Why have I been absent from blogging? I’ve had a grievous loss and a new life journey to travel. My husband, Robert W. Burrows, died on February 10th. His death was quick and unexpected, though we’d been expecting it for years.
Prepared Yet Unprepared
When death comes, no matter how prepared you think you are—it’s unexpected. First, there’s a kind of numbness. Then a deep sharp twisting unrelenting pain. Grief is uncomfortable and messy and an overwhelming tidal wave.
When a loved one dies, you go through the motions of daily life, find paperwork, eat, and sleep— if you can. You have moments when you feel almost normal then a small thing, often a ridiculous thing, triggers a tsunami of emotions. One friend likened this to walking through a field peppered with landmines. For me it feels like I’m trying to swim to shore—one wave carries me closer to solid ground and the next one slaps me down to the bottom of the ocean, drags me through the sand and silt, spins me in circles until I don’t know up from down, and drags me further from shore than I’ve ever been before.
And yet, sometimes I make it close to shore. Waves lap against my legs. The sun peeks between the clouds, and I can see beauty and small glimpses of joy.
Love Gets Me Through
My husband’s love was a forever and always love. As was mine for him. He was my number one fan, cheerleader, and hero. He had many chronic illnesses, all of them life-limiting. And his greatest fear and regret was that his illness and dependence on me held me back from writing.
For me, his illness was sometimes frustrating. My patience thinned. But I didn’t and don’t regret one moment I spent caring for him. Our love was worth it. And love gets me through today stronger than yesterday.
I share this because I wanted you, my readers, to know why I disappeared. That I’m still here. And I deeply, deeply appreciate you for still being here, too. Thank you.
While work on the next draft of If I Should Die, book two in the Fellowship Dystopia series, is slower than I had hoped, it is continuing. And I’m back to blogging. I will have good days and sad days. Productive days and not so productive days for a while. But while I’m navigating a grievous loss and a new life journey, I will keep working. It’s what my number one fan would want.
So sorry, Lynette – hugs and prayers and thoughts for you and your family.
Thank you, Jennette. I appreciate your kindness.
Thank you for sharing this so beautifully. Loss and love seem to go hand-in-hand, especially now. Thank you for showing us how courage can step in. Keep swimming, my friend. You’re in my prayers.
Thank you, Lisa. Your words and support mean a lot.
Hi Lynette. I’m so sorry for your loss. But I’m glad you’re back to writing. Please continue to take care.
Francelia,I value your encouragement. Thank you.
Oh, Lynette, I’m so sorry for your loss. Even with the expectation, it’s not easy losing a spouse, I know. Sending you hugs and love.
Diana, I am so sorry if my situation triggered you in any way. This is not an easy road ever–not immediately nor years later. Even when life is following a new course. Thank you so much for taking the time to comment. Love right back at you!
I’m so sorry for your loss. Grief is multi-layered, and it has no timeline. Please show yourself grace and take whatever time you need, without letting anyone make you feel guilty that you’re moving too fast or too slow.
Thank you, Marcy. It’s difficult to show myself grace in the best of times, but I’m trying to learn to do that now.