Monday, April 11, 2016

Life is joy. Choose life.

Life is joy. Choose life. // WWW.THEJOYBLOG.NET

Hi! It's been a week or so... maybe more. I lost track.

This isn't my favorite time of year for my emotions. In every other way, it is totally my favorite time of year. Winter disappears, and snow lines creep slowly, and then quickly, up the mountains until suddenly in mid-May, they are all but gone. We still have cold nights, but our days are so warm that we only need light jackets, and our heater is turned off. Plants are waking up and my front porch is surrounded by the cheerful daffodils planted by our HOA. I check on my patio garden regularly. The strawberry plants have grown bushy and blossoms are forming. However, internally, I don't always feel like the sunny, floral, spring cheer that is everywhere I look.

I've spent the better part of two weeks or more nursing some old wounds. Thoughts of my mom are fresh on my mind right now, and as I sat at my grandpa's 90th birthday party recently, talking about her with a relative, I had to fight back the tears.

I know she's gone, and most of the time, I can deal with it now, but it always creeps up on me as is normal for those with a deceased loved one. Thoughts like, "I seriously can't believe you're dead," or "I would give anything to talk to you. ANYTHING!" creep up regularly. Her death anniversary is in about a week. I don't celebrate it, but my subconscious won't let me forget it.

I had a moment the other night where, after a bad day, I went for a drive by myself at 11pm. I drove up to a nearby Mormon temple, sat in the parking lot, and cried for at least a half hour. You know the kind of crying that you only do alone so you can get it out, and not bring anyone else into it? The kind that sounds like some kind of weird dying animal? That is the kind I did. It had been coming for a while. I noticed my anxieties were heightened, and my sleep was less solid. Also, I've been sick regularly for the past couple of weeks. I knew something was coming, but I never quite know what I'm feeling until suddenly it comes out.

The truth is, there are some specific times that I need to talk to her, and no one else will do. I try to talk to other people, and it just feels all wrong. The truth is, no one is her, and no one will give me the response I desperately seek.

It's ok to feel that way. People tell you that it's not ok to withdraw from talking to people about hard things when you lose the person you talked to about everything, but I say, it's ok. There's a reason they were the one you went to for everything... it's because the other people weren't able to provide you with what your loved one could. It doesn't mean they're bad, it just means you might have to learn to live in this life without their listening ear. It's not easy. I still haven't quite mastered it.

Don't withdraw from life, though. Learn to live in this life without them. It doesn't mean they have to  be replaced, and you have to forget about them or stop missing them. It just means you have to choose to be here, and choose to cultivate more friendships. These friends may never respond the way your loved one did, but they will, quite possibly, be helpful all the same.

And on the nights where no one else will do, an ugly dead animal crying session in a parked car works wonders. Afterward, I slept like a baby, and woke up feeling relief I hadn't felt in weeks. It's pretty great how I know if I can get over the emotional hurdle, things start looking up quickly.

So today, friends, choose this life. Choose to love this life for all it's got, the loss, the heartache, the parked-car crying sessions, the joys, the adventures, the days of cloudless skies and blossom filled trees. Choose to love the journey we all get to go on.

Life is joy. Choose life.

I love you all, and will be back soon with more posts. I just needed a little breather during the rough patch.

Love you all,

++ What do you do to get through the rough weeks? 

Join the conversation!

  1. Exercise gets me through tough times. I like to go for a walk and think about everything I am grateful for - it helps boost my mood every time.

  2. I'm so sorry for your loss and pain. An ugly cry can heal so much.


  3. So sorry for your loss and your sadness. I miss my dad terribly, and you're so right about how a good (bad??) cry can totally help sometimes. Thinking of you!


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