Doing it for Myself

Marking my husband's birthday with a cupcake and sunflowers

As far as the 'ups and downs' of grief go, it's been a pretty tough week.  It started with what would have been Dan's 36th birthday on Monday (the second since he's been gone).  Despite coming up with a plan for the day and preparing as much as I could for the inevitable roller-coaster, the rug was well and truly pulled from underneath me.

I was ready for the pain, but not so ready for the loneliness, the sense of isolation and the anger.  I was so damn angry at him.  I haven't really felt much anger towards him throughout my grief, and it's a terrible feeling. One that, to be honest, I'm still not really ready to explore.  This might be something to go more in depth on another day.  But I was also really angry that the people still here in my life hadn't been more present for me this week, and that didn't feel very nice either.

I unpacked it with my grief counsellor yesterday. Where did this fury come from?  Why was I so mad at my friends?  Was I angry that they seemed to have forgotten me - what I was going through?  Was I angry that their partners were still here and mine wasn't? Was I just angry full stop, and they were an easy target?

I had talked about Dan's pending birthday a fair bit, so assumed that those close to me would know it would be a difficult day.  But I was surprised that only three friends sent 'thinking of you' text messages and none called, offered to visit or followed up that evening to make sure I was ok.

Quite a few of my husband's friends (who have become my friends) called or sent messages to share the day with me, some sent photos of the activities they were doing to remember him, like making a cake and talking about happier birthday from the past.  That was really nice, to know he wasn't forgotten and I wasn't the only one missing him.

My feelings were really hurt that my own friends hadn't been more involved.  It was a stark contrast to the year before - the first 'after' birthday - when everything was very raw.  I honestly felt like those around me had started to think 'well, it's been over a year and a half, she must be doing ok by now' or were, quite frankly, just bored of the same conversations about how I miss him and what we'd be doing if we were here.

I mean, hell, I'M bored of it!  Of course I'm tired of my grief, it's tedious and exhausting and not fun in any way.  So I get that my friends might be feeling a bit over it.  But there's nothing I can do about that.  This is my life now, his loss is part of me.  I'm not some miserable thing who NEVER enjoys life or looks forward to anything or who can't have a laugh, but I also can't pretend that it never happened and it doesn't still affect me.

With some hindsight, I don't necessarily think that my friends were a bit less involved on Monday because they're bored with me.  They most likely just didn't know what support I needed, didn't know how to help or what to say.  They also don't miss Das as much as I do, because they weren't his wife.  They don't feel my pain and there's no way they can know what to do with it.

But this all got me thinking about how, when I'm struggling with the grief, I have a tendency to look to the people around me to pick me up and carry me through.  What a lot to ask of them.  Not necessarily the support bit, but the fact that I seem to expect them to be able to mind-read and figure out what I need without me having to say so.  To call at the right time, or to give me space when I don't want to talk.  To talk about him - or to distract me when I just can't face it anymore.

This need to be saved almost always leaves me feeling let down, abandoned or misunderstood and that's really unfair to the people who love me and are trying to be there as much as they can.  So I need to get better at looking after myself.  At self-soothing.  Instead of looking to others for comfort or validation that my grief is 'ok' and I'm doing the right thing, I need to trust myself more, love myself more and back myself more.

I wish I could click my fingers and become this zen, chilled out, self-loving guru who sees the peace and light in everything and never doubts herself or her place in the world.  But I doesn't work like that.  The therapy sessions are helping, as is meditation, yoga and working with essential oils.

If Dan were still here I probably wouldn't have had to look this closely at myself and think so much about my lack of self-belief and insecurity.  Because his love gave me validation, his words gave me the reassurance that I now need to find within.  I know his love is still with me, but I need to look inside to find it.  I'm searching for this place of peace.  It may take me the rest of my life to reach it but, hey, I've got time.  It's not like I've got much else going on right now anyway.

A terrible day

Thursday marked the one-year anniversary of my husband’s suicide, and the day my world fell apart.  I can’t believe I’ve survived twelve months, it feels like such an unreasonably long time.  I hate even saying it out loud.  One year.  I don’t feel ready to be in my second year of grieving, it’s still too soon, too raw, too unbelievable. 

