Catching up #2
Attention new readers: I will be republishing posts to catch you up on my grief journey. A journey that started on the day my husband died August 29, 2023.
Day 103
They say that when you grieve so deeply you are one of the lucky ones because you have loved so deeply. I get it. It’s a “gift” this grief.
So they say.
Can I be selfish for a moment and tell you that I don’t give a crap? Can I be selfish for a moment and say I’d rather him be here with me? In this house. Watching episodes of “Outlander” and chatting about our day?
A few moments ago I stood in my kitchen making myself cheese and crackers for dinner even though I shouldn’t be eating cheese because of my cholesterol. I jokingly said out loud to no one in particular because that’s what I do, “I guess the one good thing is I don’t have to make dinner ever again if I don’t have to.”
I knew I didn’t mean it. I would stand in the kitchen all damn day and make dinner for an army of a thousand for the rest of my life if it meant I didn’t lose him. Yes, I would complain about making dinner for an army of a thousand because I barely could stand it when I had to make dinner for two but I would remember why I sold myself to the devil and do it anyway.
When the wave comes it’s painful as hell. It knocks every ounce of what gives me the energy to stand, right out of my being.
Other than that, I had a really good day. I stayed home and played music and checked things off my “to do” list. My neighbors came over to help me with some things that even YouTube couldn’t help me fix.
I didn’t cry. Not one time. Ok so that’s not entirely true. I believe I did choke up talking to my friend because the conversation inevitably turned to a story of Don, but that doesn’t count. Mainly because I love stories of Don.
The mundane task of sifting through the fridge for something to eat is what triggered this particular wave. These waves always start with a strange feeling like slime stuck in my throat and travels down through my heart to my stomach. It rolls like a stone collecting moss. It gets bigger and bigger with every second until I’m practically a puddle on the floor blubbering on about how unfair life is and “how can I possibly live the rest of my life without you,” followed up by “how could you do this to me?”.
This one didn’t last long though. Maybe ten minutes. I dried my eyes, blew my nose and continued to make my dinner of cheese. I poured a glass of wine and returned to the living room to watch another episode of “Grace and Frankie.” I’m on the 2nd season but should technically be on the 3rd season but I’m not because I keep dozing off. Not because it’s dull. I actually happen to really enjoy it. It’s light and funny and doesn’t make me cry.
I doze off because this grief thing is exhausting. Some days I’m so tired I could swear I ran a marathon.
One day at a time. That’s all we can do. We will get through it. One day at a time.
Day 111
Grief is a contradiction of sorts.
I want time to go by so my grief can somehow become a little lighter, not so heavy, not so exhausting, not so debilitating. So I can be that much closer to seeing him again.
Yet I don’t want time to go by because that means there will be that much more time without him. That will mean I will age whereas he will not. I will become a grandparent, he will not. I will retire. He will not.
It means I may forget the sound of his voice and his mannerisms. I might forget our conversations we had over dinner at our favorite restaurant. All the things I loved — and perhaps did not always love — about him.
The way he looked at me with such love, the way he looked at me when he was upset. The twinkle in his eye. The way he would make me laugh. His smile that touched me all over. The ways he would drive me crazy. Dare I say, even the times he made me angry. I will miss all of it.
I’m afraid if too much time goes by I will forget how I felt when he held my hand, how my breath would catch when I saw him pass by chance in his car when I was out running errands. I’m afraid I’ll forget his walk. So confident and straight. How he looked in a pair of shorts. How he held his head. How warm his hugs were. How strong he was. How safe I felt with him.
I’m afraid it will all go away like he did.
Moving forward for me feels like I’m leaving him behind.
But at the end of the day I know two things I will never forget: how much I miss him and how much I love him. Flaws and all. Forever and always.
Day 115
New beginnings and traditions I suppose. Another “first.” This time it’s Christmas without my spouse.
I have basically gone through this season with my head in one of those steel drums. The only thing I hear is the sound of my own voice and echos of whatever is going on in my brain. I won’t listen to Christmas music and I won’t put up Christmas decorations. I have a problem concentrating but what else is new?
I did put up the light up snowman outside because for some reason my husband really enjoyed that guy but it blew over in a storm a few nights ago so I put it in the shed.
Side note: if he was still alive the snowman never would have blown over. But I tried.
I cried when the dental hygienist asked me what my New Year’s Eve plans were and I cried this afternoon while sitting at my desk at work for seemingly no reason at all. Except there is a reason … my husband is gone and I have to navigate the holidays without him.
It is what it is. And I must keep moving forward. I don’t really want to, but I have to.
As much as I’d love to stay in bed until January 2nd, I’m not. And I’m glad. Because this year I’m going to our daughter’s house for Christmas to spend with her and her new husband. I’m essentially running away from Christmas here to be at Christmas there.
It’s different for sure but it will be ok. I’ll be with the people I love and adore and trust. I’m excited about spending time with my little family. And we are all grieving the loss of the same man.
We’ll all be sad but we will also celebrate him and talk about Christmas pasts. We will laugh and we will cry. We will make a toast in his honor.
