It's been quite a long time since I've been here but sometimes life comes along and doesn't give you any extra minutes to spare. The last time I opened these pages was 2022. So much has happened since then and it now seems so long ago. Anyway, here I am. I'm back.
A lot has happened since my last entry in 2022 but in a nutshell, the man of my dreams, Michael Croke, passed away last summer on July 4/23 after a long illness. It broke my heart. We had 33+ amazing years together and I'm thankful for each, and every one of them. We always thought of our relationship as our very own fairy tale. He fought so long and hard to live, not for himself but for me. He didn't want to leave me here alone. He was worried about me right to the very end. I admit it's been a long, cold winter. I'm hoping summer will help with some much-needed warmth that I so crave right now.
It hasn't been an easy year but I've learned a few things about myself. I thought I had put my past to bed but little did I know it was still coming along for the ride.
I started spring cleaning about a month ago. You know busy stuff. Things you can do to keep your mind off the one you're not with. Anyway, I found a box of my old journals. I've kept journals for many years. In my day we called them diaries. Same thing. They were meant to be private. I used to pour my heart out in them. The funny thing was, I didn't have one journal from before Michael. I don't remember throwing them away but they could have gotten lost in all the moves. I'm not upset because they were a sad time in my life. Growing up in my home was not a pleasurable memory. It was hell but I didn't know any different at the time.
So, while doing some research about grief, I came across an article about childhood trauma. Well, that was an eye-opener for me. That's when all the bells and whistles went off in my head. I have to be the harshest critic of myself and it's all in those journals. It comes from being raised by a crazy woman, who was my mother. She was a violent, aggressive alcoholic with a nasty mean streak when it came to her daughters and we paid the price. Neither of us is violent or aggressive.
I never thought of myself as being enough. I always condemned myself for not working harder and not doing more. I never told any of this to Michael because I thought I had left it in the dust. It was part of my past. Besides he always thought I worked way too hard. He always told me how beautiful I was. He thought I was the most intelligent woman he had ever met. Each and every day he affirmed this so it was easy to ignore my own thoughts. He never got to see the part of me where I always doubted myself. But, there it was in all my journals of our life together. As happy as I was with my life and him, I still wasn't satisfied but only with myself. When he died I became that frightened young woman again from 33 years ago who was afraid of her own shadow.
My journals have opened my eyes and I'm learning I've always been enough. Maybe now, it will become easier for me as I continue to read the journals of our story. I'm learning, that not only am I mourning the loss of Michael, I'm mourning the loss of me. I'm mourning the loss of a childhood that I never got to have. By the time I was 13, I was the chief cook and bottle washer, when we had food. I was also the maid. I know that brave, young woman who stood by Michael Croke's side is still inside this old woman with a broken heart. I just have to find a way to get her back into the sun so she can shine again.
I've been told the path through grief is different for everyone. No two are alike. Each of us has to find our own way through it. It's a solitary journey. There is no timestamp on how long it will take. No fast rules on how it's done. Some days are good, some are bad and some are horrific and the tears just won't stop. All I can tell you is just go with it. If you're having a good day, make it count. Do everything and anything that makes you smile. When you're having a bad day, go easy on yourself. Sit back, have a cup of tea, and let it happen. Have a long hot bath or a shower. Light a candle. Cuddle up with your pet. Call a friend. If it's been a horrific day and the memories and the tears just won't stop, be kind to yourself. Curl up in a big chair with your favorite cuddle blanket and cry. Just let it go. I have experienced each of these kinds of days and sometimes all three in one day.
I wish I could tell you it will get better but I'm only 10 months into what I consider a life sentence. I'm not a professional in any way, just a little old lady who misses her cowboy. I still love him with all my heart. I still miss him each and every day. And I still want him home with me, where he belongs.
Judy
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