I have lost my compass
I am a very focused person. I make lists. I write agendas. I put plans in place well in advance. I am always early. And I have a great sense of direction.
Grief put me in a daze. Strangely enough, I was fully functioning. I was taking action. And to anyone observing me, I was more than capable. But I felt foggy. My sense of time felt warped. I was even showing up late for things. This surprised me. Time, dates, plans – that’s how I roll. If you know me, you know that. It’s just something you expect from me.
Three months into this fog, I realized that I had lost my compass. I couldn’t find North. I am here, but lost. I am present, but can be pulled backwards, sideways, or forward, without notice.
The person who knew me best was gone. The inside jokes, the shared language, the like-mindedness, the memories, the knowing without saying. No one to notice me and my actions or even to know when I have “arrived.”
Sitting in quiet at the Japanese Garden at Denver Botanic in early September, I had a realization about how often I looked at Tim. In the same way you might look at a compass or a map. I had ridden my bike to the garden, and I know that if he had been with me, I would have turned to look at him many, many times during the ride. As independently as Tim and I lived even when together, I realized how often I would look at his face to register his feelings and thoughts.
Tim had a “big personality” as someone we once met put it. This actually became a running joke between Tim and me. He didn’t see himself that way at all. In some way, I feel like he wanted to start living up to that impression. But, he did have a big personality. It didn’t come in the way we may typically think. It wasn’t from being showy or verbose. It came from his mind. His big ideas! And that, in part, certainly steered our lives.
Was Tim my True North?
When you lose a spouse, you are told to not make any major decisions or changes for a year. We’ve all heard this before, but I finally understood it. One day, I was thinking how comfortable and exciting Denver was. I was certain I would make a permanent home there. And the next day, I wanted to run from it. Decision making, even the most minute kind, was very challenging. Multi-tasking, which I was good at, felt more like spinning than doing.
This directionless feeling was certainly new to me. It surprised me. But what surprised me even more than experiencing it, was that I was totally accepting of it. I felt like a drifter. So that’s what this is like?! There was a certain freedom here. It gave me the space to do what I had to do in this grieving process.
The life we had created together, even when imperfect, had a direction. And now, I was getting comfortable with surrendering and relaxing into the mystery. No compass required.
Navigation is never easy. Learning to trust your compass and skill is a never ending process. I love your train of thought. ALLLLLL ABOARD !!!!
Yvette, I’m sitting alone this afternoon spending time grieving. I’m grateful to read your words because I can completely relate. Thanks for sharing. Losing both my parents within a year has been so difficult. I am doing everything I can to keep moving ahead. I’m suddenly experiencing all that you shared. Foggy, spinning, waiting for my mom to call. Thinking of calling them and realizing that isn’t possible. Sending you a big hug today. ❤️
Carole, I am writing this blog for others as much as I am for myself. I love hearing from you and knowing that I provided a thought that you could connect with and the hope that this provides some comfort. I hope you will keep sharing with me. Much love to you.
Thank you for sharing your grieving process with us as it unfolds. You eloquently put to words what is often hidden, nebulous emotion.
I really enjoy your writing style and truly understand the ranges of emotion/feelings as you convey them along your journey. It’s a beautiful, heartfelt read. Looking forward to your next blog… 💗
Robin, thank you for the comment and for reading along. I am so happy to share with you and others.
Yvette, so beautifully said. I only got to see you a few times over the last year and you’re right, you looked like you had it together. I knew you were dealing with so much and I was proud to watch you navigate such a difficult time with grace. I am so happy to see you take the time you needed to ride the wave of emotions and time. I think you’re slowly finding your new path; you don’t always need to know where you are going. Tim will be there guiding you, just look up.
As I read your blogs, I am reminded of how talented your writing is. Perhaps you should write a new book?
Ginny thank you for your comments. You have been a great supporter as I see your strength too.