I was asked recently about how I managed after Scott died. Apparently, to the outside world, it appears as if I have a bit of grace when it comes to grief. Ha!
I think of grief as a mountain you have to climb. Some people take decades to get to the other side;others do it quickly, like ripping off a bandaid.
I believe, when it came to losing my husband, I was relatively quick to climb the mountain. Here’s why . . .
Six months after Scott died, I was alone in my house. It was the middle of the night, and I had been crying for so long, I could not remember what it felt like to breathe freely. I was drowning in a puddle I created. I had reduced Scott’s love to a heavy ball of anguish, and I was slogging it around like I cornered the market on sorrow. What’s worse is that I was teaching our children that pain was all we had left of him. I hid inside my grief, and I called it honor. I was a fool.
From that moment, it didn’t take me years or even many months. It took me one second to decide to try something different. It was like grabbing an ice ax, strapping on crampons, and climbing straight up the face of a glacier. I immersed myself in the business of grief; I read books, talked a lot, listened to music, and confronted myself and my fears. It was an exhausting reality check, but the view from the top was exhilarating. I thought tackling grief mountain meant leaving Scott behind. When the worst of my climb was over, I was shocked to find Scott waiting for me, my cheerleader, my biggest fan, my teammate still—like a high-five from heaven.
Here is the key take-away: as soon as I decided everything was going to be OK, everything was miraculously OK.
And one more realization, I would climb a thousand mountains if I knew Tim, my second husband, was waiting on the other side. A thousand times a thousand!