Mourning is Work

"Mourning is work. It is not simply being sad. It is naming your pain. It is witnessing the sorrow of others, drawing out the shape of loss. It is natural and necessary and there is no healing without it." ~Hilary Mantel, "The Princess Myth"

No wonder we're so exhausted, huh? Mourning is work. It might look like we are doing nothing more than staring at the ceiling while wearing a housecoat with coffee stains but it's more complicated than that. We're mourning. We're working. Hard.
This isn't mere sadness. Sadness implies a mood, with a beginning and an end. Mourning is a process. We might know, intellectually, that it has an end but it feels like a state of being. It feels like loss.
Irreplacable loss.
It is that.
We have lost something. And no matter how much wishful thinking we engage in – and we betrayed warriors are nothing if not fierce magical thinkers – there is no turning back the clock. There is no unknowing what we know. 
But what we must be careful of with our magical thinking is rewriting history through rose lenses. Memory is a slippery thing. God knows, we become acutely aware of that when we try to have a conversation with our unfaithful spouse. He can't remember where he was, when he was, WHY he was. And it's likely true. Sometimes he sparing himself our fury. But often he really doesn't remember. His brain is as muddled as ours. He's sometimes as baffled as we are why he did what he did.
And as we cast back, we retrieve memories that shape-shift. Suddenly, the great day at the beach becomes sinister. When he disappeared to get snacks for everyone, was he texting her? Sure there was laughter and tenderness that day. But was it real? And what about the holidays? Was he wishing he was with her even as he carved the turkey? Even as he built LEGO with the kids? Even as we welcomed his family into our home?
Mourning changes everything. It casts a shadow over everything, not just looking forward but backward.
Mourning is work.
It is naming your pain. And your pain is loss. Whether or not your husband remains, he feels like a stranger. You mourn the man you thought he was. You mourn the marriage you thought you had. You mourn the future you thought was safe.
You've lost all that.
Name it.
And witness the sorrow of others, because that's where you'll find safety and community and a place to rest. 
Mourning is work. 
Hard work.
It is natural and necessary and there is no healing without it.
Exhausting work.
And so you must also make space to rest.