That’s what widowhood brings.
Once the shock wears off, I’m finding that inside the shell that remains is primarily the feeling of just downright loneliness.
When I say, “I’m all alone,” people often try and immediately offer up their company. Thank you so deeply, but that isn’t quite what I mean.
When I say, “I’m alone,” I don’t mean literally. I’ve been lucky to have the family and friends I do to make sure that part is taken care of as much as possible.
When I say, “I’m alone,” I mean that no matter how many loving bodies surround me, my person who can take the loneliness away is dead. He’s gone, and his spirit is all I have left.
Being emotionally alone is absolutely draining.
I can’t think of a single night thus far that I haven’t just crashed out of sheer exhaustion. Grief is tiring! It takes everything out of me every single day, and leaves me with the parting gift of pure, unadulterated loneliness.
I can’t say I’m horribly on board with this feeling. Why is this yet another thing I have to “give time” to?
Time won’t make the loneliness any less lonely. That requires intention. Lots and lots of bonafide intention.
Intention isn’t always easy. In fact, it can often be the hardest thing you have to make yourself do. Healing with intention is hard work!!
But it’s the only way, don’t you see?
You must intentionally get out of bed, drive to work, eat meals, drink water, pay bills, etc.
You also must intentionally seek professional counseling, medical support, spiritual guidance, and especially literary profoundness.
Because you see, time won’t heal the loneliness.
Time won’t heal anything.
Intention heals, and intention takes loneliness and gives it a warm hug. Is it still there? Absolutely. It always will be.
But I know that a hug intended to ease the pain of a lonely heart is worth it’s weight in grief gold.