Boondocks,
The day I buried my first wife, I pulled into our long, gravel drive and stopped. Looked at the cows on the right hand side, the lightly, snow covered hayfield to the left. The feeling of futility and emptiness was indescribable. What had provided me with so much comfort and enjoyment was absolutely meaningless in that moment. I pondered on it for awhile and realized why. The cattle and farm were shared with my wife. We shared the joy together of owning cattle and had shared the work of building the farm together. In that moment, sitting at the end of the drive, those cattle that had provided so much joy, were now, merely an unpleasant reminder of my new reality. I sold the cattle and that farm in a months time. I moved to Indiana and went back to college for a degree in nursing. Basically, I broke every major recommendation "not to do" while adrift on the ocean of grief. I had to for a number of reasons. Everyone's journey is different.
You can always come back to cattle (I did after 2 years without them) and enjoy them again. I appreciate how pointless it seems in your current moment. One day at a time is the only way to navigate grief. Keep getting up each day, point your face directly into that brutal storm that grief provides, and keep marching forward, directly into it. You will come through it a changed person, but you were never going to be the same person you were before your loss. The only thing i can assure you of is that the intensity of the pain you feel today will eventually relent into a less intense ache over time. It will never leave you. The intense hurt you feel in this moment is directly proportionate to how strongly you loved. Grief is the cost of a love so strong.
Continue to write, journal, express your feelings and emotions. I walked. A LOT! I found relief in music. I found a board for young widow/ers. It helped to journey with fellow travellers. I continue to think of you daily.
Peace and respite.
The day I buried my first wife, I pulled into our long, gravel drive and stopped. Looked at the cows on the right hand side, the lightly, snow covered hayfield to the left. The feeling of futility and emptiness was indescribable. What had provided me with so much comfort and enjoyment was absolutely meaningless in that moment. I pondered on it for awhile and realized why. The cattle and farm were shared with my wife. We shared the joy together of owning cattle and had shared the work of building the farm together. In that moment, sitting at the end of the drive, those cattle that had provided so much joy, were now, merely an unpleasant reminder of my new reality. I sold the cattle and that farm in a months time. I moved to Indiana and went back to college for a degree in nursing. Basically, I broke every major recommendation "not to do" while adrift on the ocean of grief. I had to for a number of reasons. Everyone's journey is different.
You can always come back to cattle (I did after 2 years without them) and enjoy them again. I appreciate how pointless it seems in your current moment. One day at a time is the only way to navigate grief. Keep getting up each day, point your face directly into that brutal storm that grief provides, and keep marching forward, directly into it. You will come through it a changed person, but you were never going to be the same person you were before your loss. The only thing i can assure you of is that the intensity of the pain you feel today will eventually relent into a less intense ache over time. It will never leave you. The intense hurt you feel in this moment is directly proportionate to how strongly you loved. Grief is the cost of a love so strong.
Continue to write, journal, express your feelings and emotions. I walked. A LOT! I found relief in music. I found a board for young widow/ers. It helped to journey with fellow travellers. I continue to think of you daily.
Peace and respite.
