Another day...

Going to group often gets me thinking about new things. One of the things that I began to think about this week was the gray. The gray of my life.

The ladies that run the suicide survivors group have seen me struggle through this from almost day one. The other night one of them mentioned how I've been through so many transitions and highs and lows, but as I look back at it, while I certainly see why they're saying it to me, it's all just gray; another day without him.

That's what most days are. I will say that not all days are like that. When my grandchildren were here, for instance, my memories are very colorful and exciting, though I admit not all of them are happy. The day we scattered Storm's ashes seems very blue in my memory, as the sky at the ocean was clear and bright.

I remember the struggles. I remember the raging anger. I remember the crying fits, and the frustration, and all of the uncertainty, and yet still, looking back at it now, it just seems gray. Another day without him. I remember the victories. I remember the day I bought my house, and the very first day I woke up here, and the day the paint went on.  I remember my trip to Alaska, and that seems colorful, yet still they were all just days without him.

I don't understand people who can move on quickly after losing their spouse. The Bible says that a man and a woman cleave together and become one. Based on that principle, losing Storm meant losing half of myself. The hole that leaves behind is tremendous. It's a Storm-shaped hole, and any relationship I would try to get into at this time would be me just trying to shove someone else into that hole. It's not about moving on getting over it. It's about accepting the natural pain that Yahweh has given me in the wake of losing half of my life. He made us to cleave together, so he intended for it to hurt when the separation came. I accept that. I understand that he is refining me in the fire. I accept the pain he's given me, and I don't pretend that it doesn't hurt me. Nothing will ever fill this hole, but I have hope that Yahweh will one day see fit to heal it.

I think I will know that I've reached the point of healing when it doesn't hurt quite so much. I think I might know that I've reached a point of healing when I can look back and see more than just another day without him.

On another note, I think I've decided how to memorialize Storm. I thought about it carefully. I'm not a person to do things the way other people do them just because that's the way it's done. Storm would not have appreciated a traditional memorial, such as a headstone or park bench. I thought about getting a park bench that said, "In memory of Storm Treasure. He hated everyone." While the idea makes me laugh, it doesn't seem like the right thing to do.

Sometime probably next year I will need to start the process of putting my 23 rosebushes in the ground. One of those rosebushes is the clone of the rose that provided the inspiration for Storm beginning to call me Rose. I spread his ashes, but I saved a little back for myself. At the time, I couldn't actually tell you why I did that. Now, I know. When I plant that specific rose, I am going to dig a deep hole and I'm going to put his ashes in the bottom. Then I'm going to plant that particular rosebush over the top. I am literally going to let Storm Treasure be a part of his own legacy of love to me.