Those Who Don't Know Grief

My husband's photo in the centre of the table for our Aussie back yard Christmas

 As I write this we're full swing into the holidays and I've survived Christmas Day, Boxing Day and am about to head to my parent's house for a large lunch celebration with 20 or so members of extended family.  I'm absolutely exhausted, but hanging in there.

I've heard many widowed people say that the second year can be harder than the first, because the shock has worn off and reality has set in. However for me, this Christmas has been slightly easier than last year.  I guess it just goes to show that everyone's time line is different and you shouldn't try and measure your grief against anyone else's. 

Despite being a bit easier than last year, it was still difficult and very sad.  Maybe I felt less raw, or just knew what to expect. The day started off quite well really, as I spent the morning with my parents, my sister and her family, including my three wonderful nephews.  We are all very close and they have all been with me every step of the way for past 17-months since Dan died.  When the tears start flowing freely, they are generally comfortable enough to sit with me and let me ride it out.  I know it hurts them, my dad usually chokes up when I cry and you can see the heartache all over my mother's face, as she feels so helpless to ease my pain.  But they know I need to cry and have grown strong enough to let me, which makes a world of difference.  So I was doing ok and was able to weep without having to remove myself from the activities or let it interrupt my day.

We exchanged presents and spent the morning snacking on oysters and cheese, my sister and I enjoying our traditional pina coladas while watching her husband and boys playing in their pool.  We placed a photo of Dan on the centre of the table and I felt happy and at peace.

When it came time for lunch, by brother-in-law's large extended family arrived and as the crowd started to grow and the mood grew more hectic with kids running around and babies crying, I felt my anxiety level rise.  

While Dan's photo still sat on the middle of the table, not one person commented to me about how nice it was to include him in our day or ask how I've been going.  The only time he came up in conversation was when I was asked about my trip to Sydney last weekend (to see his family).  When I mentioned that it was quite emotional because we had all felt his loss acutely, the topic of conversation was changed. 

Someone later asked if I had plans for New Years Eve and when I said I thought it would be too difficult for me this year, she suggested it might be a good way to distract myself.  I didn't even have the energy to explain how grief works or why counting down the new year with other couples wasn't the right choice for me.  I didn't bother, because I knew she didn't get it - and in truth, didn't really appear interested in understanding how every day was a fine balance between distracting myself and knowing when to push myself and grow through my pain.

There is something incredibly lonely about being surrounded by people who don't understand you or those who ignore the fact that an incredibly tragic incident has forever changed the person who are and the trajectory of your life.  No one seemed aware that I was there 'alone' while they all had their partners and children running around.  It became harder to connect with my family who got lost or diluted in the bigger group.  I started feeling like it was really wasn't ok for me to openly grieve or even talk about Dan.  I had to choke down my tears and hide my pain.

I understand that people don't know how to talk about death, I don't blame them for this - because I didn't know how to either before I was forced to face it front on.  Maybe they didn't want to dampen their own festive mood or maybe they thought that bringing him up in conversation might upset me.  That may very well be the case for some widowed people, who are just trying to make it through the day in tact, and talk of their departed loved ones makes it harder to do that.  But I was so deeply hurt that no one acknowledged that he was missing, or that I might be doing it tough. 

Yesterday Kelly wrote about how when people don't ask about your life and what you have been up to, you feel offended and ignored and unacknowledged. But then if they do ask, most of the time, you feel uncomfortable telling them about your life and what you have been up to, because they just wouldn't get it.

I felt like she was speaking from my own heart.  While being around this larger group of people made a difficult holiday even harder, I'm not angry or resentful about their ignorance to my grief.  It really is something that no one can understand until they have lost someone.  And even those who have, might have a different experience or personal view on the best way to endure tough situations, so their advice or approach might not work for me anyway. 

Today, at my parent's barbecue, there will be another group of extended family on my father's side who I don't see often and who won't know what to say to me.  They too might ignore Dan's death or they may feel brave enough to place a hand on my arm and ask how I am, or tell me they've been thinking of me.  If so, I will probably cry and things might get awkward - but that's my life now. 

