Fake it 'til you make it

"It's so good to see you thriving," exclaimed one of my friends, seeing pictures of a recent trip to Yosemite. If she only knew.

If she only knew the trip was an homage to Jim, a retracing of a drive we made in 2011, one of our happiest days ever. It was his birthday and we drove with a group of S2000 drivers to Yosemite, had lunch and drove home. We laughed, talked and just enjoyed each other's company surrounded by the beauty of nature. I wanted to re-drive that route, to feel a connection to that happy time.

If she only knew a reason for the trip was to leave a little bit of Jim behind. As I looked hopelessly for signs of water in the drought stricken Mirror Lake, I was left to my own reflections... remembering the happy time when we had traveled to Yosemite with my parents and we sneaked away for a little quiet time to that very same spot, loving each other on a granite boulder beneath the towering trees. Now I was retracing that hike, to find no beautiful lake, but a spot as dry as my heart felt. I left a little of Jim at the base of the boulder, and my tears fell. Tears of abject loss mixed with the joy of remembering the love we shared that day.

If she only knew I booked a room at The Ahwahnee lodge because I'd always wanted to stay there with Jim and never got the chance. As I sat on the balcony gazing up at the massive granite wall, I cried at the overwhelming sense of loss that we would never ever share this experience together.

If she only knew how incredibly hard it is for me to even leave the house, and how much harder it is to come home to an empty home. I drive away and feel like I am leaving a part of him behind. I come home to the quiet and long to hear his hearty laugh and a warm, welcoming hug. I curl up on the couch where he used to sit and watch his favorite movies and shows, over and over. I alternate between wanting to clean house and move to wanting to preserve every note he wrote, every object he touched. This does not feel like thriving.

If she only knew that I still cry. I yearn for my husband's arms around me. Some days I hardly feel like I am thriving, I feel like I am barely surviving. I get up and go through the motions. I know I need to eat, so I eat. I know I need human interaction, so I leave the house. And with time, I am able to find joy in these activities, yet there are moments when I still feel an aching emptiness so strong it feels like a punch to the gut.

I know this too shall pass. Just like there are moments where I can't even breathe, I also find the joy in gratitude. Just this morning as I was thinking about our upcoming wedding anniversary I realized, with a full heart, that I would not give up the life we had for anything. The cost of losing him was high, but the love we created lives on.

Paulo Coelho, is a Brazilian lyricist and novelist writes, “You must be the person you have never had the courage to be. Gradually, you will discover that you are that person, but until you can see this clearly, you must pretend and invent.”

Or as I would word it less eloquently, 'fake it 'til you make it.' Wikipedia explains "Fake it 'til you make it" (also called "act as if") as a common catchphrase.

The purpose is to avoid getting caught in a self-fulfilling prophecy related to one's fear of not being confident, ...It is often recommended as a therapy technique for combating depression. In this case, the idea is to go through the routines of life as if one were enjoying them, despite the fact that initially it feels forced, and continue doing this until the happiness becomes real.

There are days I do feel strong, moments of clarity when I can focus on the love we shared and be grateful for the person I have become. But there are also days when I crawl into a little ball and cry and wail for the the death of my husband like it was yesterday. If she only knew.

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