NYE Trauma and its Lessons

I shared about a month ago about going on a first date with someone. And it's very hard to share today how that unfolded. Despite my knowing that this person had a lot of problems of his own, I decided to open up and get to know him. 

For about a month now we've talked, had a second date recently. He made me laugh more than anyone has in a long time. It felt easy and comfortable. And when I got upset, telling him this is all so weird for me because I miss someone else, he just hugged me tight and said "of course you do, and you'll always miss him". His understanding was a gift. A small bit of hope that someone can understand my love for Drew and not be threatened by it.

On NYE we went out with friends and ended up staying at a friend's house. Things happened. For the first time I invited a new man to touch my body. For the first time, I asked someone new to kiss me. We didn't go all the way with things, but plenty far. And in the moments that I became upset, he was kind. When I began to have an anxiety attack, he breathed deeply with me, and brought me down from it quicker than anyone ever has. His energy felt safe. Grounding. Dependable. I could not believe myself... I was actually deeply enjoying this whole bizarre "first" event.

It sounds lovely. And it was. Except that In that moment, I became bonded to him on a much deeper level. This was no longer a casual thing - and I imagine he felt the shift too. 

And that is when he tells me he absolutely can't do commitment. He knows his issues and he knows he would hurt me if we dated, and he doesnt want to hurt me.......

Too late.

No sooner had I bonded to someone was it ripped right out of my hands. By morning, he was distant, and he left early, saying a friend of his ended up in jail and he had to go bail him out. And so he says goodbye, and the door closes behind him, and I am left alone. 

ALONE. 

With all of these emotions. With all of what just happened. Alone.

The trauma of Drew's death returns... Slams back into me with brute force. It is the first time in well over a year anything has brought me back to that horrible week. And honestly nothing since he died has brought me back to it so painfully.

I cannot breathe. I cannot think. I'm trying to crawl out of my own skin for how much pain and fear is surging through me. Suddenly nothing else exists - and every cell of my body is overwhelmed by the excessive resurgence of trauma. I am in shock.

I leave shortly after he, because I cannot face my friends - a couple - who are curled up together in the next room. I cannot bare the reality that they are there safely together and I have been left out in the ocean of my pain alone. 

I end up driving to the cemetery, and lying in the back seat of the truck in the freezing cold. I just lay there - talking in circles to a friend of mine on the phone - with shock permeating my bones.

Whether he made up an excuse to run away or had a real reason, the very worst of it is that he never bothered to call. Or text. Despite the fact that I was visibly upset when he left. No apology. No "are you ok?" Nothing. And still days later, nothing. He has run like a coward. And I have been broken open - left to pick up my own pieces of all of this and try to sort through the mess.

A few days later and some of the emotions are finally beginning to settle. I've had to take Xanax every day, and its been well over a year since I've needed that. But as things settle, I know, part of me pursued this because he was an unavailable person too. Because I knew it couldn't go anywhere. My counselor says that made it safer somehow to actually give me a chance to just try the next step, without any worry about more. It makes sense. I guess I just didn't expect to actually like the guy so much. To click so well. To enjoy each other's company so much. I didn't expect to want more.

I'm trying to find my peace with it. To find the gifts in it that I can learn from. I'll never feel it was the right way to handle things - hiw he disappeared on me - but maybe his way of leaving was for the best. At least this way I understand acutely who he is right now and know to listen to that and walk away. It is possible that a clean - though deeply traumatizing break - was the best he could give.

In the end, I'm really proud of myself for trying. And for choosing to trust someone new with a bit of my heart. I risked again in order to experience life, affection, laughter. 

I risked even knowing full well there was a strong chance I'd get hurt. I didn't quite realize just HOW much that was going to hurt. And how traumatic it would end up being. But in the end I think I am still glad. Because for the better part of it - he was actually kind and gentle. And for that time I did actually feel very safe and respected and cared for. 

It is excruciating to make the choice to walk away from those feelings - from all the things I miss so much and haven't had for two and a half years. It hurts to walk away from a person I actually did very much like. 

But at least the "firsts" of dating and intimacy are over. At least I learned that I do still want a relationship, and that with thenright person I can see how it could work. And at least I learned I'm also probably not quite there yet either... But that I will be again someday. Those are all huge lessons. Maybe in the end, it was his job to show me this.

C Dave

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This is the license plate I see frequently when I walk a client's dog.

I might not get visits from his actual ghostly spirit, but I see reminders of him everywhere. Every single one stabs at my heart. That's a cliche way to say it, but it feels like a blow to my actual, physical heart. It knocks the wind out of me for just a second and I wince from the impact.

The worst is reminders of our "things". Shows we used to watch, foods we used to make into rituals, our nightly "feed the cats their special treats" routine that I do alone now, moments I can't BELIEVE he's missing.

Today I discovered that I'd have a chance to accompany wildlife biologists on some field work for which I'd need waders and boots. I realized I'd have to borrow a pair from some friends.

Dave was a fisherman extraordinaire. We had 2 fishing boats, multiples pairs of waders, both chest and hip, boots, several tackle boxes, countless fishing rods and reels, nets, float tubes...

I sold it all.

And now I need a pair of waders and boots. I wanted to tell him how ridiculous that was. It was easy to imagine him teasing me for selling all his things. I couldn't believe, even after 19 months of living with the fact of his death, that I couldn't tell him that I'd be experiencing this now. I couldn't believe that he wouldn't get a chance to do it with me.

At some point this will finally stop surprising me, right? One day I won't shake my head in stunned disbelief when I see the box his ashes are in, sitting next to my jeans in my closet. One day I won't hear the words "my husband died" come out of my mouth and feel so surreal that I almost split into two - one me who goes numb and carries on and another inner me who crumples to the ground screaming a frustrated silent scream. I can't remain surprised by this forever. Right?

The other day I organized and cleaned out my closet. As I was pulling a messy pile of jeans off a high shelf to refold, a social security card drifted out of the folds of denim and fluttered to the floor. Before it landed, I knew it was Dave's. I reached down and flipped it over and looked at it.

His sweet, young boy, left-handed scrawl of a signature.

The stab to the heart, the woosh of my breath as I gasped, the shock that even though the feeling is now familiar, it doesn't seem to lessen. The disturbing way I have to just continue with my silly daily activities while carrying this giant gaping absence around with me.

I don't have a good explanation for how his social security card ended up in my jeans. I don't understand it all. I also don't understand how it can take the human brain so long to fully grasp a fact as blindingly obvious as "he's gone". I don't understand how I just keep going on with things as though I'm not breaking apart.

But, the thing is, I do keep going on. Sometimes it feels like I'm swimming smoothly through the seas, with an awareness of which direction to head. Sometimes it feels like I'm drowning. Sometimes I just tread water, completely lost. For some reason, though, I'm here now. I'm supposed to be, though I don't know why.

I can't see the bigger picture because I'm too close to it. I'll only see it when I can look at it from the distance of time passed. Which is annoying, but unavoidably true.








I think a part of me has been waiting for his approval of how I'm living my life now. I keep asking him if I'm doing okay. AND HE DOESN'T ANSWER. I don't see him or hear him. Which means that I have only myself to answer to and that might be the hardest thing to come to terms with. I think I've been lost from time to time because I've been waiting for his guidance. If I'm going to sail off into my own life, I'm going to have to stop waiting for that, as much as it breaks my heart.

My own guidance is worthy. Whew, it was hard to admit that, but now that it's out there, I can feel it.

I can handle this. I have been and I will continue to. I will make mistakes but I will handle this, even if I can't see Dave.