October 3rd, 2012

I can't seem to really connect with my emotions today.  The physical feelings are intense, I've spent most of the day feeling like I'm carrying a 50lb pack, not to mention just wanting to be in bed.

But I can't really put my thoughts/emotions into words, so I'm going to write about other aspects of my day.

My highlight?  When Nathan crawled into bed with us this morning.  He curled up next to me and excitedly said "Abigails blanket!" as he grabbed it and cuddled up.  We took it to Hawaii, I wonder if he actually noticed it was gone, or just realized this morning that he hasn't seen it in a week.  It was a beautiful moment.

As I go through these times/stages of grief it is obvious to me that my husband and I have two very different needs.  (Reference to The Five Love Languages).

He needs touch.  I need space.  It's a difficult dance.

I'm so thankful for our ability to (mostly) work together.  We've been through our share of stress during the past 5 years.  We've been lucky enough to learn about each other and learn to balance our completely opposite needs.  It's still not always easy.

I'm glad he needs touch.  I'm glad that he can give me some space.  I have no doubt he needs more touch just like I need more space.  But I'm thankful we meet in the middle.  If it was all about my needs I'm not sure we would know when to start touching again.  We might just get used to the space.

I look forward to the day that I can relax again.  Not in the "I'm so uptight right now" sense, but in the "my emotions are so intense I don't have room for anything else" sense.  I look forward to the day I want someone's hands on me, rubbing my arm or my back as we stand close in a group of people.  I know Trever will be there when I'm ready since I work hard to still give the opportunity to show me love in his way right now.

The irony in my situation, my personality?  All I really want to do is lay my head in someone's lap and cry.  But not have any movement on my skin.  I want people around me, and I desperately want to be alone.

I'm thinking of going to a grief group this weekend.  It feels funny to be around "those people".  But I'm one of them.  I guess it's that uncomfortable reminder of my reality.