I have become comfortable with the crying, I've had to.  As have the people close to me.  There will always be a barrier between me and those who don't understand.  I envy their ignorance or discomfort, because they don't yet know the deep pain of grief.  And that's just the way life goes. 

"Even in death, love never dies"

Click to make it bigger

Every time I go through a grief "stage", I come out on the other side with more love in my heart, and more acceptance of my husband's suicide.

I have come through the anger stage (again) and thankfully it didn't last as long as it has in the past.

Out of all the stages I go through, the anger stage is the hardest.

I don't want to be angry at my husband. I know he did everything he could to stay alive.

And I know he held on as long as he did for me.

But see, there lays the problem.

He held on for me. Not himself.

Through my journey, there have been times that I am only holding on to life because of my family.

That my death would destroy my family.

So through the really bad, scary times, I think of my family.

And think "I have to get through this, for them".

I have to admit, when I crawled in to bed on 12/20/12, I secretly hoped the Mayan calender was right.

That I would wake up, but not in this life anymore.

I fantasized about being in heaven, with my family, and seeing my husband, standing there, with that gorgeous smile and inviting arms.

I prayed that my nightmare would be over.

I would get to have my cake and eat it too. My family would be there. I wouldn't have to leave them. And I would get my husband back.

The husband I married, not the husband that died.

But 12/21/12 came and went, like every other day. And once again, my prayer was unanswered.

As I face my 3rd Christmas without Seth, I am trying to focus on the holidays and being happy. I am trying to not grieve, but it's not working.

I am grieving really hard right now.

Everyday I have to take a time out. Some days I have to take multiple time outs.
A time out to grieve, cry and just be with my thoughts.

I can only cram my grief down for so long before it irrupts. With the irruption I become a hysterical mess, that lands me exhausted and useless for days later.

It has taken me 29 months to learn how to take care of my grief. It has taken me 29 months to realize what my brain, body and heart need.

It has taken me 29 months to realize that with each passing day, I love my husband more.

When I started in my journey I never thought I could possibly love Seth more then the day he died.

Ever since Seth died, I have always said "Even in death, love never dies".

Merry Christmas Seth. I love you and I miss you don't even begin to express how deeply my love for you runs.

Back in the anger stage

The heart volcano my nephew drew for me.

Yesterday was Seth’s 34th birthday.
Or would have been, I guess.

Yesterday as I was slowly waking from my sleep, I heard crying.
As I slowly open my eyes, the tears were flowing, and realize the crying I heard was me.

It’s not the first time I have woke myself up crying. But it also hasn't happened for a while, so I was caught off guard.

I sat up in bed, wondering “What the hell is wrong with me??”

My mind slowly and gently reminded me that it was Seth’s birthday. And he is still dead.

His birthday is a horribly rough day. All I want to do is make him nachos, buy him his favorite beer, and do whatever his lil heart desires.
But I can’t.

I normally release balloons to Seth on his birthday. This year would have been 34 balloons.
But I couldn't bring myself to do it.
I thought – he doesn't see it, so it doesn't even matter.

After some thought, I realized - I am angry.
I am back in the anger stage, for the billionth time.

I am pissed as shit that my husband isn't here. I am pissed that he took his own life.
I am pissed that I had to face my birthday, Thanksgiving and his birthday, without him here.

A friend told me to be strong. I thought about it, and thought to myself “Forget that, I am done being strong. Today I am going to be pissed and weak. After all, I deserve that”.

I can only be strong and not angry for so long before I crumble under the pressure.
Sometimes I am too weak to be strong any longer.
Sometimes I am too mad to tell myself to calm down.

It’s ok to allow myself to be weak. It’s ok to allow myself to be angry. Angry with Seth. Angry with God. Angry with the life that I didn't sign up for.

Thanksgiving came and went, with few grief moments.

As I was getting ready for my family to come over, I found myself grieving over doing the shopping and cleaning alone.

Everything now seems so much harder. The shopping and cleaning seems extremely hard now.

I’m not sure if it’s because I do it alone or if it’s reminder of being alone.

The things that were so simple in the “before” life are like pulling out my own teeth now.

I got to babysit my nephew and niece overnight on Thanksgiving night, so my brother could go black Friday shopping.

The kids and I were laying on the floor and coloring.

