Until I Find My Own Voice

I am still searching for how I can possibly describe the pain, the love, and the gratitude that lies in my heart. Until that day comes, I have found meaning and expression in the wisdom of other peoples’ words that grasp at some part of what I am feeling. And perhaps that is how my grief will break down, piece by piece, until I have carved my way into something that feels more peaceful. 

In posting quotes and poems online, I have wanted to share my love for Chris. Not because I wish to elicit sadness or commentary, but because I think it is important for people to know that there is so much gratitude in grief. Yes, my heart is broken by loss, but my love for Chris continues to keep me afloat.  Love does not die, it changes. 

For me, facebook is no longer the forum for expressing all of things I need to feel and say. While I wish to reflect a genuine life, I made a decision far before losing Chris that I wanted to infuse my profile with positivity. At this point, I think my personal journey is better cataloged via a blog – as I continue whittling away at what I feel and what my life means in the shadow of Chris’ death. This blog is for me, but it is also for anyone who needs to feel embraced in their own grief. To be reminded of our own buoyancy.

When I married Chris, I committed my life to supporting the mission of his military career: "That Other May Live." In his absence, I still feel called to live out his legacy, in ways that make sense for me. I will never save lives like my husband, his fellow crew members, or the men and women of Rescue. What I can give is a vantage point into what it means to live and love through grief that too many military spouses know too well. "That Others May Love" is my way of reminding myself, and the world, that love continues, even in loss. 

Until I find my voice, find my own words, I am certain I will continue to use the brilliancy of others as my starting point for writing down all the things my heart wishes to say. With that, I part with a poem that reminds me of the legacy I left to fulfill, the legacy I owe to the man who showed me how to love and live: 

A glimpse of the laughter we shared every day.

“to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you've held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.”
― Ellen Bass