Grief

I am certainly not an expert even though I have lived swimming in its existence for the last eighteen months. I have watched my children and my grandchildren and my dear friends try to wade their way through it too, but I certainly can’t define it or give advice about it. Without even thinking about it, I have started the analogy of grief to the ocean. I have a habit in my writing of jumping around in analogies and so I can’t promise any linear thinking but right now, the ocean analogy seems like a good fit. I’ve heard often, grief comes in waves…. that is certainly true for me. Just when I think I am negotiating my way through the day or hour or minute – a unexpected wave will hit. I know I have every right and even every psychological need, to let those waves wash over me and just to be in them. But I prefer to be alone and not in public when that happens and that is not at all guaranteed. Unlike waves in the ocean you sometimes get hit by them on dry land, or in a yoga class or a card game or at a dinner or anywhere they feel like appearing, usually with no warning or a red flag flying to tell you to be prepared. For me it’s often a song, a scent, or a loving person’s sympathetic words, but it can also be a place or a random memory or sometimes nothing at all. Just Bang! Saying goodbye to people I love (sometimes even when it’s just for a few days) always brings tears, so I am not at all surprised that this big goodbye still has me shedding many.

I lost my wonderful parents when I was in my forties and a treasured niece in my fifties. I lost my mother and father-in-law, that I thought the world of, later in life and I shared grief with a much loved family that had lost a son. I experienced grief with two girlfriends that had lost their husbands and these husbands were my friends. So I had some experience and some periods of grief and real sadness in my life and I thought I kind of understood the process. I even took a class in college called “On Death and Dying” and had read the text book by Kubler Ross from beginning to end. I knew the stages and had observed them in people I loved dealing with loss.

There was much, much, more I didn’t know. This time I was mourning the loss of someone who was an integral part of my everyday life, my past and my future. I was grieving the loss of our shattered dreams and unfulfilled plans. I was facing a reality that was vastly different than everything I had imagined. I was neck deep in a story I didn’t want to be in and I couldn’t do a thing – not a thing- to change it. I felt shattered to the core. Beds and showers were for sobbing, energy to get out of bed – let alone carry out the day was non existent. I was on auto-pilot, working through the duties of existing like a robot. My heart was broken. I knew my kids and grandkids hearts were broken too and I couldn’t kiss them and make it better and that was devastating. I was angry at Jim for dying, I was angry at God for letting it happen and I was angry at everyone in the world that just kept living and smiling and sharing time with their loving spouse when I couldn’t! Staying awake during the day and sleeping at night was an impossible feat. I felt a constant tension that made it so hard to navigate. I was looking at life through a catastrophic lens. Often I didn’t answer texts because how do you answer – “How are you?” “Well, the love of my life died and I feel numb and fearful and sad and angry and isolated and vulnerable.” Not many people know what to do with that. I usually responded, “Fine”. Some days I couldn’t even get that out, so I just didn’t respond. Birthdays, holidays and anniversaries, used to be times of excitement and joy and now became days flooded with sadness. I could hardly wait for them to pass. Negative coping became a reality: staying busy, emotional and physical isolation, seeking constant distraction, emotional eating, apathy about things that mattered, were all part of my journey and somedays still are. I won’t vilify these but I knew I couldn’t let them take over either. Grief sucks!

My condolences were that Jim died quickly, with little suffering and that he is now pain free. The disease took him in days and he didn’t suffer though years of treatments and adversity. He died strong, and good looking, and able, and sexy and smart and loving and kind. He hated doctors (the medicine part – not the people) and he was a crappy patient and would have been a horrible, infirm patient. So I took solace in knowing that he would never have to go through that process. Solace also came knowing that I had the very best for 49 years….actually more that that because we got together at age 14- so I guess 55 years of shared happiness. Oh for sure there were bumps and pissed off times, and things we had to work through, but he was a 10 out of 10 on the husband list and I was lucky enough to know that, always. We were happy and even when we weren’t…. we were underneath! When grief starts to roll in, I try to turn my thoughts to gratitude and remembering my blessings. It doesn’t erase the sadness or the missing him, but it helps and will help more as I travel down this road. (new analogy – sorry)

