Pricks of pain

Shopping at the grocery store yesterday brought a realization of what I have been noticing for a couple weeks but not really recognized. After losing Jim there was almost nothing I could see as I travelled through the day that didn't remind me of some aspect of our lives together, or just simply, him. They all hurt. They would cause a very sharp pain, or a feeling like a hole was ripped open in my chest.

The tears come now, but they come more in my mind and less to my eyes. I see jalepeno peppers and think that I won't need to buy them again. I see my neighbor pushing the cart thru the parking lot and remember how Jim would do that and like the kid he was, get up on the back of it and ride it, or let it go and then chase it. Laughing as he did this. These cause what I am going to call little pricks of pain. It hurts for a moment, I acknowledge the hurt, remember the Jim moment and then I have to move on.

Not forgotten. I have the late night tears when I am home all alone and it is still so overwhelming. I wonder when does it get any better and what is the point to it all. I am still grieving, still missing and still wanting him back.

I realized shopping that remembering Jim thru the day is being internalized more and not spoken to others. Who wants to keep hearing "Jim and I did this...." or "Jim used to do that....". I can say it to myself. I can remember him and tell him that his quirky way of looking at life is being missed by me. I appreciated and enjoyed and complimented this view he held.

The prick of pain that is found at the end of a quick Jim memory flash will sometimes grow to be a large hole that makes it hard to breathe. I am not sure how other people handle this. I have let go on buses, in the stores, in the bathroom at work, but now am learning the control to keep it till I am home, alone and able to really get it all out. This first month of the new year has been a hard one. I spent alot of time very depressed and trying to figure out why others can have years together with abuse and fighting and drinking and yet, a happy situation was whisked away. It is so hard to explain the feeling to others, at least when I talk. Writing has certainly helped.

I don't want to be a widow stuck in a dark house with the slippers and messed up hair and no sleep. My Mom wouldn't have wanted it, my husband wouldn't have wanted it and my family doesn't. The obstacles against this are sometimes overwhelming. That is when I really start to lose control. When the pain of loss hits and I am stuck. By wanting to get out of the house, I don't want to seem as if I am forgetting what has happened. I worry that people will think that also. The circle goes aaround and around in my head.

The pricks will be with me today as I go out to the mall with a friend.