I want to begin this post by letting you know that I am not suicidal. I am not going to do anything to harm myself , nor would I ever. Expressing feelings and taking actions on those feelings are two different things entirely, and I know this very well, and I am very aware of this. I am saying this because I know that some of you that may be reading this are widowed by suicide, so I am sensitive to how you may hear or take the words I am going to type tonight, and I realize they may be triggers for you as well. I don't want to worry anyone - truly. That being said, there are some strong emotions that I need to get out right now, and I need to say them here, because where else can I say them, if I can't say them here?
I feel lost. Hopeless. I feel as if I have somehow gone back in time to month one or month seven or month eighteen after the death of my husband Don - those months and days where I honestly did not understand how I could possibly do this for even five more minutes, and where all I could see was darkness and more pain. The only reason that I know for sure, now, that I can, in fact, do this for another minute and possibly forever, is because I am still here. I am here right now, typing this, feeling this intense pain, which feels a lot like the pain I felt all those many months ago.
It is still so shocking to me. Still. After 3 years and 7 months, it is still so incredibly shocking and insane to me, that my husband got up one morning, left for work, and never came back home. It is still shocking to me that him being dead is forever. It's not for a year or two, or five or ten, or even twenty. It is forever. He will be dead forever. It is still shocking to me that I can go months feeling high and happy and joyful and awesome and like I have made incredible, wonderful progress in my healing - and then still - still - find myself right back in that scary, awful, bleak, horrific, giant gaping hole of hopeless, that I am in tonight. How long will this be my truth? How long will grief have the upper hand? Always? Will it always be able to take me and shove my face in it's wrath, for as long as we both shall live? How long will grief own a piece of me, and how long will I be shocked by this, as if it's a brand new thing, each and every time?
I am still here. Breathing. Living. Trying. I am creating and building a new life for myself, because that is what you are forced to do when you find yourself 39 and widowed. That is what you do when the world you had is forcefully taken from you for no reason, with no warning, and with nobody asking your permission. I know that I will be okay. I know that I will continue to create a life for myself that includes and honors my life with my forever dead husband - a life that honors me. I know this only because I have been doing it all this time.
For 3 years and 7 months, I have been making that choice, to get up each and every day, and make an attempt at life. I have felt joy. I have understood the weight of this "new joy" that exists in the "after" since my husband died. I know and I feel that everything is much bigger than it seems, and that nothing is as simple as happy or sad anymore. Maybe it never was. I know how to shape my life and I know that I am perfectly capable of doing so.
But sometimes - like tonight - I just don't much feel like doing it. I don't feel like being inspiring, or writing my book, or helping others process their losses, or writing about my deepest and darkest emotions, or taking the pain and turning it into comedy. Sometimes, I just want to lie in my bed and go to sleep for a really long time, just so I can have five seconds where I don't have to sit inside this goddamn pain. I want five minutes where this is no longer my life. I want five hours where I'm not the girl who tragically lost her husband, before we even got to share our lives.
I have never been a drinker. I have never taken a pill of any kind to help mask or aide in my emotions. I feel everything. I choose to be that way, because I don't know how to be any other way. But some days, like now, feeling every single thing and every single emotion, feels like there is a building on my shoulder, and I have to somehow hold it there and balance it, and make sure it doesn't fall down and kill people all over the sidewalk. Some days, the very idea of simply existing for another minute in this life that I was handed, is so utterly exhausting, I cannot imagine coping with it or living in it, for one more second. Some days, I cannot think past the next five minutes. I cannot think about how much I miss our life together, or how much I miss the future life we never had together. I cannot think about the fact that I will never get to be old with my husband, or know what it's like to take care of him when he is 80, or 70, or 63, or even 50. I cannot think about what the hell is going to happen to me in the future. Eventually, the 39 year old widow becomes the 80 year old widow who never had children and has no family left that is alive, and now she is sick and completely alone. Who will take care of her then? Who will care? What will happen to her? What will happen to me? Who will care about me? If I start to go there, I will get stuck in a loop of hopeless, that I don't know how to get out of. If I start to think about those things, the panic and anxiety begin - and I don't know how to stop them.