I joined some grief widow Facebook pages, read many grief articles and watched many YouTube videos on the topic. Some helped with their research and science and psychology but some helped just by the comments of other grievers. When I read posts stating “it’s been five years and I still can’t get out of bed” or “I just want to be with my dog, I’m done with life and people” or “I am a shell of a person with no will to live anymore” — I knew that couldn’t be me. Jim would be so pissed off at me if I gave up. He was such a “we’ll deal with it” “we can handle this” “one bite at a time” person – I knew that I had to find my way through this, and not only keep living, but find joy in life again.

People look at you and think – it’s been eighteen months…. you should be moving on. Well, I am doing better but I haven’t moved on… I am nowhere near normal, or maybe I am on my way to a new normal. Jim is still so present for me. His life and death made me the person I am. He is present in my children and in my grandchildren. You don’t move on from the birth of your baby or from joy…..It becomes part of you and so does grief. He made me feel more loved than I thought possible and with every beat of my heart I love him still. But, life continues and it doesn’t hurt quite the same. I can look at Jim’s picture and smile. Some days there is actually laughter and joy. Some minutes or hours I still feel broken but not shattered. I am still in a story I don’t love, but the air is lighter, there is more peace and sometimes there is a sweet quietness. It’s hard to explain. I feel at home with God again and I can look at loving couples – jealously, but I’m no longer bitter. I still have shitty minutes and sometimes hours but very seldom days. I guess the saying ‘time is the best healer’ has some merit after all. I can talk about memories of Jim now – in fact I have to and love it – he was such a big part of my life and there is so much good to tell.

I am so, so blessed with my kids and grandkids. Sadness grips me when I think of what they have lost. They loved him as I did and are hurt and miss him as I do. They came together and supported each other and support me always. I love them. They are my life preserver in this ocean.

I am also blessed with friends and extended family who loved Jim and love me….. for their help and support and patience with me. So many people who said “Patti, I have no words” – those were all the words I needed to here. They were there and that is so much more important that I realized before. I used to always say after a loss, “I am thinking about you always, just let me know what you need”. The trouble is – for that first year, I didn’t know what I needed. I certainly wasn’t going to ask even if I knew. But people smarter than me, knew – they didn’t offer…they just did. There were muffins on my step, and pizza deliveries to my door, the snow was shoveled or the lawn was mowed. One day while I was out, I came home to a clean kitchen and my dishes were done. Friends have fed me so many times I will never be able to repay. People stopped and checked in. If the doors were locked and the curtains pulled, they called – and if I needed space – they gave it – but only for awhile! I learned so much about grief and I know I will be a better friend and support to others, having lived it.

I am a big fan of Disney’s Mr. Morrow and his words in every video are – “OK enough of this. Let’s get on with it already”. Although I know I’m not really done with grief. I am done writing about it. I wrote this because I had to. I’m not sure why, but writing seems to be my therapy. I have made a commitment to Jim to look forward and live in the present or future (fondly, fondly remembering the past). So my future blogs will not be about grief and widowhood but about Disney World and travel and friends and adventures and of course, Jim, because he is so worth writing about!!

I love these words and am going to steal them from Becky Hemsley…2023, to close this today!

I found myself thinking ” I couldn’t go through this again.” But when I think about it- I mean, really think about it- that’s not true. If I had my time again….. I would know you again. I would love you again. And if that meant I would lose you again, I would still do it. Because this is hard. But, whilst I think I couldn’t do it again, the alternative is never knowing you. Never loving you. And that is even more painful than this. And that is how I know I will be okay. In the end. Because I know our love is stronger that my loss. Because I know that I would lose you all over again. As long as I had the opportunity to love you.