I am getting sick of myself. I am weary of my own voice, talking about loss and grief and death. I am tired of repeating the same thoughts and words, again and again and again. Do you ever just get sick of yourself? Do you ever want to stop yourself from talking? Do you ever just feel like there is nothing else new to say? How many times can I possibly say I miss him. I miss him. I miss him ...
Like a broken record, I sit with my grief counselor, and I say those words. And I say other words that sound a lot like those words. And then I say: How long is it going to hurt like this? - and she says: Until it doesn't. Until it becomes something else. And then I look at her, and she looks at me, and we agree to meet again next week.
I've tried running away from myself. I've tried running from the pain, the hurt, the familiar words of grief. It doesn't work. The new me can't run at all. My feet hurt and they swell and they ache. My legs feel like two wooden crates - heavy and large with every move. I am slower than I used to be. Much slower. Turtles have commented on how slow I am. Reactions are stalled, and brain function is foggy, although I am still smart. This version of me is not a version that I always recognize, and so there are constant adjustments. I get sick of myself and my pain, but I cannot run away from myself or my pain, because the only way to lessen the pain, is to feel the pain and sit with the pain. How many times can I possibly type the word 'pain?'
I wish there was a way to fast-forward through all of this mess and dust and blackness that sits in my way, and that I must crawl through to get to the next thing - but there isn't. There is no short cut. No lightning round. No 'Get Out of Jail Free' card. Just mountains of broken branches and mud and cactus and slime. Since the new me cannot run through these old, musty woods - I have to take this trip one tiny, clumsy, soggy, unsure, dirty step at a time. And while I'm cutting my toes on shards of broken glass, and stepping on sharp rocks with my ankles - I can think in my brain about a day where I am no longer sick of myself. I can see, just barely, in the distance, a place where something else is waiting. Something is sitting there, hiding behind a wall or a tree stump, but it's there. It sits inside of the damp seaweed and festers in the mildewy grass. It is something new, and it waits for me on the other side of pain.
Yes...
ReplyDeleteI get it...I wish I didn't. It's been four and a half years and I don't know how long my family and friends will tolerate my anti-social attitude. I don't talk a lot to them about it because they are probably "over it" so I keep my true inner thoughts deep inside. They can't fix it, I can't fix it so I feel completely powerless to make it better. I read everything about changing things and making a new life for yourself but how are we supposed to do that. I go through the motions of the day but I come home to the tv and the couch and they are like magnets for me. I too wish we could fast forward and hope it gets better but can't do that either! I want my husband back so I can hold him and kiss him and share that special look that nobody else understands but knowing this is impossible I wonder if I will go the rest of my life not having someone to hold me or look at me like I'm special or do something loving for me. It's all so very sad. I see you working so hard and being so heartbroken and I wish i could do something for you other than to say I understand.
ReplyDeleteKathie, your words are mine exactly except I will be 5 years 4/30. I can't wait to come home when I make myself go out. I also get tired of people saying "you should be over this by now".....I will never be over him. I'm 60 so chances of me finding anyone now are slim. Like Kelley, my feet hurt, my legs hurt, only instead of moving like a turtle I would say I am more a sloth. No family support from my sisters and my mom died last Dec 1 so I feel really so all alone. I hate my life and I AM in therapy!!!
DeleteThank you Kathy, and thank you Sue. All I can say to you Kathy, that MIGHT help, or maybe not, is that how you feel right this minute - is not how you will feel a month from now, or 5 months from now, or a year from now. The one constant about grief is that its always changing and shifting. The emotions change so much. In some way, that is a comfort to me when I think "will it always be this way?" No. It will shift to something else. The pain changes. Better? Just different, and somewhat less harsh and less often. And Sue, you will NEVER be "over him" and anyone who expects that from you is insane and doesnt know about loss. Thank you both for commenting.