There is an ache in my heart that never goes away. Some days, most days now, I can turn the volume on it way down, so that it doesn't disrupt my life anymore. Most days, that ache lies dormant in the background, while I take the reigns on my life. But today is not most days. Today, that ache where my husband's physical presence on earth used to be, is turned all the way up, and the button is broken. I cannot turn it down, I cannot make it stop, and I cannot listen to it for another five minutes. Some days, like today, the only thing to do, is go to sleep, and hope like hell that when you wake up, the ache has subsided.
I am not suicidal. I would never do anything to harm myself. I do not want to die. Not really. But there are some days, when I just really do not want to live either. Please don't worry. I will be okay. I have evidence. I have proof. 3 years and 7 months of proof. I can do this. I have been doing this. I will keep doing this. Even on the days when I cannot live inside the hurt for five more minutes.
Don't worry. I will keep choosing to live, because my husband doesn't get that choice. I will keep feeling the pain, because pain demands to be felt. I will keep the promise to myself - the one I made to always remember; that life is stronger than death, and love is everlasting, and time is only what you do with it.
I will not stop living life, even on nights like tonight, when I don't much feel like living.
I will not give up.
Everything that once was, can change in an instant.
Hang on.
Just for five more minutes ...
That heartache that never goes away. Thank you for expressing this so accurately.
ReplyDeleteYou are so welcome. Thank you for commenting.
DeleteKelley, when I'm feeling that down I reach out to someone--usually another widow--who helps me carry the burden for awhile. If I didn't I do fear my resolve to take care of me and not kill myself might fail. I hope you have a few of those people who get it and won't let you suffer alone.
ReplyDeleteTHank you Spunky. I will tell you that I am NEVER afraid that my resolve to not kill myself will fail. Never. I know myself well, and I just would not ever actively take actions to end my life. And yes, I do have a couple very close and amazing friends to call up when these sort of feelings hit. I spoke with them over the past couple days, and I am feeling in a better, more hopeful state today.
DeleteKelley, you just expressed all that I'm feeling and have felt for the past 3 years and 9 months. I've commented to you before because you and I share the same pain. My Rich died like your Don only my husband died next to me at 3:11 a.m. in bed beside me of a heart attack. Like you, there was no last "I Love You" or goodbyes. I dreamed about him last night and woke up to an empty bed and tears. I have the same fears as you do and the same longing for a life that is no more. I've had meltdowns for the past few months as the fourth year approaches. Society expects us to be living our new normal and happy. They are so wrong as I live with this pain and grief 24/7. I'm so tired of pretending that I am okay. I will never be okay. Thank you for your incredible honesty and writing talent. Karen
ReplyDeleteTHank you Karen, and of course I remember your story and comments. You are so appreciated - hang in there hon. And tell society to shove it where the sun don't shine :)
DeleteKelley, hugs to you. Wish I could be physically there with you, just to BE with you to help you for those five more minutes. I'm three years and three months out from the absolute worst thing that can happen to one of a pair of soulmates. About two months before he died, we were almost in a car crash. Absolutely nothing happened then, because of his quick reflexes, even though he was very sick. How many times I have wished that we had hit that asphalt spreader left in the middle of the road in a poorly lit area that was unfamiliar to us. But it was not to be. And so, like you, I try to make sense out of what doesn't make sense. And keep hoping a light will turn on somewhere in my brain to help me make some sense of all this pain. A pain we never knew could be all consuming, all encompassing, touch every aspect of our being. Thank you once again for letting us know we are together in our grief.
ReplyDeleteCarol
Its so hard, isnt it,Carol? The pain migth not ever make any sense, unfortunately, but what helps me is simply knowing that the pain NEEDS and demands to be felt - IF I want to have any chance at some sort of healing. I truly believe that on the other side of tremendous pain, is a new kind of joy. hang in there.
DeleteKelly once again your post resonates with me. That life I was supposed to have haunts me. Most of the time my grief bubbles away like white noise. Then it flares up and I want just to sleep until its over
ReplyDeleteI love that phrase - bubbles away like white noise. Im a word-nerd lol. And yes, wanting to sleep until its over is so normal. That is exactly what I did last night with it. I wrote this blog, and then I went to bed and cried until I fell asleep. Today, I feel different. Not awesome - but absolutely better than yesterday. It changes all the time. Hang in there and wait for the shifts.