I can no longer think ‘this time last year we were…’ I can no longer tell people he died ‘recently’ or ‘a few months ago’. 

I know that in widow-terms I’m still in my early days of grieving, but to the rest of the world, it’s been a long time now.  I know people will start or have started forming certain expectations on where I should be, how I should be behaving.  I also know I need to ignore these people and listen to my heart, but I can’t help wanting the world to slow down – stop even.  To just wait until I can catch a breath and pull myself together again.

I don’t think I was fully prepared for how much the anniversary would hurt.  Obviously being on holidays overseas was a big distraction but in hindsight, timing it so that I got back to Australia the day before probably wasn’t the best decision (although, because my trip revolved around the dates of Camp Widow West, I was working within certain limits). 

Everyone says the lead up is the worst, and with our wedding anniversary and his birthday, it certainly felt that way. But with his death anniversary, it was very different.  The day kind of snuck up on me, I wasn’t prepared.  Not that I know what ‘prepared’ even looks like. 

With his birthday in March and our wedding anniversary in June I was somehow able to find positive things to focus on that day, to carry me through the pain.  On his birthday I was grateful for the amazing life he’d lived.  I spent the day with his friends and family, remembering good times, crying together, and trying to celebrate this wonderful man who was loved by so many.  On our wedding anniversary I was able to be thankful for the love we shared and cloaked myself with that.  I felt overwhelmed with gratitude that I met Dan, that I spent almost two years with him and that he gave me the honour of calling myself his wife. 

However there was nothing to be positive about on his death anniversary.  It was just a horrible, sad, f*#ked up day.  Knowing now the turmoil he must have been in that morning when he kissed me goodbye and left for work, my heart breaks for him all over again. We know that his suicide wasn’t planned – it was spontaneous and triggered by a psychotic episode caused by a bad reaction to his anti-depressant medication, but thinking about how scared and lost he must have felt just destroys me. I couldn’t get the images out of my head of him driving to work that morning and turning the car in a different direction. 

Images of him writing me his heartfelt letter, trying to explain that he loved me and was sorry for the hurt that his death would cause, but that he was losing his mind and needed to make this sacrifice before it was too late and he became a constant burden on me and our families.  Images of his final moments.  Of his death.  Of his body being taken away.

It was a terrible day, and it has hit me hard.  I cried the entire anniversary and as I write this, two days later, I am still crying, feeling broken and empty.

I guess there might be one thing to be grateful for right now though.  At least now that I’ve been in this place for a year, I know how to get through these dark, painful lows.  I know how to practice self-care, mindfulness and listen to my body when it tells me I need to slow down and rest.  I am laying low and being gentle with myself.  I’m gathering my people around me and letting them protect me and carry me.  I have received countless messages, phone calls and deliveries of flowers this week.  I know I am loved by many, and these people are keeping Dan and I in their thoughts and prayers. I know I’m not alone.  I will survive this and smile again, but today it is ok to cry. It’s a shitty day.

Back to basics

Source

It still shocks me how totally ignorant I was about the grieving process before having to go through it myself. I've been at this for ten months, as of today, and I still don't really understand it. All I know is one minute I can be laughing at a joke; or smiling at strangers as I walk down the street; or excitedly making plans for a holiday; or wrestling and giggling with my nephews ... and the next minute I can hardly breathe from the pain of missing him.

I honestly can't remember the last day I didn't cry. Sometimes it's only for two minutes, other days it takes two hours before I can pull myself together.  I’m having a lot of those days again lately, which is so exhausting.

I also realized this week I’ve been pretending to be doing better than I actually am, even with really close friends, because I'm aware that if I let show how much I'm constantly hurting, people may grow weary of hearing about it.  I mean, I'm so bored of my grief, of course I expect everyone else is too.  Friends reassure me that they’re not, and I should continue to share and seek support.  And I do, particularly on the really tough days.  But on some level, every day is a difficult day and despite their best intentions, I know that if I constantly moaned to my friends about how sad I am and how much I miss my husband, the running commentary would drive them crazy. 

