Thursday, May 15, 2014

Our Old Lives



"I want my old life back."

I've heard a lot of widowed people say that, as I have, and continue to, some days.

I miss a lot of little things about being married to Mike. It was a comfortable, familiar life, after nearly 14 years of marriage. I can still hear him shuffling across the tile floors, whistling. The refrigerator door opening and closing. The toilet flushing. His computer game blips coming from his room, or the strum of an ukulele from the porch. Maybe his truck pulling up outside after a run to the dump. The thwack of an arrow hitting his archery target outside.

He used to love to listen to me play the piano. Now I play to an empty house, when I can even bring myself to play at all. And his hay bale target rots away more every day in the rain. I really should do something about that, but I just don't have the heart yet.

We were happy staying in most nights. We'd share a glass of wine or a beer on the porch watching the sun set. I'd cook dinner, something I really enjoyed, and we'd eat together at the table. He would do the dishes - most of the time. Sometimes he'd make his famous tacos, and I'd do the dishes. We'd watch our favorite TV shows together, or a new movie from Netflix. We had our routine. Now, if I'm home, I usually eat by myself standing up in the kitchen, or in front of the television. I rarely cook if I'm alone, but the other day I made a piece of fish for myself and ate at the table for the first time, reading a book. It felt weird.

Sometimes Mike and I would go out to dinner, or go to the theater for a movie. Sometimes we'd go to the beach, or take a drive somewhere around the island. He loved it here in Kona so much.

But mostly, we stayed home together, especially in the last couple of years. There were even some days I was annoyed by his constant presence. I tend to be a rather solitary, independent person - more than he was, for sure - so I'd make a point of running an errand by myself, or working on a project without him. I'd try to get him to go ride his bike, or go body surfing without me. I feel guilty about that sometimes now. And ours was not a perfect marriage; he wasn't perfect, and neither am I. So sometimes I think well, maybe this is just how it was meant to be, so I would do other things with my life. Maybe I was supposed to do other things with my life but wouldn't have if he were still around, that I am supposed to evolve some other way. And I feel a sinking, dark guilt for thinking that.

I go out a lot more these days. Because I am making a point of finding new things to live for, new people to spend time with; a new existence, somehow. Because I need to live life, even though he's gone. 

And because I hate being here alone now. Before, being alone was a choice; now, it's been thrust upon me. 

I still have moments every day when I stop and think - I can't believe he's really gone. Maybe it doesn't matter whether or how we've moved on with our strange, new lives. Maybe it won't matter that we have a new person in our life, or - surprise, surprise - moments of happiness. We might even think - hey, maybe I can really do this moving on thing, and it can be good in its own way. And then something happens that reminds us they are never coming back. Some little thing that we miss about how it used to be. Maybe that sick, gut-wrenching pit-of-your-stomach sensation will just never completely go away, like a terrible scar. 

I'll keep walking forward, because that's the kind of person I am - and because when it comes right down to it, I have no other choice. And I am grateful for what I do have. 

But a part of me will always long for my old life with Mike.

22 comments:

  1. You have wrote a lot of the same feelings I have. Hard to satisfy one's self. I often feel -- is this really happening and its me to face all this alone without my wife sharing things like we use too.
    I often feel who cares?? Cleaning inside or keeping outside of the house, other than myself..

    Thanks for writing the post.
    God Bless..

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    1. God Bless you too. Thank you for sharing, so sorry for your loss.

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  2. It is a real rite of passage when we stop saying "I want my old life back." Maybe it's because we have moved on so much that the person we were and the life we lived is several mountains and valleys away. Mountains we had to trudge up, valleys we had to crawl through while healing and functioning best we could. After a while, almost in spite of ourselves, we've become fitter. People start reflecting back a fitter person, and now I believe it's true. I've stopped saying "Oh, you didn't know me then, back when I had a lightless of being because he had my back and loved me so." I have to admit I'm really O.K. now, instead of wounded. That lightness of being I once knew is prewidowhood, but I hope that wonderful state of innocence is replaced with depth and breadth. The part of me that would long for my old life with my late husband is like the part of me that would long for the life before I knew him. Life in each chapter is imperfect, like you write, and it's no more and no less perfect in this post widowhood chapter. It's different, yet still with wonder and joy. It took me a long time to get here, nine years. I don't think it can be hurried, only helped along.

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    1. Such wisdom and support in your words, thank you so much for sharing this. I guess we all have our own timetables but it's comforting to know there are those who have found not just a new life, but wonder and joy.

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  3. Reading this post brings me right back to where I was not too long ago at all. I can identify completely with wanting our old life back. Dawn Marie was a huge fan of my music, it was only last fall that I picked up a guitar again. In fact, I couldn't even listen to the radio for several years. I couldn't cook, or watch anything on the television that we used to watch together. This reminder makes me grateful for where I am today.

    I've learned that it's about moving forward, Stephanie, not moving on. And that gut-wrenching pit-of-your-stomach sensation which you describe will eventually subside. Though I still mourn the loss of our old life at times, I am grateful today for the opportunity I have been given to build a new one. Thank you for sharing :-)

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    1. Wow Glenn, powerful about the music. I still can't listen to the kinds of things he like to listen to; for now, I'm back to the stuff I used to like before I met him for some reason. And, a few new things I've discovered since he left us. And it's good to hear the gut-wrenching will fade. In fact it has faded somewhat for me already, but it's still there for me sometimes. I still have a road to travel in all of this.