DeleteI'm convinced, after 5 years 3 months and 28 days, that it will periodically happen! There are more times that I have fel happy in the last year than sad but sometimes that crippling weight returns. The unfairness of it all is beyond my scope of understanding. Like you, I would never harm myself, but in the beginning I would think "I would never run my car into a tree but if I wrecked and died it would be ok". I don't have those feelings any longer but I will forever miss my husband and the love we shared. You will get through this moment and I know you know that but keep letting it out until the tide turns a little.
ReplyDeleteThank you Kathie. Yes, it will always happen I think. At least now, 3.5 years into this, I know a lot more what to expect and so it no longer frightens me. In the beginning, the grief is so scary because you truly dont understand HOW anyone survives that type of pain - but then the next time it happens, and you realize you HAD the pain before and yet, you are still alive - its like evidence that the pain really WONT kill you - even though it feels like it will. xo
Deletedear Kelley,
ReplyDeleteat 22 months out now I find I am feeling Hugh's death and the most unbearable, gut-ripping, paralyzing pain that I simply cannot rise above. WTF happened? I thought I had reached some big milestones of moving forward, I know I did. but I cannot shake this awful descent into the gaping maw of grief that feels even worse than those early months of bereavement. this has happened before, but never this debilitating. I write and write and write - it has been my only way to discover triggers than send me into a downward spiral. but not this time. my only hope is that perhaps there is some cataclysmic shift happening in my grief, maybe about aspects of letting go...but letting go of what?, what else, what more? - i have been there and done that so many times. but this feels different. this is major suckage and i cannot fathom what lays beneath the surface of all this excruciating pain. i beg and plead for the crescendo to finally trumpet the why of all this painful upheaval and be released - even if it means being knocked to the ground, to have hours and days or however long it takes, just to sob and wail and rip at my skin and my hair and pound my fists at this wall that i cannot climb over.
Kelley, i am so sorry for the place you are in and hope so much that soon you will be released from it. but i am so grateful for being able to read your words in this post, so relieved that i am not the only one who feels so lost, so broken, so alone and feeling so ridiculously insane with this god-awful, unrelenting grief assault. i am sending you major amounts of warm hugs and BIG hope for you to feel better...
with much love,
karen
Karen, I SO understand these emotions. They are confusing for sure, especially when you come from feeling such highs, only to experience very low lows again. do you have a therapist or grief counselor who might be able to help you process through some of these emotions and figure out what they might mean? For me , sometimes just talking with mine and figuring it out together and analyzing it, really truly helps. A lot of times I cant figure it out on my own, but once I talk about it with her and piece throuigh it, it starts to become more clear.
Deletethank you so much, Kelley, for your kind and understanding words. yes, i have a wonderful, skilled, caring therapist and we have spoken about all i am going through - she agrees that it is possible that there is a big shift happening, and maybe when i see her at my next session there will be more to go on. she is treating me for PTSD with EMDR and talk therapy. i am so glad that you, too, have a wonderful therapist. so - let's just hug each other, keep big hope alive, and hang on for dear life! love, karen
DeletePlease let me know what you think of the EMDR once you do it. My own therapist has suggested the same for me as a possibility, but she herself is not licensed to do it and I cant really afford to have it done through someone else, at least not right now. But Id like to know if you found it helpful. You can always email me at kelleyiskelley@gmail.com :)
Delete:(
ReplyDeleteI was blessed to have 52 years of a good husband, a life with children, grandchildren, retirement--all of life's offerings.
ReplyDeleteMy love has been gone three years, one month, and two days. I miss him every day. The pain can send me to my knees. Grief is no respecter of age, of circumstances, or of time.
Thank you all for sharing. We will hold on until the 'tide turns.'
As I sit alone, one more night, distracting myself with a movie and reading this I was taken aback at the what the brutality of grief and what it continues to do to each of us at different times. I thought it was me as I am now into two years one month one week and I am distraught.
ReplyDeleteA horrible night last night and then I slept from midnight through noon till five this afternoon. I'm tired. Exhausted. I do not understand how this can continue to happen. There have been maybe a dozen days in the 2 years plus that I have not had a meltdown. Sometimes more in a day, some of them horrendous. Tonight for the first night in a year I have reviewed the necessary medications. Maybe I needed to read that I am just "normal" and others even further along can feel like this.
