My own worst enemy

The better past of last Sunday was spent laying in bed crying... while the cat persisted in trying to comfort me

I feel like I’ve been in a rut for more than a month now, since Dan’s first anniversary.  I’ve had days here and there where I’ve been able to smile and actually mean it, but in general, the pain has been very deep and the ache for him, overwhelming.

The grief has been so relentless that it’s started messing with my head and making me question if I was doing something wrong.  If I’d gotten stuck in it some how. Was I doing enough to keep moving forward? 

I mean, I know this dance well by now, the three-steps-forward, two-steps-back tango.  I know I need to keep my expectations realistic and that this is a marathon, not a sprint.  I know that I can’t project manage my way out of this, yet in the dark of the night when the tears won’t slow and my heart feels like it’s going to stop beating from the sheer agony, I forget that this moment will pass and I’ll take steps forward again.

I just don’t understand why I’m this hard on myself.  Losing your spouse in such tragic circumstances, so young and early into our lives together, would have to be up there with the one of the most terrible experiences anyone could be forced to endure.  Yet I can’t seem to give myself permission to stumble. 

As the weeks pass and I continue to put this pressure and expectation on myself, it has started to mount into feelings of guilt and inadequacy.  I worry that I’m bringing everyone around me down and taking up so much of their energy with my constant state of fragile melancholy.

So this week I spent a lot of time contemplating how and why I’m so hard on myself.   I think that sometimes I have trouble understanding the difference between accepting that there are going to be bad days where I don’t want to face the world; and just wallowing in my sorrow to the point where it becomes an excuse not to try anymore.  I know I have to be gentle with myself – but where is that line between acceptable self-care; and just using my grief as a shield against anything unpleasant or moderately challenging.  Does that make sense?

Don't get me wrong, I know there's no set answer. This pondering is more rhetorical than actually looking for a response. When I think about my grief and whether I'm 'doing it right' - there is no fair bench mark to asses myself against. Because everyone's grief is different. 

I can't look at what seems to be working for a friend and try to apply it to my situation because we're not fighting the same battle. No one can actually tell me if I'm grieving appropriately because it's MY grief, I'm the only one who knows it and feels it, so I'm the only person who can truly answer that question. That's the crux of my conundrum ... I don't seem to trust myself to make that call!

On Thursday, the psychologist who runs a local suicide bereavement counselling program and support group that I became involved in a couple of months after Dan died, called me to check in.  I told her that I’m doing ok, but was struggling with this concept of ‘am I grieving appropriately’.

I confessed to her that some days I just don’t know what to do with myself.  I just sit in the loneliness and cry for hours and think ‘I’m so sick of this sadness, I don’t want this life for me.  I hate this pain.  Despite the fact that I’ve been carrying it around with me for 13 months, I still have such a long road ahead of me and it’s just not fair.’ 

She replied that of course I’m sick of it, of course it’s not fair.   My husband died and how else am I supposed to feel? It doesn’t mean that I’m broken or there’s something wrong with me.  I’m grieving and it’s horrible.  She pointed out that everyone around me is giving me more acceptance and understanding that I’m granting myself. 

She reminded me of the progress I’ve made since those first few months.  I don’t cry at work as much; I’ve travelled; I’ve taken up new hobbies and made new friends. 

She pointed out that while I have bad days, I also have good days.  And on those good days, while I might take steps to keep life simple, I don’t use Dan’s death as an excuse for a free pass. 

Being reminded of that really helped.   I actually think I’m going to print it off and stick it to my fridge.  Widowhood is such hard work.  So many life lessons all being shoved in my face at the same time, it’s exhausting and overwhelming trying to take it all in. 

Plus, my memory isn’t the best right now so I forget a lot of things… like the fact that it’s ok to be this dreadfully sad and that there will be more good days. 

If only I could have that breakthrough and learn to trust myself. Like my counsellor said, if only I saw what others saw - and if only I gave myself the grace and compassion that was being shown to me by the people around me.

Saying Goodbye.. Again

The last picture taken of me and my best friend.

A couple of weeks ago I wrote about my dog being diagnosed with cancer (I wrote about it here)

Tuesday, the day after my birthday I had to kill put my best friend to sleep.

I am in shock. I am devastated. Three weeks after his diagnoses he went from being fine to not eating and his eyes rolling back in his head.

Nine years and one day after my husband gave me Clifford for my birthday..  I had to let go.

I had to say goodbye.. again.

I wasn't ready to let go.. again.

Yet no matter how much I fought it or how much it hurt, I had no say in it.. again.

Piece by piece, day by day, moment by moment, I lose another piece of my husband. I lose another piece of my before life.

Step by step I walk through a more than ever empty home.

Just when it feels like I have nothing else to lose, I lose my best friend.

