Intensive Care

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While at Camp Widow West 2012 I bought I Wasn't Ready To Say Goodbye by Brook Noel and Pamela D. Blair, PHD.

I must admit, I have started and stopped reading this book multiple times.

I found that I couldn't get into the book because I can’t relate to a lot of it.

I can’t relate because I should have started reading this book immediately after my husband died instead of 30 months after the fact.

Last week I felt like I was going to to have a nervous breakdown so I started reading it, yet again.

  

I flipped through a few of the chapters, skipping subjects that I have already been through like wills and financial problems, until I found a subject that I felt I needed help on - understanding the emotional and physical effects of grief (chapter three).

I thought “I’m exhausted, feel like I’m going to completely lose my mind, BUT I should already understand the effects of grief”.

As I was reading I found an analogy that really hit home for me. It says “What has happened here has the same effect on you as if you had gone through major surgery.  Consider yourself in intensive care and treat yourself as if you are in intensive care.” Wow!

I closed the book when I read that, snuggled up in bed and thought "I have gone through major surgery. I have gone through major surgery over and over."

I laid in bed and said it to myself for hours.

What surgery have I gone through?

Well, in theory, I have gone through open heart surgery and brain surgery.

But the doctors messed up the surgeries.

They cut my heart out, then dropped it on the floor. They fumbled around with it, dropping it multiple times, before sticking it back in my chest.  They didn't even wash off the dirt and grime. When they put it back in my chest, it went back upside down and backwards. The doctors thought “Eh, good enough. She will survive.”

Instead of having another open heart surgery I accepted that my heart was never going to be the same.

Brain surgery came next.

I had a large portion of my brain removed. Not due to disease, but simply because my husband died.

The doctors took out the most important parts of my brain. The part of my brain that makes me think rationally, collectively and calm. They also removed a lot of my memories of Seth, and completely removed my memory of the first year of widowhood. They removed much of my short term and long term memory, as well as the part of my brain that gives me balance. I find I have days that I am off balance. I can’t walk straight most days.  I fall down a lot. In fact, I fell twice this week for no good reason, other than part of my brain is gone, and with it, my balance. They removed my patience and understanding for people, and acceptance of people that “don’t get it.”

Once again, the doctors shrugged it off. “She will be fine.”

Yes this is all in theory, but this is what I thought about when I asked myself “what kind of surgery have I been through?”

When I started thinking about my grief this way, it all made sense.

It made me realize I need to start taking better care of my grief. I need to listen to my body and grief a lot closer.

I can’t believe I am 30 months out and am still learning to live with my grief and forever changed body.

Maybe one day I will be able to accept my forever altered heart and brain.

Until then I will continue to treat myself as if I am in intensive care.

 

a better widow than me

Photo from here...

Last night, I finally threw Jeff's toothbrush in the trash. 3 years, 7 months and 22 days, since he used it to scrub his teeth clean.

This action was precipitated a few days ago when I had spoken to a dear friend who is known for being outspoken and blunt. She doesn't mean harm at all but is very Northern European in the delivery of her very strong beliefs and feelings.

During our visit, she told me that I had to "get over" Jeff. She said it was time to stop grieving and that I needed to get rid of the active reminders of, not only his death, but his life as well. Photos, personal effects, etc. All these should be removed.

She told me that I was teaching the kids to grow up grieving. That they would never "get over it" if I didn't move on. My lovely friend told me that she had lost grandparents who she had been close to and favourite friends and that she had had to move on.

Although I told her that I didn't agree that I was stuck in my grieving process and defended my beliefs and action; the confidence that I have grown in the last three years in my abilities, my intuition and strength took a bit of a bruising.

For the last few days, I have intensely analyzed all my post-Jeff actions. I have wondered if they are "normal" and "appropriate". I have scrutinized my grief and that of my children.

I find it interesting that to someone outside our home, it looks as if I am still struggling horribly in my grief. But inside our home, Jeff's life is celebrated and because of this, ours is so much richer. We have lost so much but manage to laugh and share a closeness that many other families do not. Death is not a taboo subject in our home. Neither is joy, anger, frustration or love. All types of emotions are wrapped into the learning experience we have all had due to Jeff's death...and we don't hide them. Just as we have these thoughts/feelings due to Jeff's death, we have a truly rich life that has nothing to do with our loss. Three lives that are celebrated everyday for the mere fact that we still live and will do so, richly and happily, until each of our time comes.

Ultimately, I have come to the conclusion that grief, specifically the loss of a spouse, is something that you have to live through to truly "get". I feel that just as everyone is the best parent they will ever be and know exactly how to parent BEFORE they ever even have their own children, everyone is the best widow/er before they have lost a spouse to death. I, too, have lost my beloved grandfather, very close friends, even an ex-boyfriend, but nothing, and I mean NOTHING, could have prepared me for this.

