Fast forward a few years and I met the other great love of my life, the one man who showed me I could trust again, and who shared my love of words, fitness, family, goofiness, and an insatiable curiosity about the world around us. We balanced our child raising as single parents with work and with making time for us, as best as we could.
When he left for another city to finish a book on a fellowship he was awarded, we fell apart. Each of us had competing demands on our time, and I didn’t make it up to visit him much at all. We didn’t really talk about these demands much.
So he remained there and made the area his permanent home. He made that decision on his own–which greatly affected my trust–and I kicked and screamed for years, not constantly, but alot… ALOT. I’m ashamed to admit that.
I felt as though I had been abandoned twice.
In 2016 we began to heal, especially on a little island in the middle of the Chesapeake Bay. I felt the love and warmth all over again, that love and warmth we had for years; and although we are no longer together, I will always cherish that chunk of land and that time as healers.
And then I screwed up in a big way.
And yet, my former fiance never once threw it in my face… not once, but we struggled to pull ourselves together and get on the same track.
We parted ways late fall of last year after two years of barely seeing each other, due to his latest work project; and while we will always love each other, there’s no plan for a future together.
And in my gut-wrenching grief earlier this year, I began the grief-numbing process again: Too busy. Other stuff.
And then recently, I had a big wakeup call that jolted me, a couple in rapid succession, actually, and when it was all said and done, I actually thanked God for them because they were exactly what I needed to finally say… I need to focus on healing so I can truly live what life I have remaining to its fullest.
I’m going to be going quiet soon. Once I sell a few things on Marketplace, I am disconnecting from social media for at least a few months. I will be finishing my Advent book, continuing to clean out my house, and really commit to the process of seeking my next place in life, which is scary. I’m also changing up my routines, disengaging from certain groups of which I have been a part and going to some events that provide healing.
At the beginning of this year, I was ready to start the process of moving to central Virginia. It would be too painful to live there now, I think, so my list has become quite small: Georgia (thinking that’s where my son might land after he retires from the military). That’s the only place right now on my radar, so clearly I have some major reflecting to do. Staying in Virginia Beach was never my plan, but as I take this radical and overdue journey, I trust that the answer will come.
It’s scary, depressing, and exciting all at once; and yet, the option to stay where I am really brings me down.
When Russ and I moved to Virginia Beach on a big leap of faith many years ago, we had each other, along with a young son and one about to be born. I always thought my long-time great love and I would one day share a home and be there for each other through life’s ups and downs and in- betweens.
Now it’s just me. I know others have done it, and so will I, but first… I have some healing to do.
Truthfully: I honestly don’t think I have ever intentionally carved out the time to heal from either of these losses, and it was my former fiance who was always encouraging me to take a real pilgrimage.
I should have listened.
Leaning into a few trusted friends, keeping my monthly therapy sessions, taking a few family and solo excursions, and in between, breathing, moving, writing, and crying my grief out.
Thanks for the support and the prayers. They mean alot.
Amy Walton is a yoga and breath work instructor, author, and certified coach who is finally seeking some deep healing. Delayed healing is better than no healing at all. Reach out to her at amywaltoncoaching@gmail.com.