This is my couch. It is, for the most part, where I live these days.
I feel like a fraud. For all my talk of faith in God and His plan and being grateful that Rich has been released from his pain and now lives in the presence of God (and those things are true!) I have gotten to a place in my grief where I’m just not functioning well. I’m having a hard time doing anything at all. I miss Rich so much every day I can barely breathe. I learned things that I wish I could unlearn and have made decisions that I thought were sound but that I now question incessantly. Getting out among people is painful and I’m becoming a real hermit.
It hasn’t been all bad. I’ve made some moves and done some things that stretched me beyond what I thought was capable. For as much a mess as my mind is, my faith continues to grow stronger. It’s funny in a way. Someone, on the day that Rich died, wished that I would never find peace and, for right now, that person’s wish is coming true in spades. I don’t believe, though, that this crippling state of mind is what my Father wants for me. He’s allowing it, and I don’t exactly know why, but I trust that He will help me to pull out of it when it is time and that it is serving a purpose.
To that end, I’m starting with some grief counseling on Friday. My kids gave me some time, let me binge watch all of the HGTV home shows, sitting on the couch, but finally they spoke up. “Mom, we don’t think you’re doing very well. We need you to be better.” GULP. It costs the moon and my insurance doesn’t cover it but this life, this living on the couch, isn’t what is meant for me. It isn’t what God wants for me and it isn’t what Rich would want for me. It sure isn’t what my kids need.
I feel a little bit — actually a lot — ashamed that I’m at the point of needing some help. But I’m going to get it anyway. I’m worth it.
(originally published 8/4/2010)