My Mystical Quandary

Last night, while going through the grueling process of self-pity, I spent some time pondering life’s precarious predicaments. After all, I am perpetually lost within the darkness of one of those precarious predicaments. My husband is gone. Regardless of how much I scream, beg, and cry, he will still be gone. I know that his soul continues to exist, but I will not see him again while on this earth. He visited me a few times, but he does not visit anymore. This is what I thought, in between sobs and the question of why, why, why.

I am slowly fathoming the reason why he refuses to see me. My spirituality demands that I believe everything happens for a reason. Logically, I know this; however, emotions usually trump logic. His death was not just a random occurrence. He died because my karma demands some retribution. I do not remember why I chose this lonely existence, but I assume that my soul owes a massive debt to my eternal growth. He refuses to see me for two reasons. One—it is the hell I must endure to advance spiritually and two—he has his own soul growth with which to tend.

One may think that accepting answers would lead to peace. I wish that were the case. I remain in a perpetual state of uproar. Tranquility looms just out of reach. I have two choices—I can simply accept my castigation and resign myself to living as a fraud or I can reinvent myself and be content with the knowledge that I am mortal and mortality has its limits. What a mystical quandary I face.

  I reluctantly abandon my dreams—my dream of growing old with the man I love with all my heart, my dream of becoming a writer, my dream of happiness, and my dream of helping others. I buried the largest part of my dreams the day I buried him, but vestiges drift in the aura surrounding me. Those vestiges are slowly drifting away. I surrender to the dreamless existence, which offers only emptiness. I had such a big heart. Sometimes, I wondered whether I am an empath. I feel as though my heart is shrinking. I still feel, I still absorb the sadness of others around me, but I no longer feel that I am capable of helping them.

Doyle and I had plans for retirement. Once I began teaching, he could retire. I was planning to buy a metal detector for him so that he would have a hobby. He had big plans for working in the shop we built. I had big plans of coming home to his arms after long days. We never had that opportunity. His life ended much too soon. My life ended about two weeks prior to his. I try to pretend that we are holding each other, sometimes even falling asleep that way, but I always wake with tears on my pillow.

My dream of becoming a writer, while still looming around me, has died for the most part. So few people actually read what I write. A friend said it is because my writing is so depressing, but I do not believe that. My writing is just not as good as I thought. He was my biggest fan and his encouragement drove me. I read everything I wrote to him, regardless of how long. He would praise me and sometimes, even make suggestions. I am not a narcissist, but I admit that his devotion encouraged me to continue writing. Now, I suppose I write because I began writing as a little girl and believed it was my destiny. I do not believe that anymore. I am beginning to believe that my destiny was to have 20 years of bliss with the man I love, and then be plunged into darkness for atrocities I committed in previous lives. To endure this hell for the remainder of this life is my destiny.

I once thrived in helping others. I could often find the right thing to say or know just when to listen. Now, how can I help others when I cannot even help myself. All I am capable of now is absorbing their pain, but with no resolutions to absolving it. I have become useless. There it is—I have no purpose anymore. I merely exist.

Relief can only come in the form of death, but I signed a contract. How funny that I am bound by contractual obligations to endure my sentence. I imagine a heavy scroll stuck in an array of endless shelves, just gathering dust. Ironically, the written word that I love so much is the very harness that confines me to hell. To take my own life would be equivalent to breaking a contract with God. I cannot do that because then, I would be condemned to endure another life or I might not get to see him. I cannot take that chance.

The time is nearing that I make my choice—accept my fate and learn to embrace this fraudulent existence or simply evolve into another person and wait for it all to end. My mystical quandary is complex. For now, I can only accept my fate and continue living as a fraud, feigning laughter at the right moments and pretending as though I enjoy living alone knowing that I will never again know love or even making love. However, at the back of my mind is the thought that the two options can merge—along with empty existence, I must find contentedness with the knowledge that mortality has its limits. I wait.

©2012 Relinda R.


24 thoughts on “My Mystical Quandary

  1. You have so eloquently put into words the thoughts and emotions I feel daily since my husband was taken from me so abruptly… without warning. I have many of the same contemplations that you have expressed here. So often, people try to tell me that they understand, but I know they couldn’t possibly. Like each new snowflake that falls, every relationship is different. Therefore, grief is always unique too. I wish I could share with you some wisdom… helping you through. But like you, I find it hard to fathom helping anyone else when I am in such a deep struggle myself. So, in closing, I would just like to say that I wish you only the best. I will say an extra little prayer for your healing as well.