My nephew suddenly says “I’m glad you don’t live in the old house anymore”.

I was completely caught off guard. While trying to control the lump in my throat and preparing myself for the answer, I asked “Why?”

He says “Because the old house was scary”.

I fought back tears and had to excuse myself to gather my feelings.

My nephew doesn't remember Uncle Seth.

I was pretty shocked that he remembered “the old house”, let alone brought it up.

Especially since I just passed the one year anniversary in the new house.

It was pretty shocking to hear my nephew say the old house was scary.

I thought the fear I felt in our house, was my fear alone.

Little did I know that my 5 year old nephew was scared of it too.

I loved watching my niece and nephew.
They are so fun.

They also remind me how simple life really is.

How I need to slow down, and enjoy the simple things in life.

The simple, teeny, tiny things.

Such as coloring, snuggling and laughing.

My nephew also reminded me to follow my heart.

That my fear was not mine alone, and if I am consistently scared, to make changes to soothe myself.

After all, at end of the day, the only person to comfort me, is me.

Be thankful. Or don't. It's OK.

source

I remember Thanksgiving two years ago, just a couple weeks after Jeremy's death. Well, when I say I remember it, I actually don't remember much about it other than I was deep in the pits of despair and grief. But what I surprisingly remember was the the sense of responsibility I felt to voice being thankful in some way. I remember putting up a status on Facebook about trying not to dwell on what I lost and trying to focus on what I could be thankful for.

But the truth was, I was not thankful for anything.

I'm not so blinded as to not understand that I had things to be thankful for. But I didn't feel thankful. I couldn't image my life being any worse. I was even pissed that I was still around to suffer through the days without the love of my life. Why did I have to express thankfulness?

Because that's what we're supposed to do...

This holiday tends to start a chain reaction of responsibility and expectations for grievers through the end of the year. It sucks. Sometimes empty. It's hard to feel thankful when the person you were most thankful for is no longer there.

Knowing things could be worse doesn't take away the pain of losing someone. Knowing we have much to be thankful for doesn't lessen the injustice of what we've been through. Sometimes the insinuation is enough to make things worse.

Here's what I know: don't worry about the expectations of others or even the expectations we tend to put on ourselves. It's OK to not get into the hype and hoopla of the holidays. Don't feel pressured to please others or keep up with traditions alone if it hurts too much. It's OK to take a break for awhile and keep things simple. It's OK to feel angry, sad, or irritated with others for getting to celebrate what you have now lost. It's OK to do things YOUR way.

Here's what else I know: If you do feel thankful, that's OK. If you feel blessed that you've got a second chance at life even in the midst of losing something so special, that's OK. If you're in a place where you can look at your blessings and appreciate them in a way that only grief will let you, that's OK.

Don't let others dictate where your heart is at. This holiday season, be true to you.

Thankfulness ......

                                                      source

...... is sometimes very, very hard to find.

Which, sometimes, makes this time of the year very, very hard to endure.

No ...... Thanksgiving ...... and the month of December ...... oh, hell, we might as well go all the way to that crappiest holiday of them all ...... February 14th (I don't even want to say/type the name) ...... are days that should not have to be "endured" ...... but it's a fact that they are.

I had always heard that this time of the year has a higher incidence of depression and suicides than other times.
I thought I understood that concept ...... "before".

I had no earthly idea.

Until Christmas 2007.
One week, to the day, after Jim died.

Now I am a statistic.
I'm one of those people who find the holidays depressing ...... and wish we could just skip the whole damn month.
Or two.
Or three.

My "death march" (the days leading up to the day he died ...... the days that my body tunes into the date,
 even when my mind doesn't) starts around now.  It really solidifies into a steady beat on Thanksgiving.
Making that holiday so.  much.  fun.
Not.

This doesn't mean that I'm not thankful.
This year.
Being thankful has gotten easier.
I imagine that on my first Thanksgiving without Jim ...... if you had asked me if I was thankful for anything ...... I could have sarcastically said, "Yes.  I'm thankful that my children aren't dead, too."
And that's about all I could've been "thankful" for.

