Saturday, January 15, 2011

6 months and waiting


As I sit here tonight on the six month anniversary of Elliott’s death I wonder once again 
how the hell did I get here?"
I have reached a milestone that only lives in a wife's worst nightmare, a day I have been dreading— 6 months of walking this earth without the man who made my world spin, my life worth living, my heart full of unconditional love, and my soul full of light. 
I never would have thought six months ago that I could even breath one minute without Elliott in my life. Although I’m here and I ‘m doing it, I’m “surviving” this, I don’t feel like giving myself any kudos or pats on the back. Iv’e made it six months, can I make it six more, another year, 10 years, 20 years? Sure, but do I want to make it one more day without El in my life? NO not really. 
I don’t really know what my life is without him. It sure as hell doesn’t feel like a life any more. It feels more like waiting than living. I continually have the sense that I’m just waiting, waiting, waiting, as if I’m in this holding pattern, on pause ... For what? I’m not really sure. I know Elliott is not coming home, there will be no joyous reunion—no unexplainable miracle for me. Maybe I’m just waiting to talk to him, to communicate with him, feel his presence in a way that is undeniable— to find my way to him. Or maybe I’m just waiting for the end, for my time to go home. Nevertheless I’m waiting, waiting to catch my breath, waiting to process, waiting to reach the darkest depths of my grief.
I’m in a weird time warp where it feels as though It’s been an eternity since I kissed Elliott’s lips and heard him whisper “I love you.” Yet simultaneously six months feels like it has only been six days. I literally feel like everything just happened days ago, it is incomprehensible to me that I am now on the back side of approaching the year mark. I remember in the first few weeks and months hearing about widows and widowers at this point and thinking “ wow, that’s so long, I don’t want to get there.” I really hoped that I would follow close behind El and get in some freak accident or die of a broken heart. I read an article about “The Widow Effect” when a spouse dies and the surviving spouse falls ill and dies shortly after due to stress, a rare complication, or heart issues, and I so badly wished to be a part of that statistic. But, unfortunately it effects older widows and widowers more profoundly. I actually just heard of my mom’s friends nephew who lost his wife three months ago and just died of a heart attack leaving three young boys behind. It breaks my heart for those babies, I don’t have any children, why not me? I don’t necessarily want to die,I’m not suicidal ( of course I’ve thought of it, most widows would at least toy with the notion) I just want to be where Elliott is. I don’t want to make anything out of the cards I’ve been dealt. I want to fold. I’m sick of the widow game. I’m ready for my husband to come home. I’m ready for the joke to be up— for the nightmare to end.
I know better though, I still have a lot of life ahead of me. I feel so unbearably young, at the same time though, I feel like a broken old woman. I’ve had far too much life experience for my twenty-seven years. Despite that, I know I’m going to gain a lot more. Whether I like it or not I still have more to do in this world, I still have more to experience and to learn. I just wish I could figure out what those things are. I’m still just spinning in circles, trapped in a vortex. I don’t know which way or direction to just step off and walk in.
Dear El,
I love you more than anything. I’m trying really really hard to be a living example of your love. I trying to walk this treacherous path but, I still need you mor than ever babe. Please be with me. I love you.
Love Always,
Your Wife Lacey ♥


  1. i understand and feel deeply every word you wrote. you are in my thoughts and prayers, for whatever comfort it brings you. if i lived closer, i would come sit with you. i wish you peace.

  2. I am so sorry to read your story and the absolute heartbreak you are stuggling through right now. I can't begin to imagine life without my husband and for it to happen when you are so young is just tragic. I know it is no consolation as I am sure you would rather never have had a reason to start this blog in the first place but you have a wonderful style of writing - your feelings are in every word. I pray to God it gets easier for you - I have often thought that I would not want to remain if I lost my husband and I can see how you might wish for death as a release for the pain but you must know that your beautiful husband would hate for you to think that way. You seem to have a beautiful spirit and I have to believe that everything in this life happens for a reason even if it isn't always clear - I hope you find your way back from your grief. Please know there are people out here in cyber space who are thinking and praying for you. x

  3. Lacey - it was my 6 month mark on the same day - I thought of you a lot and still am.

  4. "It feels more like waiting than living." That's where I'm at.

    Thinking about you today.

  5. My husband died about 6 months before Elliot, and this post is amazing. It says everything I've not been able to say. I'm optimistic by nature, I guess, and I feel obligated to keep that happy face on, even somewhat in my own blog, so I don't think I'm good at finding the words to express my darkest thoughts. This resonated with me so much -- I just had tears streaming down my face as I read it. Thank you so much for sharing, for putting words to my feelings.

    I'll tell you -- some days it's actually fun to play the cards life has dealt (and I'm not saying being a widow is fun -- I'm just saying life will hand you good things and you can enjoy them, despite the fact that this terrible tragedy occurred). But yes, some days, I still want to fold, even a year later. I'm actually just starting to date again, and it's so overwhelming and confusing at times that it reminds me WHY I'm dating, and makes me mad that I have to navigate these waters. But then I take it one day at a time, and I manage. I'm even having some fun with the process.

    My heart breaks for your pain. Hold on -- one day at a time will keep carrying you forward, and I hope you will enjoy some of what is to come.