I know, I am not alone.
My son has come in for lunch and gone back already. I am sitting here in a fairly quiet house watching through the window the cats alternating between playing and sunning on the steps out back. The sky a clear sharp blue, smoke from the wood stove is drifting among the trees, there and gone. The dogs have tried once to open the gate, that I now have a bungee cord securing. I know they want to chase the cats and that is something I won’t allow as long as I can prevent it from happening. Sitting here does allow for odd thoughts to wander through my mind. The dogs make all manner of noises, the diva inside cat makes herself known, but I have yet to hear either of the outside cats to make any sound at all.
Currently, I hear birds making themselves known, traffic on the main road and my windchimes being played by the passing breeze.
Earlier today I was scrolling through the memories that popped up on my social media page. Once I moved past 2017 and to the time before his death, I was seeing post after post of my husband’s heading home, or being home and enjoying the brief time he would have. One had him reclining on the couch, laughing at something on television while I prepared spaghetti for supper. Others had me commenting on how I needed to tidy up a bit as I wanted him to return to a welcoming place of comfort. I won’t lie, reading through the posts as old as they may be, brought the grief back. The feelings of sadness and missing him. It brought back the need for that long, tight hug that made the world go away, just for a while. Knowing that his time home was short and all too soon he would be leaving again not to be home for weeks.
The fact that as a long haul truck driver he was gone more than home, helped in a way after his passing. I was accustomed to being alone except for my son still living at home. I think though, it was also a curse as part of me, even after the funeral, was in a state of denial that it had really happened. That he would never return to this earthly home. The Christian I am, knows that he is now much better than he had been in years. He is in a place I would never ask him to leave. The human side of me misses him yet.
I know, I am not alone.
Others have lost loved ones that they will forever miss. When they left this life, they took a part of those who loved them, with them. Creating a hole that will never, can never, be filled. While they are missed every day, special days are even worse. The memories of times shared, the laughter, the adventures, even the sad moments all are there. Many who are suffering, try to the best they are able, to hide their sadness. Trying to put on a strong face in an attempt to not bring down friends or family. Doing all they can, to hide their personal struggle.
There are those who are estranged from family and friends for what ever reason. An event of some sort causing them to step back and away. Even if they are safer apart, there is possibly still the missing being a part of something special. Missing having a bond of togetherness.
Some who put themselves in a self imposed isolation. Feeling unaccepted, unwanted, different, less. so they hide away where they feel safe.
Those who find themselves homeless for what ever reason. Job loss, relationship deterioration, any of the many varied ways that one could one moment have a home and the next not. Now out on the street simply trying to survive until fortunes change.
I could go on, but I know it is understood. There are so many who are suffering through depression, through the sadness that life and events have handed them. We do not have to allow this to happen. We can find our way through and leave a guide rope for others who come along behind to follow. The other day, I sat in the back of a fifty-two foot long trailer, my legs dangling over the back as I waited to see if anyone would bring more donations for Kentucky. As I sat there, I didn’t think. I didn’t remember. I didn’t really miss. I felt a comforting, healing memory. A peace filling my heart. A blanket that will slip again I know, but it is still there, ready to be lifted and used.
I think, that one of the most important things we can do right now, in the middle of all the crazy busy of the season, is let someone know, they are not alone. You see them. You hear them. You know they are hurting. Take them out for coffee or bring coffee to them. Sit with them for a time, talk if they want, just be there otherwise. Allow them their memories and their pain. I don’t mention my husband in conversation as often as I once did. That doesn’t mean I have forgotten him, that I no longer miss him, because I do. I also understand that others may not talk of the ones they lost at all, or they may talk constantly. They may show their pain or hide it better than any one would have thought.
If I could offer a gift, here just days before Christmas, I would offer the knowledge to others that you are not alone. You are seen, you are heard, you are not alone.