Tuesday, May 10, 2022

Mourning to move forward

I am a generally optimistic and cheerful person. This can lead to the bad habit of pushing down negative emotions, and glossing over the unpleasant parts of my life. I'm also aware of my need to be more vulnerable and share what I think and feel. Lately, I've been recognizing that I've got a lot of  losses that I am grieving, or need to grieve. Blogging and journaling are part of how I'm learning to sort out my feelings, so I can fully experience them in a healthy way, and not just ignore or deny them. 

The past year has been a rollercoaster of blessings and losses. The loss of David's job in 2020 was not a big deal. We figured he'd find another job within a month or two, likely within driving distance or at least within the same state. When one month stretched to six, we were getting concerned about him getting a job offer. The only offer came from a job in Memphis, a place we had neither looked at nor considered at any point in the past or present. Moving to Memphis meant losing our farm, the culmination of a lifelong dream for both of us. That was disappointing. It meant moving far from family, friends, and community. That was heartbreaking. I have a close relationship with my daughter and grandchildren, and the thought of moving far from them was excruciating. To add to that, I was also facing a major relocation. Anyone who knows me knows that I like to put down roots and stay put. I don't adjust easily to relocation. It is a discouraging and exhausting struggle to try to make friends, find my place, and feel comfortable. Moving also meant losing my horses and chickens, all of whom I had come to love and whose companionship I enjoyed immensely. 

Moving to Olive Branch, Mississippi (just south of Memphis) was an interesting transition. The area was easy to navigate, everything was close by, and we had a really warm welcome to our new church congregation. I couldn't believe how quickly I started to feel at home there. I missed my family, friends, animals, and the privacy and serenity of living out in the country, but I kept busy and found ways to enjoy my new area. I hadn't really even had time to stop and grieve those losses before life was thrown into turmoil again by another move. This time it wasn't hard to let go of the house, but leaving such a wonderful ward was painful. I had experienced such an outpouring of the Spirit in that congregation, and felt spiritually invigorated in a way I hadn't in years. There was such positivity, compassion, acceptance, and love among them. Testimony meetings were something I looked forward to, and felt inspired by. It was hard to leave that. 

I love the area we moved to. It's beautiful, everything is close by, and there are plenty of parks and trails to enjoy. But I'm still mourning the feeling of being seen, known, and somewhat understood. I'm grieving the ability to drive 20 minutes down the road and spend time with my daughter and grandchildren a couple of times a week. I'm grieving the loss of easy meetups with my best friend. I feel the loss of purpose I had when taking care of our farm and animals and being a close and involved grandma. And I'm feeling something I haven't felt in quite awhile: lonely. I was so used to having my family and friends close by, that I rarely felt lonely before. Now I feel like just another invisible face in a crowd. It's hard not having friends or family close by. And this time I just don't have the same warm and fuzzy feelings in our new congregation. The people seem nice enough, it's just not as welcoming or as comfortable. I don't feel like anyone has any real interest in getting to know me, it's more like I'm welcomed because they need someone to fill a calling. I've always been able to bond with the sisters I served with before, so I'm hoping that will happen this time, too. 

It's normal to grieve these kinds of losses, and I'm coming to terms with them. Some days are better than others. But I've felt like there's been something bubbling under the surface, a sense of unease and unhappiness I couldn't quite put my finger on. But yesterday, when out on a 5 mile hike by myself, I had an epiphany. I realized that one of the biggest losses in my life over the past few years is the loss of the husband I used to have. That sounds overly dramatic and negative, so let me explain. David has non-diabetic peripheral neuropathy, which produces a lot of pain in his feet. This makes it hard for him to walk long distances, and has led to a drastic reduction in his activity level. That has then led to a considerable weight gain, less energy, and discouragement for him. He can't help it, but he's not the man I married and have been used to for over 25 years. I miss having a husband who can join me on adventures, whether it's walking through a museum, hiking in a park, or even just window-shopping. I am saddened to think that from now on I will either have to do things solo, or find other people to join me. There's far less excitement about exploring new places and seeing new things because I don't have my best friend to share those things with. I am sad to lose the companionship I had always relied on, and to not be able to share what's important to me with the one person who is most important to me. I feel torn between wanting to follow my desires and feeling like I should stay at home watching tv with David because he can't do what he used to. As with most things, this isn't something we asked for, but it is what it is, and I have to accept what it is, mourn what I've lost, and move forward. 

I don't know what the future holds, but I guess I'm going to learn how to adapt and adjust to my new reality, because I'd rather move forward than to be stuck in place. Besides, there are always brighter days and abundant blessings ahead. 

No comments: