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The Light Switch

Warning: this post includes real talk about real feelings of grief.

Life has a funny way of providing you with immense joy and immense pain. I used to be one of the happiest people I knew. I encouraged others. I believed in dreams. I couldn’t wait to see what the future held for me, for us.

Now any thought of the future hurts.

Literally thinking about tomorrow, my birthday, holidays and milestones that we were about to cross off our lists sends me into a waterworks display.

I’m in a dark place, but it’s not one that I want anyone to worry over. I ache every day for my husband, but I have no desire to harm myself. I must admit If God decided to reunite us tomorrow I wouldn’t be mad. But since I’m here, I’m trying to make the best of it.

Just know life isn’t as simple and as beautiful as it was before April 16th.

Rasheed Amin Wiggins IS the love of my life.

He was my partner in every sense of the word. I try to remind myself how lucky I am to experience that type of love. God blessed me for 12 years to have him in my life in that capacity.

I don’t know what the future holds, but I know that man loved me in a way no one else could ever come close to. He provided a world full of love, faith, hope, security, fun, laughter, dreams, sensuality and beauty. We were equally yoked. He was made for me and I for him. He was the guy others looked up to and the man women dreamt of having as a mate. He was the perfect mix of strength and sensitivity, and he was mine. The fact I have to potentially live another lifetime without him hurts the most right now. He wasn’t a husband; he was THE husband God made for me, and then He took him away.

For now, I just need you to let me lie in the dark. It’s terrible here. I don’t want to be here, but I am. And the one thing I agree with in the conversations I’ve had and the books I’ve read is I have to go through this. I need you to also understand I do see the light switch. I can’t reach it. I honestly don’t even want to hold my hand up to try. But I do know it’s there. I believe when it’s time I will be able to stand, walk to the edge of the room and turn on the light. I’m pretty sure that won’t all happen in one day, but I believe when that day comes it will feel good. However, today the very thought of going through those steps seems too much and simply pointless.

So if you really want to help someone grieving the deep loss of a love, sit in the dark with them. I don’t want you to live in this darkness. I know it’s not a pretty place. I wouldn’t want anyone else to experience this pain. I don’t want to experience this. Just don’t turn on the light switch until you know I’m ready for it, and you’ll know. Meantime, please gently remind me of the light. I used to love it. Remind me of how amazing Rasheed was. Talk about him. It’s okay. And be there with me as I stumble through my new reality.

Now please don’t misunderstand me. I truly need your thoughts, prayers, hugs, calls, and texts, but the darkness makes it difficult for me to see the reply button. Talking on the phone is no longer fun. However, your support works to shed the light I need in this dark room I’m now living in.

In due time, I will reach the light switch. Just know that day is not today. It probably won’t be next week. And it may even not happen next year. But I will get there as long as you use your cell phone’s light (on dim setting) to help guide.

Originally posted on June 21, 2016

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