372 days, 1 hour, 41 minutes and 15 seconds.
Grief has changed my perception of time. This New Year's Eve I found myself wondering where the last year has gone, and how I managed to survive the waves and sucker punches that grief delivered on a very regular basis throughout. And yet I have survived: one year, one month, one day, one minute at a time to find my way in this strange new world called widowhood. When you're a widow, the passing of time often feels like the only constant. When your world has fallen apart and you've been made acutely aware of just how little control you have over life; the counting of the days, months and years can give one a point of focus and something to hold on to. I guess it's the difference between surviving and living.
My life has been on pause, I've been waiting for the pain to get more bearable, for me to grow stronger, waiting to heal so that I can take myself off pause and take a step forward. I have been surviving. I am now at a point where the restlessness to 'live' is getting stronger than the sense of needing to just survive. But, how do I live again while such a big part of me is dead? When I look back over the last 12 months, I realize no matter how hard I fought to not live that my life continued, my career moved forward, I found love again, I became stronger, more resilient, more capable and wiser. When Stephan died I wanted to die with him, but now I know I want to LIVE.
My resolution for the next 12 months is to be happy and not sad, be strong and not weak, to laugh more and cry less, to continue this healing journey and to appreciate the life I am given and to allow myself to LIVE it to the fullest.