    • Thank you, Missy. I will keep you in my prayers also. I think people want to believe that they understand, but until they feel what it is to be alone, they cannot relate in any manner. Best wishes to you.


  3. Relinda, Do not hide your grief. Keep writing. I am waiting for more. Holidays are very hard when you are grieving. I want you to know that I am envious of you. I never experienced the love that you lost. I’m 53 and wonder if I’ll ever experience it. I don’t expect to because I feel condemned to being alone. It’s my choice with divorce now and that leads me to a different form of grief. Please write more.

    • I will write more soon, Judy. The holidays are especially difficult for me because I buried my love two days prior to Christmas Eve. Today is the three-year anniversary of his death. I believe that you will find that kind of love, Judy. It is there when you stop looking. Thank you for your encouragement.

      • I am so sorry for the pain on this 3rd anniversary. I believe you will soon reach a turning point. Although you are certain about your grief lasting, I am glad you wrote of it. That way, you have a marker to look back upon when you make progress. Trust me, you are wrong. Open your heart to the possibility of healing. Even if you do not believe it, you will find signs of feeling better. Your encouragement to me is the same. I find it unlikely that I will find that kind of love, and you said I would when I stop looking. I am going to tell you that when you stop telling yourself that you will grieve forever, you might actually start to see signs of healing. Healing does not mean you love him less. A sign of a good relationship is the ability to love again. But start with yourself. You are beautiful and worthy. You will help many people with your insight. Keep writing about it and on this sad anniversary I am thinking of you.

        • Thanks, Judy. I appreciate your optimism. I don’t tell myself that I will grieve forever, my heart tells me. For some, the love of your life comes along once, he and I shared that kind of relationship. Thank you again and you are in my thoughts as well.

          • I am envious of you for experiencing that kind of love. A broken heart definitely speaks – in my deep grief I wrote many things that I feel differently about now. I have thought of you throughout the holidays and hope you will write a new post soon. You have eager new readers! Do not hold back. You are absolutely entitled to your feelings and I am expressing my optimism because I never had any for many years. Thank you replying to my comment.

  4. Dear Relinda:
    I found your blog though Judy’s at My Life’s Journey. May I just say, you are not alone in your despair. May I make a humble suggestion? Consider reading Pema Chodron – “When Things Fall Apart”. It helped me tremendously through my loss of both my parents, my family, my partner of fifteen years and my job – which all happened in fourteen months time. Like you, I was devastated that my life would never be as I had imagined. It was my “dark night of the soul” and I had no idea how I would survive. In my own blog is a post “There is Healing in the Woods” and describes my first steps toward survival (

    May I reach out my hand to you – as support through this time?

  5. Dear Relinda,
    Dreams are fuel for our soul. They cost nothing and help us overcome fear and despair. I wrote a song called “My Dream” and it gives me hope. I dream of being a writer, too, and wonder if anyone reads my words. But even if one person is touched, my life is quite meaningful as a result. Your writing is touching. Doubt is poison – push it aside and keep writing. There is magic when you dream and I am certain you will find it again. Grief has a way of ripping our heart into pieces and dreams are the salve.

      • Please remember that you do, too. As you pour out your pain, which you express beautifully – one day you will discover joy again. It is not your destiny to suffer. I pray for some hope to gently whisper something into your ear. Listen carefully, because it will come. Grief can cause total devastation, but like after a fire burns – growth and life is possible again.

          • Thoughts are powerful and affect how we feel. People do die from a broken heart. You are not choosing to grieve. Your horrible predicament is one from which you see know escape. But please do not think it is your destiny to grieve forever. Hang on to some hope. He died but his love for you did not die. As you remember his love, take care of yourself. This is not about what might be true for other people. This is about being open to the possibility of change. When I held my dead child, I was certain it was my destiny to grieve forever. I will always grieve for him, but that doesn’t mean I have to suffer for the rest of my life. I died with my child for awhile and I felt closer to him that way, but then I decided that until my death I could honor his legacy best by carrying his love for me and mine for him. Self-love is very important – holding on to hope will lead you to that. Baby steps, baby steps . . . Right now you are crawling. That is actually good, because you would not be writing if you were completely crushed and prone. Writing is your way to survive right now. Embrace it and continue. It will get easier. I promise.

  6. Uncertainty in our lives tends to bring out instinctive and learned behaviors. We laugh and smile not because we necessarily feel like laughing and smiling but we have conditioned ourselves to respond in the same old ways. In time it will lead to different reactions in the process of our “reinvention”

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