So this morning, I fished that old toothbrush out of the garbage bin.....and put it in my sock drawer. No one has to see it any more, but it is still there, marking his place. Marking his existence until I am ready to remove it from our home.

old shoes and wooden spatulas

Photo from here....

I've been sorting through our cupboards and closets and purging the least needed/most outgrown items lately in anticipation of living mostly indoors again after a summer in the backyard and beach.

I have found mismatched gumboots, lost flashlights, a dried up snail and the odd coin. Most surprisingly, I have unearthed copious amounts of Jeff's clothing despite thinking that the vast majority of it had been distributed among family, friends and the Salvation Army.

As I have worked on this task, the kids have been playing together...or re-enacting small-scale wars in the back hall. Today, their fighting somehow led to the playroom door (for which there is no key) to be locked.

Since I imagine myself to be somewhat of a handi-woman, I attempted to pick the lock. Failing this, I attempted to break into the room from an exterior window. Then, I removed the door knob not really realizing that the bolt would still be intact...without a knob. After this, I tried to shoulder the door open with brute force. Sometime later, I gave up and called a friend.

As he kneeled on the floor peering through the impenetrable knob hole, I stared at his large sock-clad feet which brought to mind a pair of new, brown leather shoes I had unearthed at the back of the laundry room closet.

"Hey, Dave," I said, "Do you need any shoes?" He turned and looked at me quizzically.

"I found a pair of brand-new shoes of Jeff's at the back of a closet and thought that maybe you could use them."

"Um. Well. Not...I don't know, Jackie," he stammered, "That's...um, very nice of you. But, um, weird." He went on to explain, "I have never had anyone offer their dead husband's possessions to me. It feels really odd...and wrong."

I sat and pondered for a moment. I thought about how uncomfortable I would have felt in the same situation three years ago. How I may worry about accepting some one's beloved's possessions would ultimately upset them or that I may be terribly close to catching "dead".

But then I started to laugh, "Dave, I am sure when we are in our 90s and most of us have lost many of our loved ones and close friends, offering a pair of unused shoes or a wooden spatula that once belonged to a dead person will be nothing short of common place. This is just the beginning, my friend! And really, Dave, I do not think that you have to worry about Jeff needing them back."

But this evening as I washed dishes, I wondered again if it was wrong of me to ask a friend if he had use for something that had once belonged to Jeff? WAS it odd? Did I cross some taboo barrier? Was this a "widow's faux pas"? Am I still too young for my peers to "get" how ridiculous this attachment to a dead person's unused possessions is? Or is my way of thinking off-track?

I truly just wanted someone who could use them to have them....I suppose it will have to be a stranger who will use them. And that is okay too....they won't have to know that the shoes have "dead germs" on them. :)

They just don't get it...

I make no secret of the fact that I want a permanent teaching gig at the kids’ school.

I changed career a couple of years ago so that I could spend more time with my kids, and my aim has always been to work in a primary school, preferably the same one that the kids attend.

But those jobs are hard to come by.

So I took a position teaching maths and science at a high school just out of the local area. I’d done exactly one day on trial and the day I started my official new job there was the day Greg died.

The flashbacks to that day are etched into my mind: the text book I had to use using car crash analogies to teach speed and acceleration; the kids who were beautiful; the exact line on the concrete I was standing on when the principal came to find me and tell me that I needed to drive home Very Carefully now...

There was no way I could go back to that school.

A few days after Greg's funeral, a very kind person at my children’s primary school could see my problem and offered me a part-time, temporary position at their school to “help me get back into the swing of things”.

I am still doing this job almost 18 months later. (Two weeks shy of 18 months to be exact: Greg died 18 months ago today).

Partly because it suits me, partly because this particular person at school recognised my value and is doing everything in her power to keep me employed there.
She gets it.

At a recent meeting, my current boss asked the department to keep me: he knows I’m valuable and this is why he wants to keep me. It has nothing to do with my marital status.
He doesn't really get it.

I asked the department to keep me, explaining very clearly both my worth as a teacher (topped my year, highest possible ranking, maths-science background which is sadly lacking from most teacher’s repertoires); and the fact that my husband is buried in a nearby cemetery and nothing will move me or the kids away from him and our support network.

...and within a week of the meeting with departmental officers, I had the offer of a permanent position....

....at the other end of the State.

2000 km away.

O.o

I asked the departmental officer whether there was a footnote on my file explaining my compelling reasons not to do country service [i]and she said:

“Yes, but we thought you might like a permanent job and a change of scenery”

I’ve not yet quite got my feet under me properly, the kids are fragile and cling to everything familiar and the department thinks I might enjoy a major life change????

They just don’t get it at all.

.

.

.

(Thankfully, my psychologist DOES get it and has written a strongly worded letter saying that the kids and I need to stay put for the foreseeable future).

---

[i] All teachers in Queensland are required to work in regional areas for at least part of their working life. I maintain that I have already done this (for another government department) and know that it would kill me to go away from my home again.

melancholy bed linens

Written three years ago. 17 days after Jeff died...

