It’s been nearly a year since DH died. Part of me is amazed that so much time has passed and I haven’t arranged with the foundary for a memorial for his ashes. Nor have I cleared up the house from the extraordinary amount of clutter.
The other part of me is (forgive me) relieved that it is nearly a year. For some reason, I was thinking “If I can get through a year, then I might be OK.” Who knows whether I will or not? Hope has been the only thing propelling me some days. My faith has been wobbly, contentious, vague, and argumentative and I have given myself permission to tear a strip off so-called Christian people who give me crap about ‘Trust in the Lord’, rubbish about perfect love and all things working to God’s purpose, and how God sees time. Y’know, if that’s the best you can offer someone, just shut up. Just shut up. Nobody wants to hear that. Not even a year on from someone’s death. I have been let down by people who think they are God’s representatives on earth because the only way they want to help is by prayer because (God help them) practical help may actually require that they be uncomfortable or give up some free time or think about another person in a real, concrete way.
Good things? Well, some of my friends who are not Christians have been the greatest comfort and help in the past year. Their kindness and love has known no bounds. They have accepted me as an imperfect person they still love. Some Christian friends have been loving and have helped me in dark times.
Here is an article on “The way we grieve now” by Piper Weiss. I disagree with Claire Bidwell Smith who says:
once you share your coping rituals, however odd they may feel, you’ll find you’re not alone and not crazy at all. Then, you can start moving forward.
Um, what? I don’t think “SHARE” is the word. “Admit to self” perhaps. But honestly, I don’t want to hear about others’ coping mechanisms and they may not wish to share it. Far more important to work it out with oneself and see it for what it is. That’s all.