Holding a space for grief and peace at the same time

I’ve been invited to M & V’s house they just bought at the Lake of the Ozarks for the weekend, and I am sitting in my room here, looking out at my deck into the trees beyond, filled with gratitude for being allowed to experience this.

It is so peaceful here. A balm to my raw, ragged emotions of the past few weeks. Tall, green trees surround the house, standing like sentinels, guarding this space, holding it still and safe. My bedroom looks out into their midst, my deck like a treehouse in the green. The water, just beyond, is like glass, the rising sun glimmering on its surface. There is an owl somewhere just beyond my bedroom, his voice mournful and inquisitive.

Last night we went over to friends of theirs, on the other side of the lake. The busy side. It was fun, and I can see what people mean about the lake being a party place…so many houses and boats and people! But it’s fun for awhile, and their friends are warm and welcoming, engaging and friendly. Sitting on the dock in the dark alone for a few minutes, I appreciate the “no wake” rule in effect this weekend (or at least yesterday.) Even here it is mostly peaceful, with only the occasional party boat going slowly by. The sound of music drifts over the water from the bar at the end of the cove, there is laughter in the house above, and fireworks bloom in the night here and there, suddenly, unexpectedly, their reflection streaking the water with color.

I breathe deeply and wonder what W would think of this place. In the next breath, I realize we probably wouldn’t be here if he was alive. I do different things now, without him. My life is different without him…and…sometimes, that’s okay.

I just finished reading an article that Marie​ tagged for me Here is how you stop waiting for them to come back Yes, it is painful to read. Yes, I cried as I read it, I am crying now as I write this. And that’s okay. I know that coming to terms with his loss means feeling it, means being in it, letting it be a part of me, because it is, and always will be. I can’t wish it away, I can’t drink it away, I can’t fuck it away or cry it away. Yes, I could take a handful of pills and make it – me – go away permanently, and I’ve thought about that, too. Sometimes knowing I have years of days to live through without him seems unendurable. But then I do endure. I put the thought of the pills away and call my sister or daughter, or curl up next to Adam​, or walk my dog, or text with a friend, and I live in the grief, let it fill me, because this too, is part of life, my life, now. And some days, days like today when I can look outside and see, in spite of my grief, how beautiful the world is, that’s okay.

Last night we played a bit. I got tied, and spanked, and had a scarf in my mouth. I love a scarf or rope gag in my mouth so much more than a ball gag. W preferred to “really” gag me, so that’s what he did…now I get to do different things. Sometimes it was hard to tell what was what I wanted and what was what he wanted…I know he did many things I wanted him to do, he experimented in ways that he had never before because I asked him to, but mostly we did the things he wanted, because I liked it that way. I still do. Tops ask me now what I would like to do, do I want this, or that? and I am tongue-tied, because what I want to say is, “I want what you want, I want you to do to me what you want to do.” But I know that is not what they want to hear, even if it is the truth. So I stammer and shake my head and shrug and act stupid. But it really is in those moments of being consumed, being swallowed whole by their desire, their needs and wants, that I am most fulfilled.

But, like being able to see that the world is still beautiful through my grief, I can see that being able to do things differently than W and I did is also a good thing.

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