November

Dex is always on my mind, even when I'm not talking or writing about him. My thoughts surrounding him are usually upbeat and positive, but this is the time of year when I acknowledge to myself the truth: that I constantly keep myself intensely busy in order to stay ahead of my sorrow.

In a strange way, I have been looking forward to this for a while. The raw vulnerability of this tender time of year takes me back to the peace and the pain of the day our world changed forever. In the melodic words of Lady Antebellum, "Yes, I'd rather hurt than feel nothing at all." I spend so much time in a place of acceptance regarding our situation that at times I wonder if I'm really ok or if I've just told myself that so many thousands of times that I am ignoring the possibility that I'm not ok. That I'm not at all ok. I don't even know if that makes sense to anyone else.

I'm publicly confessing that I get a little envious whenever I find out that someone has completed their earthly journey and has returned Home in peace. It feels unfair that they get to be with my Dex and I can't. Patience is a virtue, but not one that I possess in particular abundance. I want to be brave and patient, if only because Dex thinks I'm silly when I'm petty about the current arrangement. I'm a people-pleaser and I want to please Dex with my ability to endure to the end cheerfully. I don't much fear death anymore; I only fear dying unworthily, my life's mission incomplete. I now know without any question that death is just the doorway to the next adventure. (And I do so love a grand adventure!)

The weeks after Dex died were the most spiritual and edifying of my entire life, without question. The spirit was my faithful companion, comforting me when it was all just too much bear. I felt insulated and protected by it, strengthened and enlightened. It made me feel safe and oh, so loved. I felt love and compassion for everyone around me. Several months later, I remember going through a period of time when I absolutely dreaded feeling the spirit. I didn't like being in church because I felt the spirit when we were singing hymns. I had come to associate the feelings of the Holy Ghost with my vast, complicated array of emotions over losing Dex. Those emotions were a mixed bag, I can tell you. "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times". Even when the emotions weren't always necessarily negative, sometimes they were just too. much. It was several months before I felt stable enough to fully open my heart to the most innocent Relief Society lesson or sacrament meeting talk without fear of bubbling over and making a public spectacle, exhausting myself in the process.

Last November was a really rough time. I had this day. And this day. And this day. And this day. And, of course, this day. I'm hoping this anniversary is better. It can't be much worse, right? Right? At least this year I think I know a little better what to expect.