Yesterday was painful, giggly, sad, thoughtful, tearful, and everything else. Some beautiful friends came to keep me company. I smiled. I laughed. I cried. I took lots and lots of deep breaths. I tried to keep it together when I was around people. Don't ask me why I bothered. I know that I didn't have to, but it just felt like what I was supposed do. I guess it was because I let some words, that were meant as loving encouragement, influence my actions. So many people told me to be thankful for the day we wed. Not to mourn that blessed day. That it was a day for celebrating. I felt self conscious feeling sad. I could never forget all of the good memories. I know anniversaries are for celebrating. Well, yeah, any other year. But really? REALLY? How could I not mourn my heart out on a day like that? How could a day that was always filled with joy and celebration not be devastatingly awful considering that my husband is dead? For heaven's sake. Of course it sucked.
I actually threw up. I puked on my anniversary. It's funny; I really wasn't very surprised. It could have been from any number of reasons: the anxiety, the sadness, or taking my vitamin on an empty stomach... Either way, it seemed natural. I know that may sound gross, but really. While I was bending over the toilet, holding down my necklace so I wouldn't get any chunks on it, I thought "well, this is fitting". No matter the actual cause of the intestinal disturbance, it seemed like the appropriate physical manifestation of my emotions. Puking my guts out. I was committing an act of personal disservice by not letting my emotions go, and my body knew it. So, my emotions came up on their own; out of my stomach, through my esophagus, out of my mouth, and into a toilet (accompanied by some horrible gagging sounds). That's what I get for worrying about what other people expect instead of doing what I feel is right for me.
|To Avoid: Don't do what you think is expected. Do what you feel is right and good in your heart.|
And so I reached up, flushed the toilet, gargled at the sink, spit, and looked at myself in the mirror. I took a long hard look. And after I'd thrown up, the face looking back at me wasn't ill or weak, but strong. I can say, without a doubt, that the symbolism of vomiting on September 24th, 2011 was immediately recognized as I looked at my face in the mirror. I actually smiled at my reflection before turning to walk back out into the world. Message received. Loud and clear. Lesson learned.