The friend that never cared what I look like. Never cared if I can’t manage to get out of bed or not. Never cared if I was deep in grief. He always loved me. Loved me more than he loved himself.

Three years later I am saying goodbye all over again.

Three years later I feel like I am starting all over.. again.

My husband dying piece by piece never gets easier.

Saying goodbye and moving forward never gets easier.

Being Kicked

Seth and Clifford - 2004

I've been struggling with my dog, Clifford. He had a shoulder injury that seemed to be getting better thanks to the vet and pain medication.

Monday I got up at 3:30am to go to work and I couldn't find Clifford. After searching the house, I found him sitting in the bathtub just staring at the wall. Not laying down, just staring. He wouldn't even look at me.

Right then I knew my baby was dying. For anyone that has seen the death look in an animal knows the look.

By time the vet opened at 8:00am Clifford was in shock, needed blood transfusions and was admitted to the doggy hospital. He had an ultrasound later that afternoon, and the diagnoses was cancer. It’s through his whole abdomen, in his liver and spleen. Most likely will spread to his lungs next.

I am devastated.

You see.. Clifford is our dog. Seth got him for me for my birthday in 2004. He was just six weeks old and has been my baby since the first time I laid eyes on him.

Through Seth’s death, he was my rock. I remember shortly after the funeral I was sitting on the couch hysterically crying. Clifford came up and put his head on my shoulder and licked the tears off my face. I realized that even though he was grieving (both my dogs went through a really weird grief stage) he was able to put his own pain and grief aside and take care of me.

Fast forward to now. I have decided to not do treatment on Clifford, other than pain management. After all, there isn't anything the vet can do other then blood transfusions every couple weeks.. which would mean he would need to be hospitalized every couple weeks. I.just.can’t.do.it. I can’t put him in the scary hospital for a short term solution. I can't put him through fear and pain for my own selfish reasons.

I have been in panic mode since Monday. Taking care of Clifford. Trying to make sure he is comfortable until it’s time to send him home to his daddy. Every night we are up several times a night, shoving pain pills down his throat and his multiple trips to the potty.

I am exhausted.

I am angry. Pissed off at Seth. Pissed that because my husband killed himself I am doing this alone. Pissed off that my husband isn't protecting us, yet again.

Clifford rolling around in the grass and sunshine.
Despite the fact that he is dying, he finds joy in the simple pleasures.

Shortly after Clifford’s diagnoses I had the following dream.

I was walking into a sporting goods store. I knew exactly where I was going and what I needed (Can’t remember what I needed). As I walked into the store, Seth was standing there with two of his friends. I thought SHIT. Pretend like you don’t see him, just walk past him fast, maybe he won’t see me.

After I quickly walked past Seth and his friends, Seth came up behind me. He kept kicking me in the butt and back, with each kick it would launch me forward. After the third or fourth kick he said “What, you just going to pretend like you don’t know me??”

I was furious. I whipped my head around and yelled at him. “You haven’t talked to me in three years. You just up and disappeared. You left me, and now expect me to pretend like I’m happy to see you??”

He didn't get the clue. He continued “What’s up, what’s new?”

“I don’t need your shit today. Clifford is dying. He was just diagnosed with cancer. The last thing I need is your shit.”

He started crying “don’t lie to me, Clifford can’t be dying, how did this happen?”

I was so angry I could have choked him. “If you were around for the last three years and were part of our family, you would know all this. Instead you abounded us and left us to figure out all this shit on our own.”

I woke up. I woke up angry. I couldn't shake the look in Seth’s eyes when I told him Clifford was dying.

Looking back the dream seems symbolic. Seth kicking me repeatedly when I don’t have the energy to get back up. Like in real life, I can’t recover from one thing before I get kicked back to my knees. Obviously I am angry Seth isn't here and my anger came out in my dream.

This is one of the worst things I have been through. It is completely devastating. I never imagined having one of my dogs die would be this devastating.

Today I reached my breaking point and asked for help. I have a friend coming to stay the night and be on Clifford duty for the night, so I can grieve and sleep.. and know my baby is being taken care of.

The silver lining in it all? When Clifford’s time has come I can have a vet come to our home and send him home to Seth. I don’t have to take him to the scary vet’s office and have him die on a cold metal table. He can be at home with his friends, family and doggy sister Juna.

I find peace in knowing I can put him out of his pain. I find anger in knowing I couldn't just put my husband to sleep and put him out of his suffering rather than him shooting himself alone in the mountains.

Snap and Bam

Ironically, a friend posted this right after my meltdown.

I had a meltdown. A bad one. I haven’t experienced that bad of a meltdown in probably a year.

It was getting ready to take a bubble bath, then BAM. It hit me. It hit me so hard I seriously thought I had been hit in the face.

