We need twelve hugs a day to maintain. a high spirit, a sense of belonging, and a symbol of caring. Whatever a good hug gifts us, during my husband’s celebration of life (the day before this writing), I received enough wonderful, warm hugs to last me six months or more. Thank you!

People asked me, “How are you doing?” I said, “I don’t know.”

“Where do you plan to live?” “I don’t know.”

“What are you going to do now?” The same answer, “I don’t know.”

I do know I am tired—more than tired. I want to sit by the river like Siddhartha, so I can find answers to what I want to do, where I want to live, and how I’m doing.

My tendency to recover from trauma is to work and then work some more. It allows me to fall in bed exhausted and sleep. But what we all need after the death of someone special is to spend time with ourselves. Long daily hikes, sitting and doing nothing, writing in a journal, and
taking naps are in my future.

My husband, for weeks, before he passed, sat peacefully in quiet and looked at nothing. He couldn’t take long hikes, but I believe he found answers to accepting his diagnosis and shortened life. He quieted himself, sat with himself, and put his thoughts in order. He set an example for us.

In the process of grieving, we can do it now, or we can do it later, but it needs to happen. Our bodies and minds need to grieve, and I will do my best to begin the process sooner than later. Acceptance, the final stage of the grief cycle, requires internal work. I can scrub floors, tear
down walls, or hammer nails into a 2X4, but I need to reconnect my head and heart, and that takes concentrated alone time.

I might not know the what, where, and how answers, but I know they lie in the hollow in my chest and my subconscious mind. Without purposeful quiet, the angst and ache persist. I’m always searching for a peaceful life, and I need to slow down my body and mind and listen for answers. I won’t ask questions or search for solutions; I will only be quiet and listen. With no music or TV, the computer shutdown, and the phone on silence, I will find a different answer than,”I don’t know.”

Thank you again for all the hugs!

Until the next time: Live while you live.

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