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    2. Glenn. ..I prefer the words moving forward also...rather than moving on.
      I recently heard the term" moving with"...Moving with our loss as we learn to figure out our new life. ....

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  4. Stephanie, while I would give anything to get my old life back with Laura, I also see her death as providing the kick in the butt I needed to make some life changes. The last five or six years of our 28 years together we were coasting. We did the same things, ate the same meals, went on the same trips.

    It took awhile for me to start doing things, but I now exercise more and have lost 15 pounds. I recently started yoga and joined a local hiking club. I joined a local community chorus. And in June I'll basically be on the road for a month exploring the northwest and following the coast road south, before heading east and seeing some of the parks in Utah.

    Not all of this can be attributed to Laura's death. Maybe we would have started doing these things after my retirement, but her death really made me realize that I wasn't living my life, I was coasting along and letting life happen to me.

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    1. Thank you for sharing this Paul. Since Mike died I've also started exercising again, and changing my own routine in positive ways...it was hard at first but it's getting easier. Nice to hear others have felt that same urge and having success. Sounds like you're really doing some great things these days, look forward to hearing more about your adventures.

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    2. Every so often I make half-hearted attempts at exercising because I know I need to take care of myself. Not there yet but its still early on. Alongside with my grief, I've been creating a new life for myself and that new life has in it a pink car and a pink-trimmed teardrop trailer. ( I'll be in the Northwest this summer, Paul-honk if you see me!)

      Its good to know that we aren't alone in this~

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  5. Thank you for so aptly describing the push/pull of this experience. I am some years into this and finally feeling good about where I am and who I am - in a life so different from the one I happily had with him. And yet, while I am now actually experiencing real joy again, I have spent most of the past week with that aching feeling in the pit of my stomach.

    Early on, my grief counsellor said that some day I would be healed, but that the scar of grief is like an old sports injury - it looks okay and mostly feels okay, but on certain days, it hurts like hell.

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    1. Yes!! What a great analogy, the push-pull, and sports injury. It's so much like that for me right now. Thank you so much for sharing this.

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  6. Wow stephanie my first yr is coming up June 13. Thanks for sharing

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  7. "I want my old life back."

    I say it too, but know the reality of it is impossible. Finding lots of landmines lately, as I am purging and packing to move. I am grateful to read of others who have moved on and found some semblance of joy again. Gives me hope that I can too.

    Glenn, I understand that reaction to music, or lack of listening/playing it. Used to own a music store, our library is extensive, but I can hardly listen to any of it. Sad. So many memories are tied to tunes, keeps taking me back as I try to go on. And planning my daughters wedding w/o him...I cry every time I picture him not being there. Yes, I want my old life back.

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    1. Yes, the reality of having our old lives back is impossible...and I too am grateful to read of others and how they have moved forward, but also had the same experiences like that of the music. So sorry for your loss.

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  8. I have never said that I want my old life back BUT I sure do understand that king of longing. I'm a realist and know I have to move forward. I'm still adjusting to life alone and I'm at the beginning of my third year of widowhood. I'm starting to suspect a part of me will always feel like a large chunk of me is missing.

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  9. Thank you Jean. Yes I guess it will be just a continuing series of adjustments as we go on...maybe, that is just what life is anyway...Funny your comment clicked on a memory of a book someone gave us when we got married. It's called The Missing Piece Meets the Big O by Shel Silverstein. We thought it was a perfect analogy for our relationship...maybe now I'm back to being the missing piece....

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  10. dear Stephanie,

    I am only a few weeks beyond the first year without Hugh, but have felt a powerful urge to try to move forward. we both had cancer at the same time, and when he died, suddenly in his sleep, we were both in a robust remission; then, 8 wks. after his death I was diagnosed with another cancer - just completed treatment a few months ago. perhaps it's not really knowing how much time I have that is propelling me onward - but in the aftermath of months leading up to the one year mark, feeling such dread and sorrow, then even worse after The Day had passed, I decided to stop a lot of the behavior of avoidance and living in the past. I think the biggest challenge in moving forward is to try to live the best we are able each day ALONGSIDE of the grief. little victories add up, and even though we might find our hearts and souls overwhelmed at times with grieving, it doesn't negate any progress we have made. but it is SO HARD, it sometimes feels so unfair, and the ups and downs can be so dizzying! my current anthem is Pink's "TRY" !

    with love and gratitude for this wonderful post,

    Karen xoxo

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    1. Hi Karen, I like the idea of living alongside the grief, it makes sense to me. Maybe that is a more workable idea than ever pushing past it. I am inspired by your attitude and grateful you took the time to share, my thoughts and prayers are with you.

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  11. Moving forward…is so hard. And I also want my old life back. 40 years together just doesn't heal over night….especially when it is taken away from you unexpectedly in the blink of an eye. And all the 3rd's seem as hard as the 1st's to me. When you lose the love of your life and your best friend forever how could it NOT take years to move even an inch forward. Somedays its one foot forward and 2 back but I am still taking it a day at a time. My husband always told the kids and I "life is not fair", and we listened…but we didn't think it applied to US! Now we know sadly what he was talking about . I was told "Grieve hard….he was worth it" and I have taken that to Heart! Thank you for your posts…and to all who sadly can relate.

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    1. It's hard enough after 14 years...40, is an enormous adjustment. I guess one day at a time is all we can do...we never think it will happen to us, but it clearly can. I'm so sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing.

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