Last weekend I helped pull off of a surprise 35^th birthday party for one of my closest friends and also co-hosted another dear friend’s baby shower.  Both took a huge emotional toll on me. The surprise party was full of couples who, for some reason, kept bloody talking about their engagements and weddings (which lead to me having a private breakdown in the kitchen mid-party), while the baby shower was, not-surprisingly, also very confronting.

By the end of the weekend the emotional hang-over was in full swing and I have struggled to get back on top all week.  Even though I chose to be there, to support people who have been so supportive of me, I think I pushed myself a bit too hard.  I’m finding it so difficult to strike that healthy balance between self-care and continuing to participate with life.

My friends tell me to be open with my emotions and never to feel like I have to be brave in front of them, but can you imagine if I spent both events ‘sharing’ how much I was struggling?  What a party-pooper!  Sometimes I’m just forced to keep the ‘I’m ok’ face on because, as wonderful as my friends are, there are moments where I need to protect them from the pain I’m feeling.  

At ten months I think people may have started to expect me to be doing ‘ok’ more days that not.  Even worse, I’m putting that expectation onto myself, then taking it really badly when I ‘fail’.  I know it hurts them to see me in pain and they miss the ‘old Bec’ but I also know they understand and accept my grief and would do anything to try and help me get through this.  No one is putting pressure on me – I’m putting pressure on myself, but I have to accept there are always going to be moments where I’m just going to have to put that brave face back on. 

So this week I’m going back to basics.  I’m reminded myself that this pain will never fully go away, I'll just get better at carrying it. I need to tune in to my instincts more and identify when I need to rest and when I can push out of my comfort zone.  And I’m going to stop putting so much pressure on myself to understand my grief and conquer it.  After all, how can I expect people around me not to question why I'm not 'coping better' yet if I can't let go of that expectation myself.

  

Bunkering Down

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Two weeks ago was the 2nd anniversary of Ian getting sick. 

About this time last year was when I finally crashed head on into my loss and grief after having pushed through the 3 months of Ian's illness, his passing and continued to work for another 9 months.

I pulled out of classes, stopped work, sought medical and psychological help and basically jettisoned as much as I could off my load to just deal.

This year I thought I got through this anniversary relatively unscathed.  A few tears, a bit flat and melancholy, but I was able to keep up with the stuff of everyday life as a single mum and student.

And then last week hit.

Get sick - check

Decide going to class just isn't going to happen - check

Look at the work I have to do for school and decide it's just too hard - check (although I also suspect the assignment question is really, really badly worded and even a non-grief addled brain would struggle with it)

Short on patience with my active, use mum as a climbing frame, 3 year old son - check

Not taking as good a care of myself as I should - check

Get a raging headache that I just couldn't shake so shipped said 3 year old off to a last minute sleep over at the grandparents - check.

So I simply bunkered down for the latter half of the week while John was at pre-school, and slept every afternoon.

But I have to emerge again this week.  There are birthday parties to get to, meetings to attend, tests and assignments due at school.  Thankfully I feel like I'm able to.

Father's Day

Last Sunday was Father's Day.
A day that I try to put on a happy, life-can-still-be-good smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes.  A day that I try to acknowledge with the children in a way that is not morbid.  A day that always makes me feel sad.

Not long after I woke, I heard sobs coming from my son's room.  This is the child who was 5 when his hero died.  This is the  child who asks me to help him remember what his Daddy sounded like.  The child who loves being compared with his father.

These weren't the sobs I normally hear of "she took my xxxx" and "if I cry and whimper then I will get out of doing chore y that I don't want to do".
No..... these were the sobs that you feel in the pit of your stomach before you hear them with your ears.

When I went in to his room, my darling girl was already in there, comforting her brother.  Being a grown-up 11 year old.  Telling him that it was OK to cry.

Normally it is my girl who I think of as being sensitive.  She is the kid who has a melt down if something is not perfect (God forbid she gets a "B" on something).  She is the one who takes on every throw-away comment as being directed at her and every friendship hiccup as being the end of the earth.