But each year has brought more thankfulness.
Or actually, with each year that passes I am more able to realize that there are many things for which I really am thankful.
Even though I'm still grieving harder at this time of the year.
Even though this whole thing still sucks.
Even though ...... well, just ...... even though.

I am happy.
And I grieve.
I've found that those two things can now peacefully coexist (most of the time) in my heart.

As I've said before, my "after" happy is different than my "before" happy.  I doubt that I will ever see my "before" happy again.
And while that sometimes makes me feel sad, it's also OK.
Now.

Those cold, inky black days of grief are behind me.
Now.
The future, though still totally unknown ...... and unplanned ...... looks brighter.
Now.
I don't wake up each day with my first thought being, "Jim is dead."
Now.
I dont' fall asleep at night with my last thought being, "Jim is dead."
Now.
I don't long for death.
Now.
I can think of Jim, and all that we had, and not feel that cold, sharp slice into my heart.
Now.

So for all of that, and for the hope that I have given at least one of you just that ...... hope ...... I am thankful.

If you aren't feeling it this year ...... that's OK.
It doesn't mean that you're selfish.
It doesn't mean that you're ungrateful.
And it doesn't mean that you will always feel this way.
It just means that you're ...... normal.
In a perfectly abnormal situation.


During what can be a perfectly horrible time of the year.
But hopefully, and most likely ...... not always.

Hopeful New Year

No tears tonight. (It's New Year's Eve as I write.)

Tonight I celebrate what lies ahead of me. Tonight I take notice of what prior New Year's brought my way. I know that tonight a friend is celebrating a wedding anniversary without her husband. I know that tonight another friend is remembering this as the day she met the husband who is also no longer beside her. Yet knowing each of these women, I'm sure that even if tears are falling, there are beautiful smiles on their faces.

Looking ahead to the new year is our way of projecting hope into our future. For those of us who are widowed hope is not something we can always easily access. Yet for me, at this point in my life, I do have hope, and more of it than expected.

I know that years ago after learning that my husband was terminally ill, I thought I lost hope. Yet, in the days that followed his emergency surgery I found myself accessing hope that I couldn't recognize at first. It was that hope that spurred me on to seek out the right path for us as a couple, and it was that hope that allowed me to not get stuck so deep in my unexpected sorrow. It was also that hope that provided me with two more loving years with the man I gave my heart to.

After losing Michael I felt that once again I had lost all ties to hope. I was not able to see beyond the pain and sorrow, even as the days and months went by. I began to question if my future carried any real meaning. After surviving on scary night I decided to trust that hope was there, even if I didn't recognize it. I made a decision to set off in a new direction, and I trusted that there was something, not necessarily someone, out there for me.

Tonight I sit here in my home, with all the chaos that is included with a house full of kids and pets. I had hoped for a very quiet peaceful night, one like last year, yet it is clearly not what I am to have. The television is blaring, the dogs are running around, I have struggling with a miserable cold, and my new love is at work rather than sitting beside me.

Inside my head I keep hearing Mick Jagger singing these lyrics..."YOU CAN'T ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT." For those of us who find ourselves seeking out this blog, this is a bit of an understatement.

My point is this, no, I don't believe I got what I wanted. I got more. I got a lifetime of Michael's love. It wasn't my lifetime of love, but it was his. I know that he never stopped loving me, nor I him. I know that loving him gave me so much hope in my future. I know that loving him taught me that sometimes hope takes a different turn. Before meeting Michael I thought love had passed me by. I had somewhat lost hope. He renewed it. In learning that I was soon to lose Michael I thought I had lost hope. Once again, it was renewed. In losing Michael I was sure that I had lost hope. Yet, here I sit, being hopeful once again.

Let's all look forward to a hopeful year. Let's say our thanks for what we had, and let's be open to what the future holds.

Happy New Year.



You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes, well you might find
You get what you need

2 down, 48 to go...

Christmases without Greg, that is.




Given my long-lived female relatives, I know I can expect to see the age of 90 if not 100 years old. (Longevity seems to be a heritable trait in my family ... as does early widowhood.)

Which means 48 more Christmases to endure even with the more conservative estimate....

...and I don't want to do another single one, leave alone another 48 or more.
.
.
.
.

...and that's where my head is. Not pretty, and I know I should pull myself together because ... well ...
I didn't die ....

