Selfish

Source

I’ve been meaning to write this blog.. but I have been processing it.

A couple of weeks ago, I went on a date (gasps).

During the course of dinner, the topic of how my husband died came up.

My date started talking about how selfish suicide is and how I live in the past by “celebrating” my husband’s death every year.

I sat there.. sipping my wine and listened to his opinions.

And just thought to myself.. this.dude.doesn’t.have.the.first.clue.what.in.the.hell.he.is.talking.about.

Does not get it at all.

Surprisingly I was able to put his words behind me and enjoy the date.

The next morning as I was slowly waking up.. I started thinking about the night before and conversation we had about my husband’s suicide and how I live in the past.

It dawned on me I have turned some type of corner in my grief.

If someone, let alone a date, would have told me a year ago that suicide was selfish, I would have came unglued. Possibly told the guy to shove it. He might not have walked away from our date without a fork sticking out of his forehead. I could see myself handing him a “You are not alone card” and tell him to call me when he is suddenly thrown into widowhood. And most likely would have got my stuff and left him sitting in the restaurant alone.

But I didn’t. I wasn’t angry with him. I actually took his words with a grain of salt, took his opinions with me and have been processing it for a while now.

I guess with the three year anniversary behind me, I turned some kind of grief corner.

A corner where I understand people don’t get it. But also understand that they have the right to their opinion. Even when their opinion doesn’t mean anything to me.

A corner where I no longer care to try to help someone understand.

A corner where I realized I don’t owe it to this person to explain myself or my husband’s death.

I understand that he hasn’t taken care of a very ill spouse. I understand he hasn’t watched his spouse die piece by piece for an extended period of time. And he doesn’t understand the guilt I carry for asking my husband to keep fighting for so long when all he wanted to do was give up.

He doesn’t understand the sigh of relief I let out when I learned my husband was gone. When I learned he was no longer suffering. When I learned I no longer had to be a caregiver, that for the first time in three years I could take care of myself.. and only myself.

And he has never found himself in such a dark and painful place that suicide seems like the only option.

Janine wrote about her recent experiences with people saying suicide is selfish (read it here).

I couldn’t agree more. Amazing writing Janine!

I have been on the edge. Where suicide was the only answer. More times than I care to admit to. For the first three years I was angry every morning.. because I woke up, yet again. Yet again I was still alive. That the heart break didn’t kill me in my sleep.

At what point does it become selfish to ask your very mentally ill husband to keep fighting? At what point does it become selfish to keep him alive?

People don't understand that for the first time in six years, I can be selfish. If suicide is selfish and I am selfish, than where exactly does all this fit?

I am happy to report that something inside of me has changed. I am happy to realize something “clicked” inside of me. I am happy to say that I can actually see my progress.

A year ago I couldn't see any progress in myself. I saw progress as getting up in the morning and going to work. I didn't see the little things that have "clicked".

And I am happy to say my date walked away alive with all limbs still intact.

For The Times That You Want To Stop ......

...... going on.

I received an email last night from a woman who found my blog.
Her husband died 5 1/2 months ago.
She had a question for me.
And I knew what it was before she asked it.

"Hi Janine... still reading your blog.. and am so happy you are doing so much better.  However.. I am no where near that point. I have a question for you.  Did you ever want to stop... to not go on... even though you had children and parents who needed and depended on you?"

My heart immediately hurt for her.

So much.

And my mind immediately went back to that cold, lonely, inky black place where she is now.

I remember every detail of that place.

Even though I'd like to forget ...... as I've forgotten so many other things.

And I know that she is not the only one out there who feels this way.

Who hurts this way and wonders if she/he is alone in that wondering.

Has anyone else ever wanted to just ...... stop?

Yes.

Very much so.

I did more than just want it to stop.

I attempted to stop.

But I couldn't go all the way.

Someone intervened ...... and here I am today.

I'm not sure if I would've gone all the way ...... had they not intervened.

Sometimes I think no.

Most times I think no.

But sometimes ...... I wonder.

For all of you who've been there ......

For all of you who are there right now ......

And for those of you yet to go there ......

You are not alone.

Many of us have been there.

And are still here.

No, not everyone goes there.

It's not a requirement or anything ...... for grieving.

Thank God.

But it's not all that unique, either.

Or abnormal.

Or wrong.

You feel what you feel.

And sometimes ...... you think that you cannot feel like that for one more moment ...... let alone for the next 40 years or so.

You want the pain to stop.

And it doesn't matter who might be left behind.

Or how it might affect them.

Because you think that they'll be better off to be done with you.

With you and your grief.

I get that.

I understand that like I never, ever did ...... or could ...... "before".

So I will tell you what you don't ...... can't ...... believe.