Normally it is my boy who sings and hums his way through everything with a "she'll be right" attitude.  Who tells it how it is in an honest manner and who doesn't have a trace of malice in him. He takes a negative comment and either agrees with it as a matter of fact, or dismisses it as utter rubbish.

...and yet he is the one who surprises me with his grief.  He is the one who can barely remember his father but who treasures every photograph.  The child who is determined to follow in his father's footsteps.  He is the one who can go from Mr Happy-Go-Lucky to Mr Furiously-Sad because of a date on a calendar.

Navigating grief is hard, but sailing the waters with a couple of grieving children adds another dimension.

...but its a dimension that also allows for sharing and understanding of the loss of a person so loved by all of us.

Maggie's Angel Day v4.0

So I’ve been sitting in front of this keyboard now for about an hour waiting for the inspiration to hit me.  I’ve never been one to search for things to say (or type) but tonight, while the oddly cold Texas wind blows a gale outside and the house tries to expunge the smell of freshly delivered Indian food, I sit stymied at the keyboard, not lacking in things to say, but instead, wondering where to start.  But it’s my day to write and I’ve got to start because I need to finish because I have a date with a glass of very old scotch and I need to show a box of Kleenex who’s boss.

Maggie and I met in the oddest way – a mutual acquaintance brought her to my house as one of a cadre of girls.  His carrot for them was “He’s got a boat!”  His carrot to me was “I have girls!”  Obviously, the man knew how to work deals.  Days later, on June 14th, 1999 she and I were stuck together for life (although we didn’t quite realize it yet.)

The more time we spent together, the more strongly we bonded.  Unlike all the other women I dated (and the numerous other guys she dated, the little floozy), I liked her more and more every single day!  It was a new experience for me and for her.  We shared much later about how our respective pasts were filled with frequent exercises in gently crushing our ill-matched dates’ hearts.  But when she and I met, it was if everything lined up perfectly.  Ms. Yin, meet Mr. Yang.  It was as if our souls exhaled, saying, “Ah, there you are!  I’ve been looking for you!”  So, on February 28, 2004, we called it a done deal.

Now, I wasn’t exactly the “I want to get married” type.  I may (or may not) have put up a little bit of a hissy fit (but there's no evidence since the only witness went off and died on me.)  My compromise was that we’d have two weddings: one for her and one for me.  HER wedding was February 28, with all the frilly and food and flowers and penguin suits.  MY wedding was the next day, February 29th….  In Las Vegas… with Elvis…. With me dressed as James Dean and her as Marilyn Monroe with 30 of our closest friends in assorted movie star costumes in tow.  Tell me that’s not awesome!  ☺

Fast forward only a few happy years and she was following her dream in law school at Baylor.  My dream of business school was just around the corner.  Then the shit hit the fan. In December 2006, at her birthday party, she pressed my hand against her chest and asked, “Does this bump feel weird to you?”

That was how it began.

Tomorrow, at 7:30 PM CST, just four short years ago, after she said, “Come closer” and after I skooched my body up against her as tightly as I possibly could, it ended.

I cannot imagine the man I’d be today had all I just described to you never happened.  But I can tell you these things without a doubt:
- I am a better man because I had a friend who unabashedly used me for my boat
- If you think you need a doctor’s opinion, GO TO THE DOCTOR!  NOW!
- Like keys fit locks, souls definitely have a “Oh, there you are!”
- Wishes, hopes and dreams don’t mean shit.  But believing they do make for happier days.
- You choose your state of mind.  But damn, sometimes it seems like there’s a huge crowd arguing against you and they are very convincing with their logic and/or threats
- When in doubt, don’t be afraid to apply a good scotch and lots of Kleenex… liberally

... And, Maggie, just in case you are reading this, Good night, My Love.  I love you no less today than I did yesterday.  And no more than I will tomorrow.

Now, about that scotch.  And Kleenex....

"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.

Commitment

I am calling myself out on my crap.

I've been doing it all week.

While talking to a friend, I realized I have commitment issues.

