Sometimes I get weepy re-reading posts I’ve written. They recall vivid scenes, which in turn summon familiar senses. The smell of Bill’s favorite lotion as I massaged his feet. The rustle of the river on our last date together. The phone calls with my mom relating and encouraging me as I stirred the morning oatmeal. Suddenly I’m not actually here typing at my kitchen counter, I am there deep in the place, the pain, the past.

I’m not sure, but I think this is part of healing. I haven’t been to counseling, but I think this is what’s called processing, working through, coming to terms with. I think it’s a good thing to release emotions that may be swept aside or swept under. I’ve briefly read through the stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. To be honest, I have no idea where I am on this spectrum. I don’t actually feel the need to know. A particular memory may shift me up or down on the slide. For me, it’s one more thing that defines me.

Not that I’m closed to counseling, but for now, I’d rather be completely and wholeheartedly defined by God. Even in my grief. I know He has the power to reach me, talk to me, counsel me. I am confident He can bring me to green pastures beside still waters on this walk. Already I’ve had turn-outs with Him that strengthen my wobbly knees and set my feeble mind on Him. Not exactly psychotherapy, but somehow just the counsel I need.

So I let myself recall and relive. I let myself cry. When I’m alone, I don’t even fight it. In my rocker, on the uh hum…, in the pantry, behind the wheel, and always under the covers. I miss this man of mine so much. I am so very much in love with Bill. God knows that. He will counsel me. He will meet me when I’m deep in memories. He is the Wonderful Counselor.