wow.

Late last night, I came across this post. I have been following this woman's story for the last few weeks and have been amazed at her writing clarity and the honesty with which she writes. She's four months or so ahead of me in the learning experience of grief. I know she says that this is all new to her, but she has been a source of comfort and understanding in the last little while that I haven't been able to find elsewhere. She knows how it feels. She lives it like I do. I know we're not the same, I know our experiences are different...but my heart hears what she says and weeps with her....and understands. With her recent post, I feel like standing on my chair and yelling, 'Yeah!! That's right! You go!' (Even though the 'you go' part makes me feeling ridiculous, I didn't know how to express it another way....)
I think I need to find a support group for young widows. I am so not negating the pain that older widows feel as well. I just need to find someone else who can understand the feelings that go along with raising very small children when the love of their life is dead. I need to hear how they are coping and how they explain to their little ones what is happening. My friends and family are fabulous and they all try and I so appreciate it....but I need to find someone who truly knows. Someone who I know does not judge how I am dealing with this nightmare...Someone who knows that it is hard to remember to brush my teeth sometimes and that feeding the kids scrambled eggs for dinner is coping. Someone who doesn't think that I am taking Jeff's death too hard.

I am finding myself grieving for the fact that I didn't get to say 'good-bye' to my love. It is a blessing that he went so fast...for him. I am so glad that he didn't struggle with a long battle against some awful disease....but for me and the kids, I wish we had even had a few minutes...a day or a week, to say "I love you and goodbye." I wish the kids would have been able to see him in a different state. I hate how seemingly violent the end was. It wasn't calm and horribly sad. It was fraught with terror and screaming. I didn't get to say goodbye. I didn't get to hold his hand. He died in my arms but it wasn't like in the movies. I get taken back to those moments so many times a day. I see it all over again and again. I try to block them out but they seep around the corners of other thoughts.