I missed my therapy appointment on Saturday.  Actually, it was more like I had to cancel my appointment.  Traffic.  ALL OVER.  Took me 30 minutes to go just a few miles.

I like therapy.  I like that I can go there and talk about Chris for an hour.  I like talking about Chris.  And I feel like I talk about him a lot.  So much so, that I’m afraid that my “people” in my life are going to be tired of talking to me.  I don’t feel that way about my therapist.  Maybe because I actually pay her to listen to me.  I pay her to let me talk about Chris.  She lets me cry.  She lets me cry and she’ll nudge the box of tissues a little closer to me.  She’ll give me a hug.  But she’ll let me cry.  Often, talking about Chris and crying go hand in hand.  And I think that scares a lot of people.  I don’t think people know what to say or how to react when that happens.  But tissues and hugs work.

So I’m sad I missed therapy on Saturday.  Therapy is my “out”.  My “release”.  I can be bitchy and she gets it.  She won’t judge me.  She knows it’s the grief and the pain making me be that way.  She doesn’t expect me to be happy all the time (but she’s thrilled when I am).  She knows my life isn’t all peaches and cream these days.  She’s honest with me.  She doesn’t tell me it’s going to magically get better.  She lets me be honest.  She lets me be me.

This journey is rough - on it’s best days.  I can’t allow myself to think about Chris, or about the future.  Doing so it like falling into a black hole, where you have absolutely no idea where the bottom is.  Actually, I think this whole grief/widowhood journey is like that.  Everyday I fall a little bit further, hoping that eventually I’ll hit the bottom and can finally start trying to claw my way back out - not ever knowing if that will really ever happen.  I try to have faith in the “process”.    I remind myself that others have been on this journey, others are on it with me now.  I remind myself that I’m not alone in how I feel.  And there is some comfort in that.  But when I think about MY loss.  SHANE’S loss.  OUR loss.  Sometimes it just feels so much bigger than me.  I mean it was OC.  OC.  How do you claw your way out after losing someone like that?  You can’t convince me it’s  possible.  And that hurts.  Knowing that this is what life is for me now.  Exhausting.  Scary.  Lonely.  Excruciating.  Filled with more bitchy moments than I’d care to admit.  Not at all what we had envisioned for our future.  How very, very sad it is.  How sad life is.