DeleteThe second anniversary of Laura's accident is Monday and her death on the 27th. I also tried the running away bit and a few other things. It is hard to explain to someone in grief that time does help. I won't say that time heals, it doesn't, but it does permit healing to happen. I think one of the best explanations of grief I read was about a lady trying to explain to new doctors what grief is like. She had three different size sponge balls on the table and three different glass containers. She held up the three sponge balls and said, "Some people think grief is like these sponges, it soaks in your entire life, but as time goes by your grief gets smaller." She then held up the largest sponge ball and said, "This is grief, it doesn't shrink over time." She then held up the smallest jar and said, "This contains your life experiences when you are hit by grief." She then stuffed the sponge into the jar. "This is what initial grief is like, it fills your every experience. Everything you do, think, remember is related to and a reminder of your grief." She then held up the next jar and put the sponge in it. The sponge didn't fill the jar and it could roll around a little. "This is what happens as you come to terms with your grief. You have new experiences and your grief is still the same size. Frequently, it rolls against the side of your life experience and causes a flare up of your grief." She then held up the last jar and put the sponge in it. "As your life goes on and you gather more experiences, you have more experiences to cushion those grief flare ups. They are less frequent and you grow your jar of life experiences." She stressed that grief never shrinks, we have to grow.
ReplyDeleteBut running away wasn't the way to grow experiences. I needed time to look at my grief and experience it, let it out and then push it away when it got too painful. I did need to accept my grief, before I could grow my life experiences in a healthy way.
This is amazing!
Deletelove the thing about the Jar, Paul. Thank you for sharing that.
DeleteOur grief journeys" are truly exhausting and we are constantly thinking, processing, measuring our growth or how far we've stumbled backwards. I am approaching the four year milestone and even though I have discovered and am still discovering - I need to allow myself to truly be in the moment with my emotions and it's okay to sometimes not let myself "step back into the pain/rain" of my past but to keep moving forward, each tiny baby step at a time.
ReplyDeleteYeah, sometimes I need to stop with all the "measuring" of my growth and just BE IN IT and let it all happen. Thanks for that reminder.
DeleteKelley Lynn and Kathy Scott, I identify with what each of you has written. My husband died 33 months ago and I am still in so much pain because he is not here with me. I am still his wife and I still love and adore him. Thank you both for validating that what I feel is normal and shared by others. Karen
ReplyDeleteYoure welcome Karen. Im so glad it helped in some small way.
DeleteJust being able to even see that there is something on the other side of pain speaks to me of healing. Your post really resonates with me. I too, tire of myself and so tire of the pain. I can see that there is something else ahead, a new life that I have to create but I am crawling there on bloodied knees with fear and trepidation but I see it and you see it, too. I think that glimmer on the other side means that in the rocks and shards of glass are tiny crystals of hope. Sending you hugs and peace.
ReplyDeleteI definitely DO see the healing in the fact that I can at least SEE another side beyond the pain. And there is some comfort in that. Sometimes .... :)
DeleteFor those of us who find it so difficult and painful to recover from the loss of our soulmates, I found the following excerpts from an article by Dr. Carmen Harra, author, clinical psychologist and relationship expert.
ReplyDelete"...Soulmates. The epitome of love and partnership...A soulmate is someone who has locks that fit our keys, and keys to fit our locks. When we feel safe enough to open the locks, our truest selves step out and we can be completely and honestly be who we are.
Not just anyone can fulfill you the way your soulmate can. Your soulmate makes you feel entirely whole, healed and intact, like no piece is missing from the puzzle...You can't imagine your life without him (or her). A soulmate is not someone you can walk away from that easily. It is someone you can't imagine being without, a person you believe is worth sticking with and fighting for..."
Those who were blessed to have found their soulmates understands the all encompassing pain that comes with the loss of the other half of their whole. Family and friends will never understand why our loss is hard to accept and live with day to day. Accepting our reality will take a long time; perhaps the rest of our lives.
I love that quote about soulmates. Thank you for that!!!!
DeleteKelley,
ReplyDeleteMy husband died 14 months ago and I think I'm still in shock. What has helped me the most is working on reclaiming my own health. Walking is saving my life and restoring my strength and fitness. Please check out any free fitness programs sponsored by your park and recreation dept. or possibly any free programs for women's health in your community. Contact you YMCA, they have scholarships.
Today, April 5, is the 1 year 6 month Memorial of my husband Scott going on his Journey. Throughout the day, I thought of calling someone or posting on Facebook, but I didn't because who wants to listen really? I am strangled by the pain of living each day without him...spiritually, emotionally, mentally, physically. When am I going to get my act together? I believe in a future...a life I am here to walk...but there is such a huge part that is missing. I am so very grateful for the blessings I receive, truly. Just very lost and sad. I thank you for your words. They connected me with you and others to whom I don't need to explain mySelf.
ReplyDeleteI just wanted to say that I LOVED the writing in this blog post. You nailed it! And you did so in such a creative, descriptive way.
ReplyDelete