You matter.

Your existence matters.

No matter how negative you think it may be.

No matter how much you are grieving each and every day.

You.

Matter.

And the emptiness you will leave behind will shatter someone ...... several someones ...... into a million tiny pieces that cannot be put together again.

They have already lost one of the most important people in their life.

They cannot lose another.

You can't believe that.

But try to believe me.

I have been there.

I was there for a long time.

But I've made it to here.

And I worked damn hard to get here.

So try to believe me.

And if you can't ...... let me believe it for you.

You matter.

And ...... this is the most important thing I can tell you ......

You.

Will.

NOT.

Always.

Feel.

This.

Way.

I promise.

That's all I have.

My word.

I hope that you can trust me.

Or ...... let me believe it while you can't.

Your days will not always be this dark.

His death will not always be the first thought you have when you open your eyes in the morning.

Her absence will not always be the last thought you have before you fall asleep at night.

The pain will not always be this intense, this suffocating, this soul-killing.

It will not always be this heart-shattering.

My existence here is proof of that.

And your presence here is my reason for that.

I've made it to this point so that I can help others make it.

And I will do whatever I can ...... whatever it takes ...... to help you keep believing.

To help you ...... keep breathing.

And to keep coming back here.

One breath at a time.

That's all.

Just one breath.

You are not alone.

SPEAK!

I am sad today.
I just heard news of another new widow ... this one, with a little more sting than most.
You see, her son died a month ago. 
He was 21.
But there was worse to come.....

Her husband could not cope with his grief and instead of speaking about it, he ended his own life instead.

This leaves another new widow and a teenager without two people in their family.

....and it makes me want to scream for them.

...and echo the words of Lori Dwyer, when she told the men at the funeral of her husband to SPEAK dammit.
Speak about the pain.
Speak about your feelings.
Speak about your suicidal thoughts.
Speak to someone.
Anyone.
Because, as Lori also points out .... the world is not "better off without you".

Grief is hard, intense, dark and frightening.  If can make your mind go to places it has never been before.

But the "alternative" ... well it isn't really an alternative is it?  It is an exit from the world and it just exponentially multiplies the pain for those that are left to pick up the pieces.

So if you are reading this, grieving so hard that you think there is an "alternative", please, PLEASE  

SPEAK.

International Suicide Prevention Wiki: http://suicideprevention.wikia.com/wiki/International_Suicide_Prevention_Directory

MIP

from here

I drove home from the apartment yesterday having spent the day waiting for the new furniture to be delivered and coming to terms with the fact that there was suddenly an offer on my house and I accepted. The loss I've suffered suddenly felt brand new again.

On the ride home, I was on maybe the fourth hour of steady crying and trying to breathe with a chest turned tight and claustrophobic with fear. I remember coming to a rolling stop somewhere south of Longview and looking over at the traffic speeding easily by in the other direction. Only a small strip of grassy median separated me from that traffic and the thought crossed my mind that ending this kind of pain would require a quick left turn, a bump or two over the median and to launch the car into the oncoming traffic.* There was even a big semi coming. The thought did not recur and did not last long (and hasn't recurred since, I swear). Maybe a few seconds. But it was there. And it scared me. I knew at that moment that it was time to be honest about how much help I needed. I began to send out requests for help.

I continued to cry and a recurring thought I battled the rest of the way home was "I am no one's most important person". I am no living person's mommy, kid or wife or daughter.

I thought for the millionth time about chosen family then. About how maybe I don't have a living mom, dad, or husband, but I do have sisters and brothers. Maybe not siblings by blood, but I have them. And though they have Most Important People (their kids, spouses, parents) who am I to say where I rank on their list of MIP's?

I thought of the actual blood family I haven't had the chance to become close with over the years but who love me still. From afar. Without reservation. I am someone's cousin, someone's "auntie", someone's niece. 

I thought of how even when Dave was alive, there were other people on the planet I loved almost as fiercely. I couldn't really rank them with Dave. There's no ranking when it comes to love.

The next day, today, has been hard too. But I sat down in the midst of my darkest feelings and thoughts and wrote up a help request to my closest friends. I wrote them a list of tasks that I have to complete before the house closes and asked them to let me know which ones they could help with. All the while, I was battling the fear that my needs are so numerous right now that they will overtax my loved ones' energy and get in the way of their needs. But then a sister reminded me of the way that they can each pick and choose from the list I'd made to suit their needs and that asking for help was so important.

And the help came flooding in. Along with the help came relief and a glimmer of hope, a reminder that although I am no one's mom or daughter or wife, I am loved and cared for. And I'm not alone.

Then, I cried some more but the tears and sobs came from a place of utter gratitude and relief.

