This week has been a tough one. David and I are still struggling to understand the place grief has in our lives, and I’m not sure if or when I want to get into that specifically here. I don’t want this blog to only be a place where I talk about the sad stuff, but I can’t ignore it completely either. I haven’t figured out what it means to be honest without dwelling and being an obstacle to healing.
Part of what made our week so exhausting is that we were confronted with feelings we thought we’d gotten a little better at coping with. Perhaps we haven’t actually dealt with them in a real sense, but more so put them aside. It’s difficult to know what emotions are normal and understandable and to what extent we should be fighting against them anyway. We were all the more grateful for little bits of hope and joy–the small accomplishments amidst a sometimes incomprehensible sorrow–during this week in particular. There are days when I can’t see anything as worthy of celebration, but joy slips in through the cracks: The contractors finally started work on the house we’ll be moving into with David’s dad. I’ll post updates on that as soon as possible. David and I made some progress on an endeavor near and dear to our hearts. I managed to squeeze in walks with my sweet dogs almost every day. We succeeded in getting back on the no sugar/wheat train. Unhealthy, emotional eating has plagued us for a year and it’s so nice to finally want to treat my body better. I’ve come to love cooking, especially during all the chaos and confusion. There is no judgment in cooking, no hurt feelings. Just moments of peace and creativity, doing what I’m good at and sharing it with the man I treasure most. Sitting down in the dining room every evening, talking about our days, making sense of our messy life, together, that is what I love.