I have been sitting in the rocking chair in my room for a period of time each day staring at our bed and crying. I am trying to muster up the courage to wash the sheets. I tell myself, "Jeff would laugh at this. He'd think I was being silly and sentimental. They are just sheets. They aren't him." But he slept there. There are 'Jeff germs' on them.

I 'saved' the sheets from the bed in the spare room because of the same reason. They are folded neatly, with his towel he used that morning, the clothes he passed in and the clothes I was wearing that day in my closet. Do I need to add the sheets from every bed in the house? No, but it is hard to do.

He slept with Olivia for a time the night before as well because she was crying. I'm having a hard time washing her sheets too.

I sit in the chair and tell myself, "You can do it. They should be washed. You have other things that Jeff touched too." Then I sit there and sob.

I usually wash the sheets once a week. It's driving me nuts....But I don't want to wash him away.

Everything that changes in the house takes me farther away from him. I have a hard time dusting because I heard that dust is made up of 85% skin cells....some of those cells are Jeff's.

I have a box of hair in my closet along with the clothes and sheets that I'm hoarding. The day he died, my sister and I scoured the house looking for hairs in the bed, the bathtub and on the floor. I didn't want to lose anymore of him.

Am I crazy? Please tell me that I should wash the sheets. Tell me it's okay. He would want me and the kids to be on clean sheets, right? I'm just being silly and sentimental, right?
I think I've lost it.

A long-term thing.

My daughter is 8 years old. She will be 9 soon. Her Dad died when she was 7. She is a bright, beautiful, thoughtful, intelligent child. My blog name for her is Miss K. ...
...and Miss K has had a rough day.

For Miss K, most days are rough: she misses her Dad.
But she copes with her day at school.
No..... she does more than that ... she loves her days at school.
and at home.
But at night, she often feels the loss of her beloved Daddy more acutely.
Because he is so obviously missing from our lives.
...and we talk about her feelings a lot.
...and she sometimes talks to a psychologist about her feelings.
... but really, the verdict is that she is behaving and acting "normally" for a young girl in her situation.

BUT

...sometimes, the sad feelings show at school.
Like when the school play unexpectedly shows life savers reviving a swimmer as part of the play.
And her emotions float to the surface.
.....and she cries. (so did I).

....and this scares other people.
this idea that children are emotional beings.

Other people tell me I should worry more about her.
I do worry.
But not overly.
But I struggle to explain to others that she NEEDS to feel sad.
She won’t get over this quickly.

This sadness is long term.

Even though we are working through our grief … together.
Even though we might function OK.
Even though some people think we should be “over it” by now, or able to move on or able to function as we were in the Before.

This sadness is here for the long-haul.

And you know what?
It probably should be that way.
Grief shouldn’t go away overnight.
Grief shouldn’t go away within a year.

It needs to be felt, everyday, until we can run our fingers over the scars without screaming , and see how strong we are.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
...and while I know that people here at Widow's Voice will understand, I struggle to explain this to other people: Grief is a long-term thing.

The same??? a cranky rant

Image from here....

First posted on my personal blog on June 25th, 2008 (Three months after Jeff died) while still in the throws of "death anger"...

The kids and I went to a small toy store to find a little toy for Liv and Briar on our way to the wedding on Sunday. The saleswoman was one of those types that drive you insane while shopping by following you around and making comments on anything that holds your attention for longer than 3 seconds. She must have been curious about why we kept referring to ‘Daddy’ in the past tense. (Daddy didn’t like that. Daddy thought that was funny. Etc…) When I went up to pay, I explained that I was trying to find a few things to keep the kids busy while I was doing photography at a wedding. She says, “Well, where’s your husband?” Like it’s any of her business. What if he left us for some skanky, gymnast with a leashed pet bunny named Gerome? I just said, “He’s dead.” I’m so tired of the questions and the ridiculous euphemisms for death (passed away, left us, in heaven, etc.) I find if I just say ‘it’ they usually stop. Not this chick.

After getting past her questions about the circumstances relating to his death (I STILL have a hard time telling people that it’s none of their business and that I’d rather not talk about it to a total stranger, she begins this fucking stupidly long story about her grandfather’s death in a car accident when she was 3 years old. I didn’t quite understand why she was telling me all of this. Now, I don’t doubt that her grandfather’s sudden death caused her family a lot of pain and that it was hard for her family. But she then says to me, “So I totally know what you’re going through.” Huh?

I fail to see very many parallels in these two events other than that they were both males and they died suddenly. UNLESS:
- She was over say age…..5.
- She was in love with her grandfather and not in the grandfathery sort of way.
- They had children.
- Her and her grandfather’s children were there when he died.
I could go on, but I am sure that someone will take offence to this anyhow and I think you probably get my point.

I think often people don’t know what to say and so they just spout off the first experience that they’ve had with death and assume that it’s all the same. Maybe after I left, she thought “God, I’m a dumbass.” But I doubt it.