Sometimes you just get in a funk. It’s acceptable. Work is hard; perhaps a relationship has gone bad. Your kid is giving you a fit or you’re struggling to pay the bills.
I find myself there on occasion. When things aren’t great, I tend to really, really miss Lisa. I begin to stew, worrying about stuff that I don’t have control over.
After a couple of weeks in that state, I think it moves from acceptable to pathetic.
Two weeks after Lisa died, I could still hardly move. I remember being at my parent’s house, unable to get out of bed. The kids were jumping on my head looking desperately for their father. They could see me, but I just wasn’t there.
At lunch that day, my mom said, “Danny, you can do this.”
“What choice do I have?” I snapped back.
On my drive back to Raleigh, I remembered that I had promised Lisa that when she could no longer go on, I would take care of things here on earth. But I wasn’t. I was wallowing in my sadness and not doing a thing to try to fix it. That day was a good wake up call for me.
Life didn’t immediately turn around. I didn’t totally shuck grief out the door on that Sunday afternoon two weeks after I’d lost my wife. What I did do, however, was begin to push myself toward healing.
Now, when things aren’t great, I immediately jump to the conclusion that if she hadn’t died my life would be perfect. It wasn’t perfect before she died; I’m not sure what makes me think it would be if she hadn’t.
After sitting in my own pile of deserving self-pity for an appropriate amount of time – my gut tells me when – something clicks.
Enough. It’s time to move on. Make a plan.
Step one is reminding myself how much I have to be thankful for. Once complete, the rest comes fairly easily.