Saturday, October 25, 2014

A Dangerous Indulgence

Waiting to board the plane for our first holiday together in May 2012. Dan was so excited, like a big kid. He made every day so fun.  I really miss that. 
I’ve been really missing my husband this week.  I miss him every week, of course, but this week his absence has been palpable.  I’m not sure why, maybe it’s because I’ve been spending a bit of time helping a friend who has a new born baby, which is a sensitive issue for me. Maybe it’s because yesterday marked the 15-month anniversary. Maybe it’s just the grief rollercoaster swinging me through a new bend or dip.  Whatever it is, it sucks.

I’ve been waking up in the morning and finding myself just laying there, staring at his pillow and resting my arm on his side of the bed, knowing I’d be hugging him if he were still there. 

I’ve been feeling that urge to call or text him throughout the day with the tid bits of information about what I’m up to that would be mundane to most other people in my life but fascinating to him.  I’ve been clenching my fist as I walk through the city to work, wishing he was beside me and I could tighten my grip around the comfort of his hand in mine.

At night our house has felt quieter than usual.  The emptiness has been bigger. When I look at the photos of him scattered all around our home, I’m less able to smile at the beautiful memories we shared and instead have found my thoughts wandering towards his depression.  Imagining what dark whispers might have been lurking in the corners of his mind, tormenting him. 

I’ve been day dreaming about what life would be like if he were still here.  This is always dangerous territory for me; it’s an indulgence that I don’t often dare allow myself. To start with it’s such a sweet sensation. When I let go and imagine the life we could be living, it fills me with warmth and love.  We had a very fun, kind and playful relationship. Dan would make even the most mundane and boring chores a delight. 

When I think about how dramatically different my life would be if he were still here (and his depression had magically never existed), how I’d be spending these lonely nights, the adventures we’d be getting up to on our weekends, the face of the child we could be raising, with Dan’s bright blue eyes and round cheeks - well it’s so wonderful that it’s almost unbearable.  Because when I come crashing back down to reality and this dream is replaced with the severity of my new life.  It’s nothing less than torture.

I’m overwhelmed with how unfair this world is.  Everything around me seems so bleak and inadequate.  Trying to look for positives or find things to be grateful for is just impossible – all I want is Dan. 

I want the life we should be living together and I want my innocence back and I don’t understand a world where this could be taken from me. I don’t understand why such horrible things can happen to good people.  I miss him.  And I’m so sick of these words because they just feel so inadequate to explain how deeply I ache for him.

I understand my grief well enough now, that when this low sets in, I instinctively go in to self-preservation mode.  I pull back, tread lightly, and reach out to my support network when I can.  I remind myself that I'm stronger than I know.  This agony will lift again. I know Dan would be so proud of me for surviving without him.  I just wish I didn't have to.  I wish he was still here.  I wish I didn't know this pain - I wish no one did.  Death sucks. 


10 comments:

  1. Hi Rebecca,

    I've been wanting to reach out to you lately, and after reading your post even more so. I too lost my beloved to depression and suicide. I wish I could say the lows get better, but I find no matter how much time goes by I still have them. Tony has been gone 3 + years, his birthday is tomorrow, and maybe that's why I'm feeling the "low" so acutely now. Words will never describe to others the ache we feel deep inside. A friend sent me a small book shortly after he died that contained some words I cannot forget...."someone you love has completed suicide, and in your heart you have come to know your deepest pain". That's me and I'll bet it's you. But when you couple his death with the stigma of suicide that still exists in our society, no one wants to talk about it, hear about it. They just pretend it never happened adding to the pain. My wish for you is peace, smiles through the tears with some of your favorite memories, and the knowledge that there are many of us with you.

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    1. Lisa, I can't tell you how much your words mean to me. It can be challenging for us who write here when we pour our hearts in to a post and then no one comments. It makes us doubt whether we're reaching anyone, if anyone has connected with our words, or if we're the only ones feeling a certain way. I'm so sorry for the loss of your beloved Tony and I hope tomorrow (today?) goes ok for you. Suicide grief is a particular type of complicated, thank you for letting me know that I'm not alone xo

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  2. Dear Rebecca, I was amazed that no one answered your post... I thought it was amazing what you wrote... The love of my life is gone five and 1/2 months and I can't imagine what you are going through with the added stress... It was awesome what you wrote... It gave me a lot of comfort knowing what other widows are going through... Thank you so much for your courage in posting... Hugs!!!

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    1. Thank you anonymous, for your lovely words. I'm sorry for your loss, I remember being at five and a 1/2 month and feeling like it had been FOREVER. Take care x

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  3. Replies
    1. Thanks you lovely, it was so good to meet you at Camp Widow this year x

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  4. Hi Rebecca,
    I have been having pretty much the same feelings these days, as you have described in this post. I sit in my room crying and imagine him telling me to cheer up as he always did, which makes me cry even more. I know I can't help you with your pain, but just wanted to say that I feel it too. Maybe knowing that will make it a tiny bit easier to bear. It certainly does for me. Thanks for sharing your story. Hugs...

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    1. Thank you for letting me know i'm not alone Asha. I'm sorry for your pain. It's so hard missing that person who you know would make you feel better and bring you comfort. x

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  5. I think we dwell on our sweet memories and what ifs because the present Is so painful. We want to go back to our old life before grief consumed us. My husband died 3 months before he was to retire and my hopes and dreams for the future I sometimes feel died with him.
    I do not have any answers for the why. As a nurse I see bad things happen to very good people and I will never understand or accept it.
    I pray to God every day to help all of us widows in the world to survive and find happiness again. I just do day to day and hope for the best but there are still times when it is still so painful I can not breathe. I miss my husband so much. He was my port in the storm. And we weathered a lot of storms together. Facing the world alone is often so scary for me but I try to remember how strong he was and that he would want me to be. Thank you for pouring out your heart to all of us.

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    1. How unfair that you were so close to such a beautiful milestone. I too hope we can all one day find happiness again. Take care

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