My knees started buckling underneath me. The room was spinning. Panic set in. And the gut wrenching tears started. I crawled into bed and just cried. Cried so hard I was dry heaving and gasping for air.

I didn't see it coming. Nothing triggered it. It just came out of nowhere.

The melt down was so bad, it scared me.. not in a - I’m going to hurt myself way - , but is this the  breakdown where I finally snap and never recover? Will I end up in the hospital? Will I spend the rest of my days a hysterical mess?

The meltdowns scare me. Bad. I think it’s partly so terrifying because I have no control over it. Feeling like I have no control over what is going on inside me is terrifying.

As I was laying in bed hysterically crying, I kept telling myself “suck it up, you have been through worse, for hell sakes it’s been (almost) 3 years, quit being a whiny bitzch.”

Then it dawned on me. I am my own worst support system.

When a widow friend needs support, I drop everything and run to their aid. I never think “get over it, suck it up”. I listen, relate, make sure they are safe, and we all move on. But when I have a complete meltdown, I’m insanely hard on myself.

Why?

Honestly, I don’t know why. I guess I think I should be past the complete meltdown point. Past the point of where I lose all control. Hell, maybe I should even be over this by now.

I realized I need to treat myself the same way I treat my widow friends. With love and compassion, and not take a tough love approach.

I see now that the meltdown came from sheer exhaustion and the 3 year anniversary looming.

I also can see I need to be my own amazing support system, and I think it’s time to check myself back into my personal intensive care unit.

Symbiotic Comforting

source

I turned 37 on the 2nd and simply didn't care or want to give my birthday a bit of acknowledgment.

My life right now feels a bit unsteady. It's as though it's on the cusp of something. What, I don't know. The unsteady feeling is rough on me and my anxiety levels have been high lately. The weather is all weird and I'm restless and anxious and irritated.  I'm infinitely sad that Dave isn't here and lately reminders of him abound.

I saw an Ellen episode tonight that featured a scientist. The guy did some fun and flashy science experiments that I know just over 21 months ago, Dave would have gotten so thrilled about and would have doggedly gone to work creating those demonstrations for his middle school science students. He then would have come home and shown me a million pictures of his students lit up over science because of the hard work he had put into the lesson.

I sat on the couch watching this guy and wanted so badly to turn to Dave and start discussing how we could make the demonstration work in his classroom. I wanted to cry and I couldn't. I can't quite freely cry right now as I type this, though I want to. It feels like I need a good cry but it's stuck within me.

Replacing the crying is worrying. I worry about so much these days. I don't quite know where the worrying has come from. I haven't felt this consumed by anxiety since the days Dave was in the hospital and right after he died. It is beginning to get even harder to be alone for so long. I've been longing for someone to just come over and stay the night with me. Just to know another human is in the house with me. I'm suddenly afraid to be alone and I haven't felt that since right after Dave died.

And yet, I still have much to be grateful for. I did get to have someone stay the night last night, my beloved girlfriend who was also there for me right after Dave died. I slept better because she was there. The other girlfriend who was my constant companion after Dave died got me a beautiful rose for my birthday to plant in a big planter for my balcony. The name of the rose is New Year. A new year of hope. I can't wait to watch it grow.

There is someone very new in my life, who was also widowed, who feels like a special gift I was lucky enough to find.

I have choir which lifts me up like nothing else and I have these sweet cats who shadow me everywhere I go, even more so when I'm feeling bad. I have a big trip to look forward to. I have life to live.

I just can't wait for this fog of worry and anxiety to pass so I can once again breathe deeply and enjoy the little things again. I can't wait to feel at peace again. 

I guess more than anything I wish I had someone with me right now to hold me and let me be really weak for a few hours. To cry while supported by loving arms. To hear reassurances from a voice other than my own. I get so tired of reassuring myself. It feels better to hear it from another source, somehow. I feel like maybe I've been so strong for long and I've simply run out of strength.

If anything, the last week or two has shown me so clearly, once again, how I have to reach out for help, earlier on rather than once it's reached a level of complete breakdown.

I need to allow myself to take a break from holding myself up and ask for someone else to do it for me just for a while. It's also shown me that at times, I still have to retreat to a deep grieving place where I simply need to treat myself like I'm in intensive care again. All but my most basic needs have to be put aside until my strength returns and I must get used to claiming that rather than pushing it away as something that is weak. It's damn strong to admit you've run out of strength. It's brave to say "help me because I can't help myself right now". I just forget that sometimes.

If you get to the point where you feel as though you don't have any strength left and even the normal little things that usually bring you comfort don't, I know. I know how hard it is. I know how scary it is. It won't always be. Things never stay the same.

I suppose I'm reassuring myself as much as I'm attempting to reassure you right now, but that's the great thing about this blog. It's symbiotic comforting.