It's been a little while since I've been here, pouring out my heart to whoever is out there reading. Honestly, Carrie Fisher gave me the courage to post tonight. She once said, "I think I do overshare. It's my way of trying to understand myself....It creates community when you talk about private things." This really resonates with me. My grief journey is the most personal, sensitive, gut-wrenching topic...and yet I gain so much from sharing in this weird and wonderful community.
I made it through the holidays, which were admittedly not as bad as I thought they'd be. Missing Mitch on Christmas day didn't really hurt more than missing him on a random Wednesday afternoon. I had a melt down, yeah. But I have melt downs pretty often. It was just another day and I survived. Again. I've passed so many grief milestones I've heard about from others since Mitch's passing. I've now sobbed in a grocery store, laughed at the absolute nonsense of this whole situation & used my widow card to attempt to get out of a speeding ticket (he didn't care). I've stopped bawling through Sacrament meeting, I can sing a hymn without tears streaming down my face. I can sleep with Mitch's shirt without the faint smell of him giving me a panic attack. I can say "my husband died" without biting my lip to stop the tears or forcing a blank zombie expression.
Since my last post, I've opened up to quite a few people about my story. When I moved back to Utah, hoping to "start over" (I've since learned this is not really possible...), I wanted to hug my secret so tight. I didn't want to share it with anyone who wouldn't take it seriously, or would expect anything from me. Expect me to cry. Expect me not to cry. Expect me to be miserable. Or over it. Or anything. I didn't want people to gossip about it, or give me those "your life is tragic" eyes that I have gotten way too many times. I didn't want anyone that didn't personally know Mitch to know ABOUT him and not really want to know him. He, more than anyone, deserves to be known and loved and appreciated.
But then, one Sunday, the glass walls I'd built around my secret shattered all at once. Suddenly, I couldn't keep it to myself, not for one more minute. I wanted people to know because I wanted to be known. I wanted to be understood on a deeper level than people were treating me. I don't want to be the wounded animal but I want to be real. I was sick of small talk. I hate small talk. I wanted to connect with people. I wanted Mitch's life and my story to mean something, and not just be buried under layers of grief and pain.
And so, I found my tragic, heavy secret tumbling out of my mouth over and over again. It would often be met with giant eyes, or a soft "oh my gosh" but it didn't destroy me. I didn't even cry most times. And for the first time since February, I felt heard. I haven't felt judged. I haven't regretted telling anyone. My worst fears about my secret coming out haven't happened. It's a sad story but it's not the only sad story out there. My story just wove itself into the tapestry of tragedies that people hear and experience all the time -- and it was fine. No one has looked at me like a wounded animal, or rolled their eyes at my tears. Most people didn't ask inappropriate questions. People are generally kind and patient and understanding. It's crazy.
This week, Carrie's death hit me harder than any other celebrity death. Because Mitch and I loved her. Because she was a wild and fantastic woman who didn't give a damn about what people thought of her. Because I look up to her in many ways. Because I couldn't talk to Mitch about how awful it is that she is gone. Because Mitch isn't here to stay up watching A New Hope for the hundredth time with me just to see her again.
I still have difficulty believing that this is my REAL life, even 10 months later. But here I am, doing this stupid, totally confusing thing. I literally have NO CLUE what I'm doing, but I'm doing it? And whatever you're in the middle of facing, you'll get through it, too. Even if you have no idea what the hell is going on. It's cool.
Also, don't be afraid of your story, whatever it is. Tell it. Scream it. For me. For Carrie. For Mitch.