But we will enjoy the day as best we can. That’s what he would want after all. For us to be together, to be happy, and not wallow in the self pity we feel over losing someone we all loved so much.
He would want us to be happy. So we will try. If not for us, at least for him.
(Poem taken from www.griefandsympathy.com)
Day 119
My husband never complained about his illness. He never showed fear. That may be why I didn’t panic as much as I should have. He made me feel like he had more time. I appreciate that. His last act of chivalry in a way.
I’m glad I didn’t know but at the same time I wish I had. Would I have taken every moment and appreciated them even more? Not taken things for granted as we do in this life? Even though I knew he was dying, I honestly didn’t think it would be as quick as it turned out to be. Not that it should have mattered.
Why didn’t I behave like it would be our last Christmas? Every human — whether they have a sick or dying loved one or not — should appreciate every single moment, every minute and second. But we don’t. It doesn’t matter how many lessons are imparted on us during our lifetime, do we really ever change?
I recall last Christmas Eve at my cousin’s house. I left Don to go talk to some of my family members in another room. He had known my family for nearly 37 years. He could hold his own. But after about ten minutes he found me and came and sat with us. Looking back on it now, something seemed off. Maybe it was the look in his eyes. His expression was haunted almost. As if he knew this would be the last time.
I wish I stopped what I was doing and held his hand, gave him a hug, held his gaze. But me being me, I continued to drink my wine and talk too much. I didn’t notice until it was too late. Until today.
Guilt. It will knock you to your knees and trample you. Almost four months later the guilt has receded a bit but it’s still there. Waiting to pounce like a band of wild horses.
I’m working on it. As cliche as it sounds, he would hate every bit of the guilt I feel from time to time. I know it’s not good for anyone and is completely pointless. But like everything else in this process, I must do it my own way and in my own time. I’ll get there. One little step at a time.
Day 124
Tonight I am doing New Year’s Eve differently. I am spending it with our “couple” best friends like we always have when my husband was still with us. The only difference is the three of us decided to spend it in a seaside rental home in a quiet New England town instead of in our own homes like usual. We will not turn on the television to watch the ball drop. Instead we will distract ourselves with games or perhaps a movie.
It’s difficult tonight for many reasons. For the first time since we met I am without him on New Year’s Eve. I am with friends we spent every year with for nearly twenty years and he’s not here. I am leaving behind the final year we made memories together. I am starting a new year without him. There will no longer be memories made with my husband. I will always have the memories we made and will continue to hold them close to my heart, but I essentially feel like I’m leaving him behind.
I am trying really hard to be grateful for what I have. I am grateful for my friends here with me tonight. I am safe with them. We are all mourning our loss and we all feel it deeply. We feel his absence like a stab to the heart.
I have a beautiful, caring daughter. I have a new son-in-law whom I adore. I have a great big network of support. I am surrounded by love at every turn.
But tonight I feel grateful mixed with sadness. 2023 took my husband and I should be happy to say goodbye. But somehow I’m not.
Day 138
I am four and a half months in and I feel a slight shift. I’m still sad as hell. I still feel a huge void. I still miss him desparately and I will until the day I die but I feel a bit “lighter.” My grief isn’t in my throat as much anymore. It isn’t all-consuming. I am starting to laugh a little again. I even caught myself singing in my car the other day.
The problem I have with these feelings is it feels wrong. It feels like guilt. It feels like I have left him behind. When I do have a breakdown because I still do — just not every day like before — it feels cleansing. It makes me feel closer to him.
This “breaking down” making me feel closer to him is total bullshit. I am connected to him every minute of every day. He is with me while I sleep, while I watch television, while I write and even when I go to the store. He is there. He is here. Always. The only thing that has changed is his physical presence. Well, and the fact that he doesn’t answer me back when I ask him where I put the drill so I can hang a picture, but that may freak me out anyway.
Today a friend took me to a “grief yoga” session. When she first asked me I didn’t have to think twice. It intrigued me and I thought it was time I do something for myself. Like, really do something for myself. It was the first act of “self-care” I participated in outside of a hot shower and a bottle of wine since the day before my husband entered hospice. And I needed it. Desperately.
What I learned was that I need to be easy on myself. That it’s ok to let go of the guilt. To push it away. Far, far away and out of sight. I learned how to meditate so I can visualize him sitting next to me. That was the greatest gift the day gave me. I felt as if I could reach out and touch him. It was amazing. I sobbed like a baby. And it was ok.
I’m lonely as hell, I dread Friday nights. My pulse quickens when I see his shoes in the closet. My heart is still broken. And perhaps I’m just in a “phase” and the deep ugly slime of grief will return. I don’t know because I’ve never experienced this before.
What I do know is I’m doing my best. I continue to put one foot in front of the other. I continue to take each moment, each day as they come. I also know he would be happy, IS happy that I’ve turned a corner. I just don’t want him to leave me because he thinks I don’t need him anymore. Because I do. And I will for all of my forever.
I’m grieving still. And I will for the rest of my life. I guess I’m just trying to say it does get a little better. So, whoever needs to hear this, hang in there. Because it will indeed get a little better. I promise.