This morning I am feeling...like satan is trying to put me back in a casket God raised me from.
I've heard a lot of, "You are so broken, scarred, wounded...not well enough to realy live yet."
I'm Jerri, and I'm good.
From a personal correspondence...
It's not polished. It's just true.
I've tried to be very "diplomatic" in what I've said and how I've said it because it seemed like the honorable thing to do. However, I think I need to clarify some things so folks understand where I am and can offer encouragement and support (or not) accordingly.
I am not Rob's widow. I was simply the woman married to him when he died.
My experience as "the widow" is not like most anyone else I know, and while I appreciate the deep compassion so many people extend, I simply cannot and WILL NOT do this widow gig.
We were one month from the divorce being final. I had known since early last fall Rob had decided he didn't want to come home.
Yes, his decisions hurt me. Yes, the failure of my marriage hurt me. But, when I grieve, I don't grieve as Rob's wife. I grieve as a woman who watched a lot of her life change dramatically in a year. I grieve the loss of family and friends that are no longer part of our lives. I grieve as someone who hates divorce and tried so hard to avoid it. I grieve for my children who only see a big black hole where their dad isn't anymore.
And, yes, for a long time all I saw was that hole, but I am not there anymore. If you notice, my pronouns have changed. I no longer us "we" or "us". It's "I" and "me". I am referring to life experiences less and less in relation to Rob and more and more as simpy life experiences. I've been to DC. Doesn't matter if Rob was there or not. *I* went to DC.
I am Jerri.
I am not the grieving widow of Rob Phillips.
I choose to define today, not be defined by the last year...or the 19 before that.
I'm not sad. I'm not depressed. I'm not...gloomy. If you think I am, talk to some folks who hang out with me, text me, or talk to me regularly.
Yes, I am still processing. I lived in an altered reality in Asperger's hell for 19 years. Having to figure out what was real and what was mirage, but I'm okay with that, and thankfully, I've been blessed with some amazing people to talk and walk me through it.
I'm learning a new life. Really, that is all it is. I've talked with several miltary friends who say coming back to the States after a deployment is relearning life. Moving from the country to the city is relearning life. The basics are the same, but the nuances and reality of logistics are different. That is it.
It isn't some deep wound or some glaring scar. It's simply figuring out the logistics and learning how to take care of the basics with new logistics.
And yes, some days it is hard. I went to sleep May of 2010 with a preteen happy to trust Mom knows virtually everything. I woke up June 2011 with a 14-year old who has a mind of her own and is trying to figure out how to use it in a productive positive way for God's glory. She is figuring out how to be herself and still honor me. I'm figuring out how to be Mom and respect her being herself. Not easy, but we are finding the laughter...and honest struggles...in the adventure. In some ways we are "growing apart". In other ways--deep ways--we are growing so much closer.
For those who are "deeply concerned", I do have a counselor. She's been great, one of my most wonderful supporters, and she keeps canceling my sessions because according to her, when someone 4 months out from the end of the year I've had is doing better on all fronts than people a few years out are hopefully doing, she sees no reason to see that person. And I tell her the same thing everytime--God is good.
And He is
And because of that...
I'm Jerri, and I'm good.