My problem is I do not see an end. I cannot continue this on an everyday basis. The only thing I haven't tried is drugs to fix myself and I wont go there. Unlike others I didn't make any promises to anyone and I am not sure how much longer I can force myself to reconstruct my life. It sounds dire but like Kelley I am not sure I can do what I want to do but right now I am feeling like I am back to day one and I never have seemed to progress much past a year mark.
And Karen, I hear you. Gawd do I hear you.
I understand, I really really do. Just pleaase promise me, and promise yourself, that if/when you go into that dark place, you will reach out to someone. That dark place where you arent quite sure if you would harm yourself. I know its different for everyone, but I WILL tell you that for me personally, the second year was , by far, the hardest to get through. I felt depressed so often, I felt alone, and I didnt much care. I faked my way throught and had moments of GOOD, but I didnt really see LIGHT and joy emerging until year three. So, you are in year two right now. Dont beat yourself up about your own lack of progress. Just keep trying, and get some help if you feel like you are drowning. :)
DeleteI am in my third year. I cannot promise anything to anyone but I do know I have options to reach out and I have used them so far when the hole envelops me. I just have to be honest though, this is not life. I wrote something for myself earlier today (something I do when I am so terribly conflicted ) and then a few more hours pass without such deep pain. But deep down inside I cannot bring myself to want to live and the conflict is intense. There is no one that can be there for me on the 24/7 basis that he was and I cannot seem to get past needing that so deperately. I wasn’t ready to give him up and I’m still not. What do I do with this constant pain of loss when everything makes no difference. How do you find joy in things? Doing things without the love of your best friend?
DeleteKelley,
ReplyDeleteI remember, in the early days of this fucking grief, when I wrote a blog about hacking my hair off because my grief demanded an external show. And I wrote about gaining a bit of clarity about why people might cut themselves, about letting the pain out. Oh my, the response I received from people who thought I was suicidal, when that wasn't at all it. I appreciated the concern but I think it truly does take someone standing in the trenches to know what I meant, to know what you mean when you write what you did. I have no words of comfort really and I know that this is something that must crush through you. So, all I guess I'll say is that I see where you're standing, I get it, and it sucks and yeah, you'll come through the other side because that's how life happens. With you in spirit~
alison
You have taken the words right out of my mouth. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteMe too, Kelley. Exactly. I had a "pinball" or a "bumper cars" kind of day yesterday. A song came on Pandora, so I left the house. I tried to move forward by building my spring wardrobe and I was forced to confront what a physical & mental wreck I have become. "Who is going to care for--care ABOUT-- me?" weighs heavily on my mind also. I went shopping for a wheelchair this past week and the process held too many grim reminders of the way things were supposed to turn out. I had a good cry which had been brewing for two weeks. I found a cute trinket that, when I turned it over, had another grief trigger. Then the sign at McDonald's said "A little lovin can change a lot". (I found myself yelling at the sign.) I tried to run from my feelings. I tried to process my feelings. But those sneaky feelings ran me ragged yesterday! I ended up sleeping, too.
DeleteI'm just entering Day 6. God help us... :''-(
ReplyDeleteGod bless you Elizabeth!! you have a long hard road ahead... speaking from someone at 10 months...
ReplyDeleteYou have expressed what I am feeling and going through so well. 18 months. Thank you for sharing your thoughts and emotions and telling me that it is what it is! I, like you, would never do anything, but I have no desire to go on living...not taking any pills, but getting up every day and trying to go on. It is so painful...living alone. Without a hug, a kiss, a touch, a word!
ReplyDeleteHaving acquired widow status less than five months ago after my husband battled pancreatic cancer with a tremendous desire to live, I find myself using his strength to put one foot in front of another. Friends and family help, but like all of you, I miss my life partner and the quick kiss and squeeze. I wasn't prepared for the loneliness, nor my feet being cold in bed. When I start to go to that dark place, I remind myself that many people live their whole lives without finding the "love of their life" and how blessed I was to have that, even if it did not last long enough. Like many of you, I see no end point for grieving and I tear up often; I only hope that I will be able to feel joy again and laugh more frequently.
ReplyDelete