People who don't know me, or who don't have a basic grasp of psychology will tell me it doesn't help to keep thinking this way.

... but it does...

If there is one thing I have learnt in this mess that is widowhood: grief will always out.

Better to brood and cry and moan every so often, than to button it down, don't think those dark thoughts. ...and have it hit you full force at the most inappropriate times at a later date.

So, I'll spend a bit of time feeling sad and sorry for myself. I'll brood about having to live for so much longer without my man. I'll cry in the shower and I'll swear a lot.

But after that, I'll feel OK again and keep plodding on. I'll keep moving forward and not think about having to keep living long after my love died.

...and I won't beat myself up about not taking it all on the chin ALL the time. I'll allow myself to have a little wallow in grief and self pity every so often without feeling guilty.

So you'll excuse me while I go play some sad songs and have a little cry .... I'll feel better for it tomorrow, I promise.

Tis the Season ....

                                           picture from here

.... to be jolly.
Ho, ho ..... oh whatever.

I mostly loathe this Season.
I really do.
And that ticks me off.

Because I didn't "before".
I loved Christmas and everything it entails.
It was a wonderful time of the year for me spiritually, emotionally .... the older kids came home from college for several weeks, and physically .... loved the parties, the goodies we only eat once a year .... I basically loved Christmas.

And then came my "after".
And it just so happens that my "after" began on December 18th, which is not only one week (exactly) before Christmas, but it's the birthday of my sister, my brother and my step-dad.
Oh yeah ..... it ranks right up there.
Well, it ranks anyway.

I keep thinking that this will get easier with each year that passes.
So far I have been wrong.
It has not become any easier.
I've tried .... I really have.
I've tried the whole "mind over matter" thing .... if I just don't think about it, if I just don't let myself go "there" ..... then things will be better.
Ummmmm .... not so much.
It seems that my body has a mind (and a clock, AND a calendar) of it's own.  It doesn't need me thinking about the time of year in order to feel it coming.  It pays no attention to my mind.  Sigh .....

I've tried the "distraction" method ..... if I stay really busy and make a lot of Christmassy plans, things will be better.
All that's accomplished is to make me really exhausted ..... as well as depressed.

I don't want to feel like this.
I really, really don't.
I want to make this a happy time for my kids.
It used to be.
And it sucks that it suddenly wasn't.
And that I can't seem to make it better .... or at least can't make myself feel better.

But the truth is .... I've been starting to resent this time of year .... and what has become a very huge part of it ..... the giving of gifts.
Again .... used to love it.
Used to be on top of it.
Used to have my shopping done before December 1st.
I know .... that's so obnoxious.
And SO pre-2007.

We are now past the 1st .... and I really haven't done much.
I think about it every once in a while, but then just stop thinking.
I resent having to buy gifts.
I resent some of my children for seeming to want nothing but gifts. (Note that I did not say ALL of my children .... in case you just happen to be one of my children .... and are reading this.)
I resent the feeling of being a human cash machine (to be fair, that's not just this time of year).
I resent that I seem to make some people happy if I spend enough money ..... or buy the right gift.

And I resent like hell when I hear women complain about what their husband did .... or did not .... give them for Christmas.
There.
Are.
No.
Words.

So yeah .... you can call me Grinch, if you'd like.
I'm ok with that.
Because I feel pretty Grinchy.
And I wonder if I always will?
Or will there ever come a  year when I will not feel depressed in December?
Is there some magic number of years?  Is it 5?  Because I'd totally love it if it were 5.  Then at least I'd know there's a light at the end of the tunnel .... in one more year, to be exact.

But I know there's no magic number.
For anything.
It is what it is.
Until it isn't any longer.

I will be very glad when that time comes.
And if it doesn't come .... please don't tell me.
I should have something to look forward to.
Doncha think?

P.S.  Sorry that we seem to have a running theme going of how hard December is (again, we don't contact each other about our writing, and I didn't realize it when I first wrote this a few days ago) ..... I really would've liked to have written a cheerier post, but I'm not there ..... yet.  I hope to be ..... one day.  In the meantime, I hope that each of you isn't drowning in depression from our posts.  :(