I’m reminded that what we see on one side of a mirror, the opposite is simultaneously happening on the other. The world has always been a dichotomy of this truth.

So, what is the opposite of this great wave of narcissism we see happening in our world? Well, I think it is a great wave of awakening of the truest self. The self made in the image of God. We are discovering it these days in a wave I don’t think has been seen before.

Lately, I’ve discovered this dichotomy in the mirror of love and hate in my life with Hunny. It’s been peeking around corners at me since Hunny’s transition. And I’ve been recognizing it yet wanting not to see it. Not now when I’m discovering ever deeper how amazing he was to me. I don’t want to see the other side too. But there it is. That dichotomy of truth.

Before I see the results with my physical eyes, I can know my prayer is answered. I learned this a long time ago when Hunny was being an active alcoholic. I’d pray for his safety getting home, which was a real concern since I knew he’d be driving under the influence.

During one of those nights, which was many, I’d close my eyes and pray earnestly. “Please, Father, keep him safe.” And within moments, that sweet, soft Peace would seep into my heart, easing my worries. It was always such a quiet thing that I wouldn’t notice it if I was overly emotional. The noise of my emotions could block my awareness of it. And if I didn’t receive it, then I wouldn’t have it.

We’ve heard so much about being in the presence of God. Or finding the presence. Or inviting presence. And after someone has passed into eternity we hear about feeling their presence. This week Father has been teaching me about Hunny’s presence.

There’ve been moments when I felt his presence so distinctly that it was unmistakable. And instead of looking directly at his chair, I got the impression that I should look away. Looking at the chair was distracting from it. But when I looked away, his presence felt more profound, actually bigger.

Well meaning friends and acquaintances come to see me, expecting wild displays of emotion. It seems easiest for me to simply talk about how Hunny passed through and what I know about it. They’re puzzled and confused by my dry-eyed conversation and I know they ask themselves if I have a cold heart or simply don’t know how to cry. I’ve been asked, “Have you cried yet?”

I’ve shaken my head for months now about this strange turn in our society. Where sobbing tears are not only expected, but applauded. Hunny and I discussed often how bizarre it was to us that people embrace being victims.

Yesterday, I fell down that black hole of grief and had one heck-of-a-time getting out.

It all began with a call to our attorney. Hunny and I have known him and his secretary for at least 20 years. They’ve been with us through painful family struggles and mundane chores. For some reason, that was the trigger that sent me into tears and kept me sobbing for most of the day.

I think it’s odd that I do so well with grief most of the time but telling others the news that Hunny is no longer walking in the flesh on this earth, is my Achilles heel. Why does the act of telling someone, reduce me to such tears that I can’t speak?

This is going to be my advice to widows based on my one month experience as a widow and very little else.

First, I would recommend to everyone that an inner conversation should begin now, before anyone is gone. One question to ask is: “how do I want to react when it happens”. I say “when” because everyone faces the death of a partner. It’s reality. And the answer cannot be “I don’t want to think about that”. That answer will be to your peril. Face the demons within while you can escape them as needed in periodic breaks, but keep going back to face them until you can answer the question sufficiently enough to vaporize the demon.

I had this inner conversation off and on for several years but more intently in the past few months as it became a greater possibility. And I specifically faced those demons because I was afraid to. It’s the best reason of all. I know from experience that when I hide from the demons that scare me, the price later is worse than I imagined. But the price now is extremely less. That simple difference in price can make one rich…in Peace and trauma avoided. Well worth it. So, I tend to like to screw up my courage and face the demons within with an expectant relish. How much will conquering this one this time gain me?

Hunny said, “I don’t care” and it set me free from guilt.

Once again, as I traverse this road of hidden land mines and pits of destruction, Hunny has once again come to my rescue.

It happened last night as I stared down the demons of “was it my fault?” and “could I have done something more?”. These of course, have been hanging in the background since Hunny’s passing because I don’t have the death certificate yet. I don’t know what was put into that little space where it states “cause of death”. And I finally fell into that black hole of guilt begging Father not to let them put something on that line implicating my inadequacy and failure. “Please, Father, I can’t bear to think that it was my fault.”

Last night Father asked me if I was ready to go forward now. It surprised me because I thought I was going forward all along. However, I’d confided in a friend last year that I’d lost my mojo somewhere along the way. And I’d begun to ask Father if he was still there.

In the last couple of months I’d asked Father to give me a song in the morning. It was something he’d done so often…before. But it hadn’t happened often in the last couple of years. I didn’t know why. I didn’t realize what had changed. It’s kind of ironic I didn’t connect that I wasn’t communicating with Father the same way as I had.

In a moment my life changed. It was instantaneous. In the blink of an eye.

Hunny was gone and that changed everything. All the big and the tiny details of our life were different now. And they would never be the same again. So, I couldn’t rely on old habits. Rather, new ones had to form.

My head spins at how quickly everything changed. How can that be so true? And yet, it is. All the time. Every day.

Lurking stealthily in the back corner of my mind was guilt over Hunny’s passing. I could have done my caregiving differently, more quickly, more intelligently, or more effectively. The fear monster was waiting to pounce. Waiting for the death certificate to show that I had failed.

So, I went to Father pleading for my absolution or avoidance. I didn’t know how to combat this demon.

As a result, a video about complicated guilt popped into my feed and I watched it. It shined a light into my dark place. This wasn’t a new thing but rather an old one from another death that haunted me. It had been Hunny’s mother 20 years ago and I had been her caregiver. As I am now, I’d wondered if I’d done it wrong.