Signs of Healing

In the last week, I've had two things happen that pointed out to me that I've made more progress than I might have thought. One had to do with a co-worker talking about how her marriage isn't going so well. Some of what she talked about, specifically feeling distanced and alienated and estranged from her husband, reminded me a lot of how things were with me darlin' wife, especially in the last few years. It was hard to hear her talk about that. And it wasn't easy to let her know that I understood and tell her about some of what I'd gone through that was similar.

The other has to do with the sudden death of the younger brother of one of my best friends. It was a hit-and-run accident, one of those things no-one saw coming or ever expected. Not surprising, my friend is hurting right now. It doesn't help having to plan out the memorial and figure out how to get to where his brother lived and having to figure out what to do with his stuff....and be there for other folks around him, too. I feel kind of helpless to do much for him, given that he's several hundred miles from here, and the city where his brother lived is just as far in the other direction. I'm glad I was able to at least provide a reality check and let him know that the stuff he's thinking and the reactions he's having are pretty normal for an insane situation like this. Again, it reminded me all too well of the time after Ariel died when all that stuff had to get figured out. And it also makes me grateful for all the people that were around me to help me through it, too. I still can't imagine that I would've made it through that without their help and support.

See, what these two things have shown me is that I am doing at least somewhat better. Even though it hurt to hear what they're going through, I was able to stay in the conversation with them. I was able to share some of what I've been through and thought and felt and done...the good and not-so-good. And though it stirred some things up for me, it hasn't left me a raw, shredded wreck afterward. Sure, I don't feel great. I'm not kicking my heels or cheerfully running to the next tasks on my list. But I'm not lost in my own maelstrom of anger and fear and confusion and sadness and resentment and grief, either. I'm bouncing back from that stuff faster...a lot faster. I take that to mean I've done some healing, that I've built up some strength and resilience over the last two-and-a-half years. And I'm good with that.

I'm not done on my journey. But I can see where I've made progress. And if I can help others along their way, too, then it gives some meaning to all this beyond just doing it for my own survival.

And maybe it's helping bring me darlin' wife's spirit some peace, seeing that I am healing up, that she didn't utterly destroy me when she ended herself. I'd really hope so.