I’m not talking about relationship – commitment – issues.

I’m talking about committing to life.

I've realized I have a major problem seeing past today.

A friend will ask if I want to do something, go out and have fun, say, a week from now.

And I can’t really commit to it.

I think to myself “That sounds like fun. But that’s a week away. Today I just need to focus on today”.

This week I've been struggling with – is this the “grown-up” version of me, or is this the “widowed” version of me?

I've gone back and forth in my head, trying to figure out when this commitment issue started.

And why?

I guess it started about a year ago. A year after Seth died.

When Seth first died, I used to keep myself far too busy. I think to avoid my grief and pain. For almost a year straight, I was far too busy.

Then I crashed. Fell flat on my face in depression.

Suddenly I had to stop my life from spinning. I had to slow down, and just grieve.

I had to just stop. Stop everything.

Make my life stand still, so I could grieve and breath.

Now I’m afraid of being too busy.

I think the fear comes from “What if I have plans, and I’m riddled with grief, and I don’t feel like going??”. 

Then I have to pull the widow card, tell my friend I don’t feel up to it, and feel slightly embarrassed that something fun is too much for me to handle.

It’s embarrassing.

So instead of making plans, say a week from now, it’s easier to focus on just today. Because in a week I might not feel well. I might be emotionally sick next week.

So instead of dealing with the embarrassment of having to cancel plans, I have trained myself to not look past today.

Everyone says – “Take it one day at a time”.

I don’t think this is what they meant.

I think there is a silver lining in it. Stay focused and present with just today. Not next week.

Also allowing myself to be un-busy, and just be, with my grief. Rather than avoiding my grief.

But am I missing out on life in the process? Am I missing out on something amazing – a week from now?

I can’t tell if my commitment issue is a good or bad thing.

I do know not being able to look past today, isn't exactly a great thing.

But I realized that my brain and body have naturally figured out how to handle my grief, even if I don’t like the process.

It’s amazing what the human brain and body can do.

Forcing me to focus on just today, is ironically a good thing.

Thank you my dear, tired, body.

I appreciate it.

Anxiety

I have always been highly strung.
I give the impression of being laid back, but I'm like the proveribial swan, paddling furiously under the surface.

When I first studied at university, I made sure I got first class honours and a scholarship to finish my PhD.
When I went back to do my Diploma of Education the year before Greg died, I went a step further, getting straight 7s (highest score) and graduating with high distinction at the very top of my class, winning the prize for my year (which turned out to be a fancy dinner and a certificate). 
It wasn't that I was driven to succeed, it was that I was anxious that anything less than my best would spell failure.

....and that was what I was like when Greg was ALIVE and using his calming, grounding influence to keep me from shooting through the roof at every little thing that even mildly rocked my plan for world domination world.

Now, I find myself unable to calm down when things become a little stressful.  
There is no voice of reason there to remind me that nobody is going to spontaneously combust unless I run around like a chook with its head cut off to hose out the myriad of little and big fires in my life.

I am currently stressed .... my job is under threat.  It's a long story that involves a new government cutting jobs which will result in those eager young beavers on contracts (like me) being pushed aside as the old guard who have been working in policy for the past few years, dust off their rusty skills to return to the classroom, pushing us out in their wake.

I've been quite anxious about how I will support us next year (when my contract ends).

I've been quite shouty and didn't I sleep for two nights:  I get more shouty when I am tired.

To put it mildly, I've been barrels of fun to be around....

I am trying very hard to keep some perspective...... but it's been hard without my human security blanket here to calm me down.

Today, instead of flying into a rage or crying or rocking in the corner, I've tried to remind myself that possibly the worst thing to ever happen to me has already happened (Note to Universe - this is not a challenge to see if you can up the ante).

I have other options for work: we will not starve to death.

...and I've been spending as much time as I can outside: in the garden; walking through the bushland across the road from my house; strolling along the waterfront.

Trying to channel Greg's calming influence.....
Trying to hear his voice through the whir of my mind.

...and so far, I'm succeeding ..... it's ...... OK.

...and maybe that's all I can ask for just now.