the process

Hello, my darling.

The days continue to roll forth, over and over again. As they have done so, I have found myself in yet another new and uncharted territory.
It seems as if the shock has passed, the numbness along with it.
I now feel as if that protective skin has been callously extracted from me and I now feel pain in its most exquisite and purest form--Hour after hour, minute after minute.
Since your passing, I have found great comfort in writing to you. Somehow, writing my thoughts and feelings to you have helped me discover myself in this new reality. But right now, in this raw state, there are no words within me to write to you. All I can possibly communicate is emotion. I simply hope you are able to feel the profound sea of love and adoration I constantly feel for you, and that it is precisely that love that is leaving me speechless and on my knees in utter humility and anguish.

'I have been driven many times to my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had nowhere else to go.'
- Abraham Lincoln

That describes my experiences exactly.

I just finished reading a blog written by a fellow young widow, who shares many words of inspiration.

Since I am out of words for now, perhaps including some of those thoughts here might help express what I cannot:

"The injured should do what they can to work through their trials, and the Savior will “succor his people according to their infirmities.” He will help us carry our burdens. Some injuries are so hurtful and deep that they cannot be healed without help from a higher power and hope for perfect justice and restitution in the next life. Since the Savior has suffered anything and everything that we could ever feel or experience, He can help the weak to become stronger. He has personally experienced all of it. He understands our pain and will walk with us even in our darkest hours."
~President James E. Faust

"Pain stayed so long.
I said to him today, 'I will not have you with me anymore.'
I stamped my foot and said, 'Be on your way,' and paused there, startled at the look he wore.
'I who have been your friend,' he said to me. 'I who have been your teacher - all you know of understanding, love, of sympathy, and patience, I have taught you. Shall I go?'
He spoke the truth, this strange unwelcome guest; I watched him leave, and knew that he was wise. He left a heart grown tender, he left a far, clear vision in my eyes. I dried my tears, and lifted up a song - even for one who'd tortured me so long." -Spencer W. Kimball

Oh, Michael. So many things I hope to eventually write down. I long to write more about you, more about the precious memories. I plea to God I will not forget them. I want to tell you how our sweet Andi is doing, and about the new changes we're facing and decisions I'm making. I want to express the worries I have for you...for me...for the future. I hope to get more of your poems written here for others to read.
For right now, though, I am just trying to cope with the pain and accept the fact that I cannot flee from this process. Perhaps I may even have to embrace it.

As I always said, you are my hero! My own personal Superman.

Don't forget: "I love you in the morning sun and in the evening moon!"