Thursday, April 9, 2015

The Story

I met a new friend the other day and in the course of conversation The Story came out. You know the one. The Story. The one about how I was married and then wasn’t married. What happened, how it happened, what’s happened since then, what happened before then. 

Early on in my widowhood The Story was so deeply painful that I basically hid out in my house for months. Early on, it was The Horror Story. Every time I had to talk about losing Mike to someone new it was like ripping my heart out of my chest. Dealing with all the business of his death was truly horrific. Every phone call, every signature, every photo copy and every detail all seemed like more nails in a coffin - one not just belonging to my beloved husband but of the whole life I had been living. It was now all, completely, stone-cold dead and gone forever and I felt like a walking phantom; a barely-breathing ghost of the person I had been. A conversation with the notary at the bank had me sobbing. Seeing his favorite food on the shelves at the grocery store had me sobbing. Taking the rubbish to the dump in his truck - one of the chores he used to do - had me sobbing. It was The Tragedy. It was my tragedy.

I had no idea how I was going to live without him. I didn’t want to think what a next day might bring; I dreaded every moment, every meal, every movie, every book, email, phone call, picture, errand and chore. It’s not like I avoided life out in the world; for me, there was no life out in the world. It was all dead to me. When I looked up at the blue sky all I saw was a giant red, bleeding ripping gash across the heavens in my mind’s eye. The whole world was now forever changed; mutilated; disfigured, without the presence of my beloved.

Two years later, though, I find that telling The Story doesn’t leave me gasping for air the way it used to. It’s not easy, mind you - it will never be easy, telling The Story. And yes - depending on the situation I do sometimes avoid telling it at all. But I have come to a point in my grief where I realize it will just always and forever be The Story. It will always be my story. Where I came from, being married to Mike, the years we were together, the man he was and the things we shared…then losing him, and all the bits that surround me now, my family, my friends, my work…The Story. The Fairy Tale, The Drama, The Romance, The Comedy, The Adventure…The Horror and The Tragedy…I will  never be able to separate myself from any of it. I can attempt to write new paragraphs, but I can’t edit the previous chapters or write myself out of it. It has become me; it is defining me; it is representing me. 

The experience of it all has left me with an awareness of all the other stories around me too, in this world. How many others carry the heavy burden of grief all the days of their lives. The sadness that shadows my days - that will always shadow my days - is not mine and mine alone. My story is my story, but I am not alone in having one. That is both terrible and comforting at the same time.

I told that new friend, when she looked at me with those now all-too-familiar startled, sad eyes, when The Story came out…yeah, I know. It sucks - you have no idea how much it sucks. And how am I here now, talking about it without sobbing? Well, I’m not exactly sure. All I know is I will never get over it, but I am, somehow, finding a way through it. You just somehow, one moment at a time, learn to live with the fact that your life is forever changed. Grief never goes away…you just make friends with it. Over time I suppose you learn to shake hands with that terrible, dark ogre of a creature because it is the only way to lessen the torture. It is the only way to make peace with the terrible. 

That is my life now. That is my story and it’s sticking to me, whether I like it or not.






10 comments:

  1. You described it so perfectly. Even now after 2 1/2 years, I still sometimes have trouble telling someone new about my husband's death. Sometimes I just don't bother - if it is an acquaintance that I run into. I no longer cry when I tell someone "my story". However, when someone does know, I actually enjoy telling stories about Joe. I like talking about him. It's just having to tell someone new and watch their shocked reaction that gets me every time. Thanks again for expressing in your writing exactly what I am feeling.

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    1. Yes - I too now find I enjoy being the storyteller! It is a big shift. Still leaves me sad but more and more, grateful I got to be with him when I did. Thank you for sharing.

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  2. Stephanie, it will be four years in June since my husband died suddenly. I've started crying all over again as memories of our love and life together fill my mind. Why has this grief returned all over again? I don't know, but I love and miss him so much. He was everything to me and I feel so alone. Thank you for today's post as it helps remind me that I am not really as alone as I feel. Karen

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    1. Karen,
      You certainly are not alone in your feelings. I have lost my husband just over 5 years ago and I find myself in this same low - as if I am starting from scratch on the grieving process. I think I am finding out that the only person responsible for my own happiness...is me! It is hard to let go of what makes us sad, although, that seems the only way through all this heavy grief. I will never let go of the memories and all those happy times, I just feel I need to start creating new happy times so I can have something to look forward to and then reflect on. I found a saying the other day that seems to resonate with me
      "...and there is a day that comes that the risk to remain tight in a bud is more painful than the risk it takes to blossom".
      I'm trying my best to blossom - I need it to be so. The best wished to you.

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    2. Wow. I guess it really is a lifelong process and will never go away. And I like the idea of creating happy times too and things to look forward to. Such is life. Sigh.

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    3. Anonymous and Stephanie, thank you both for your thoughtful and kind responses. I wish you both the best as well. We're kindred spirits on this surreal journey of grief. Karen

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  3. Stephanie, your posts always seem to resonate with me. For me it was cutting the grass. We were married 19 years and i probably only cut grass once or twice. When i cut it the first time i got so sad and angry and then the mower messed up and made me angrier and there i stood in the yard sobbing, wishing i could just pick that mower up and throw it. Thanks for sharing. Tracy

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    1. Oh man I can relate to that. Mike used to cut the grass too. I tried for awhile but it was just to much for me - and it did make me very sad. I pay for a gardener now, much as Mike always hated that idea, I think he would approve of that now.

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  4. I have to admit that I cry at everything. At twenty six months I have had a few days this past 30 that I haven't cried but anything can set it off. I will also admit that they are less frequent but more intense. When I cry now there is no stopping it until it is done with me. It literally will wrap me up and not let me go until I have exhausted myself. And the sounds of the crying are very different.
    Now I am determined to hasten my death. I don't want to be here. I am losing touch with the feelings that brought out the pain in me and I will not stand by while I get "better". I don't want to be here without him. Seriously I will not add years and years to my life. I will find a way to end this naturally.

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    1. Oh Mrs C I feel your pain...what a terrible time it is. All I can say is there can be bright spots appearing here and there - I have found this, if I allow myself to pay attention and bear witness to the good things around me now. They are hard to see sometimes, but they are there. You are not alone on this difficult path. I hope you find some hope and help and send you healing thoughts and hugs from afar, because even as I've had similar thoughts to yours I know I have things left to do here, though sometimes I don't know what they are. Our grief is a life-changing thing but need not be a life-ending thing. I think often of the other loved ones around me, friends and family, and their pain at my own untimely departure, and so I work hard to want to stay, and I think, in the end, I will be glad I did stay, even through the tears.

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