 * I urgently wished to be with Dave again and for my old life to come back. I urgently wished for a little break from the seemingly unbearable pain I feel when the grief monster strikes. I think this is very different from actual suicidal thinking. Suicidal thinking is believing that dying is the only way to solve your problems or end your pain. My beliefs about life after death aren't even enough to convince me I'd be with Dave if I died, anyway, so dying isn't something I think will solve my problems and I would NEVER put my loved ones through such an ordeal. Especially, now, knowing exactly what it feels like to be left behind by your MIP. In addition, losing Dave has made me ultra aware of the gift of life. I get to live and experience things and Dave doesn't. I will not waste that gift. Dave would KILL me if he knew I did (ha ha). I just needed to be honest about the depths of the pain I experienced so that others can feel connected to my experience. If I'm not honest, I don't honor how hard this is or how real this is. Forgive me in advance for making anyone worry about me more than they already do. I wouldn't have mentioned it if I didn't think it was important to.

Hope and Rope

After a week of being less social that usual, last Friday night sucked. Really, really sucked. I have no idea what triggered the mess. I wasn’t wallowing around in old wedding pictures. I hadn't gone back in time to read our Great Cancer Adventure blog (reading about our last days together still transforms me into a wailing mess of a man.) But for some reason, Friday evening was the night an ugly freight train of emotion hit me like never before. Maybe the train’s always been there but I have always had some judo to derail it before it picked up speed. Friday, it was just me, dark thoughts and a fast moving train.

From December 2006 (just prior to the diagnosis), I’ve been fairly good at staying positive or at least letting the negative waves of emotion and fear wash over me without pulling me endo via a riptide into unsafe depths. I’ve learned to control my thoughts and, when powerful negatives start echoing around in the emotion-amplifier called my brain, I just change the subject, quite literally. I don’t try to resolve the un-resolvable (“Why us? Why now? How can this happen?”) I just hear the questions form in my brain-chatter and let them run right out, giving them no energy or focus. Then I immediately change the subject to ANY other subject. I don’t avoid them but I don’t let them control me either. I just acknowledge them and move on. I’ve always been careful not to give them any energy because without energy, those thoughts starve and die.

...At least until last Friday night. That night, for some reason, I was weak. My idle mind filled quickly with widower-style un-resolvable questions (“How do I rebuild? Will I always be alone? Are my best years lost?”). Every question led to worse follow-up questions. Down and down I went. Eventually I was building doomsday scenarios, each more terrible than the previous. (Oh, I’m very resourceful and creative with my doomsday scenarios!) Each one played out like slowly falling dominoes clicking together to create my destiny. Eventually, I had built up multiple scenarios that painted my life so bleak that within just a few falling dominoes, I’m homeless, friendless, starving and living under a bridge. I’m never seen from again and no one bothers to look. Good riddance of that widower guy, they all say (in my head, of course.) My existence fades into a timid whisper between old friends at parties, much like Maggie’s has become, it seems. My life is over.

On and on I piled the punishment. For hours I whipped up a furious storm of morose self-abuse. Then came the Big Question: Why don’t I just call it quits right now?

That last question scared me. It wasn’t really the question. It was the feeling that drove the question. It felt like the only option. And that’s the key part – it seemed like the ONLY option. In a matter of hours, I had built an impenetrable wall that forced me down one path in my future that led to one inescapable conclusion. There was only one way out: call it quits – suicide.

Now this had gone too far. Something inside me sat straight up, wide awake and screamed “ENOUGH OF THIS!” But I wasn’t quite sure how to rescue myself. I felt like a panicking drowning victim, quite aware of the danger but not clear on how to escape. I was stuck under negative emotional debris while the riptide of a dismal future was carrying me quickly out to sea. It sucked. I was scared.

Then something simple and unexpected happened. I got a message with a casual invitation to lunch Saturday. It was sent from a person whom I had met exactly once but found engaging. Simple, yes, but it was just the rope I needed. That imagined impenetrable wall forcing me down the inevitable path of doom cracked. This unexpected lunch invitation wasn’t on that predetermined path. Instead, it was a trailhead of many paths, many I hadn’t considered. And if there were many paths, especially ones that I hadn’t seen yet, then there couldn’t possibly be only one option. And if there are lots of options, then there’s certainly no needed to call it quits now, with so many options still to explore. With that one simple message, the whole carefully-crafted notion of a single path of doom-and-gloom unraveled. As yet unseen options and opportunities were out there! Yay, hope! That was just the rope I needed to pull myself out.

The lesson: Even when it’s darkest, believe with all my heart a trailhead is just around the corner. No matter what, I just have to keep trudging forward. (And keep more rope handy for use around pesky sinkholes.)