Writers Cubed

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I did it.

I didn’t like it, but I did. I signed up.

Grief. Therapy.

I didn’t want to. No. I REALLY didn’t want to.

I’m supposed to sit around in a circle and say “Hi, my name is Tahsha and I’m a widow? Then talk about my feelings to a bunch of strangers? bleck. No thanks.

I did it for Leah. She gets to go to her own class where they sing songs, color, and play. She’ll be with other four year olds who have had parents or siblings die.

I’m hoping that I’ll have people I can turn to to help me understand her and what I need to do for her.

What am I supposed to do when she sticks her hands on her hips and tells me “I’m not sad about Daddy. I don’t miss him.” What the freak am I supposed to do with that? What am I supposed to do when she asks me, “Am I supposed to be sad about Daddy? Am I supposed to miss him?” Poor little girl. She’s so confused. She doesn’t quite know how she feels. She knows she isn’t crying a lot like me or Grandma. So I think she interprets that as to: “I guess I’m not sad.” I just don’t know how to approach it. I want to help her. I don’t want to say or do things that will make it worse.

So, I’m hoping that by going to this center, it will help her and help me learn how to help her.

And, I guess, somewhere deep down I know that this will be a good thing for me too.

But right now, I really don’t want to go.

Strength and Distractions

People keep saying how strong I am.

I’m just not sure that I really am. I hit moments, every day, every hour, when I don’t think I have the strength to do this any more. Somehow I make it though.

Of one thing I’m certain: any real strength I have is not mine.

I was given a beautiful blessing the night that Brad died, among other things, it said that God would give me HIS strength. Not my strength. HIS. I believe that, because I know that there is no way I could’ve made it this long by myself. I know I can’t go on by myself. Sometimes God sends me help and strength in the form of friends and family. I am grateful.

People say that I seem to be doing okay. It’s not that I really am, it’s that I have no other choice. I have too many responsibilities. Too many distractions. I can’t curl up into a ball. I can’t stay in bed all day.

I have Leah.

I have to take care of her. I can’t fall to pieces, because she needs me. I have to work. I have a million other things that needs my attention. I’m busier now than I’ve ever been. So, most of the time I have to shut it all away into a little box inside of me, close the lid and focus on the things I HAVE to do.

In my free time, I find myself constantly distracting myself-trying to turn it all off. I watch TV, read, write, watch TV, hang out with friends, and watch TV. Honestly, I had to readjust my budget this month with more money in the “entertainment” category. And that’s okay most of the time. If I didn’t have all my distractions I think the enormity of this would consume me. But, I know I can’t do this forever. I feel like a hypocrite. I’ve been professing about living your life, and here I sit watching back to back episodes of the Vampire Diaries.

In a pamphlet it says:

“Have you ever considered the similarities between your grief journey and the fading and renewal that occurs in nature? The emptiness you experience in your grief journey is similar to that of a barren field that must be plowed and weeded to prepare for something new to grow.”

It makes sense. Right now, I’m the barren field. Empty. Ruined. But, I don’t want to go through the “plowing and weeding.” That sounds hard. It sound painful. It’s so much easier to fill my life with distractions and sit tightly on that box that contains all my pain.

In Sunday school last week, we talked about the story of Jesus walking on water. I’ve always loved that story and the imagery it plays in our life. I know the symbolism. We are Peter. We exercise faith in Christ. But there are times when the storms are too much for us. We fear and loose our faith. We sink. We must cry to Christ: Lord, Save me. And of course, Christ will always be there to save us.

I’d never given much thought to the other apostles. While Peter stepped out of the ship to walk on the water-an act that must’ve been terrifying and taken a lot of faith-the other apostles stayed in the ship hoping that Christ would calm the storms. They clung for dear life, having faith in the Savior, until it was over.

Right now, I don’t feel like Peter. Stepping out of the ship sounds scary. I feel like the apostles. I’m going through the motions, checking things off my to-do list, distracting myself. I’m holding on for dear life, having faith that Christ can make this better.

I’m realizing that this isn’t going to be enough. It has gotten me through for now, and I’m sure there will be many days to come when it’s all I can do to hold on and have faith. But, I know that I have to be like Peter. I have to step out of the ship and come to Christ. It’s much easier to turn my mind off and watch TV then read my scriptures and pray. It’s less painful to write my book then study a talk in the Ensign or talk about my feelings and concerns.

I know which things are just going to allow me to survive and which things are going to heal my heart.

So I’m trying to learn that distractions have their place. I’m trying to recognize the times when I need to let the distractions go and allow myself to feel what I need to and come to Christ.

It’s scary to face all my concerns and worries. It’s terrifying. But I know that when it all gets to be too much and my faith fails I’ll be able to say Lord, Save Me and he will be there.