Thursday, October 23, 2014

It's Complicated



Recently I've had people say to me, when they learn I've been widowed, well, you know he'll always be with you. I know they say that with all the best intentions...and in a way, I agree, because yes, he will always be in my heart. But it's not as easy as that. Regardless of what my personal spiritual beliefs are, saying something like that can sound awfully close to someone wanting to gloss over the tragedy of the death of my husband and what it means for me in my own life. Easier to say that and hope the conversation will move away from the uncomfortable subject, right? Or am I being difficult here? What do they expect - that I'll say, oh, he will? Well that's great, I feel so much better now! Thanks for letting me know!

I do have my own beliefs about what happens to us when we die. And I have my own suspicions about how Mike occasionally makes his presence known...the wind. The birds.

Most recently, a grasshopper. I'm sure it's not the same grasshopper, because it's been happening for months, but at certain moments that will only ever be truly meaningful to me, there it is...on a doorknob, on a light switch, on my computer screen...so much so that I have taken to sighing, rolling my eyes in a playful way and saying hey, Mike. Thanks for being here. Miss you. Love you. Or something like that.

But you still can't tell me he's really here. Even if he really were that grasshopper for that moment, or using it to somehow tell me he's around...it's still not really him. He's not sitting here in his full, living body, talking to me, touching me, arguing with me, walking next to me, holding my hand...he's not here, and he never will be, ever again. I can never talk to him again. I can never ask him questions, hear him sing, or wonder what time he's coming home. 

So, while I want to believe in the grasshopper...I don't want people to say in some wishy-washy way he'll always be with me. Can I have it both ways? Is it fair to want to tell people to go to hell when they try to reassure me (I don't, but I want to), and then try and explain about an insect in the next breath?

I really do feel like a walking enigma. My thoughts and feelings are so all over the chart I even puzzle myself some days. All I can tell you is that grief can be difficult to define or delineate, especially to anyone on the outside. 

First of all, no one goes through exactly the same experience. We all have our own stories of grief. We might have lost them through sickness, accidents, suicide, war...it might have been a terrible, long process, or a sudden unexpected moment.

We might have been in beautiful, loving relationships. We might have been having problems. Maybe it was both. We might be strong, resilient personalities. We might be struggling with our own identities. Maybe too, it is both.

Those of us in the middle of it all know by now that the process of our bereavement, the timetable of our grief, doesn't follow any plan, or clock. It may chug along at a fair pace, as life begins to fill in those empty spaces. Other times, or for other people, an eternity passes between each tick, and "life" feels very, very far away. I often have both sensations going on at the same time.

I guess it's just complicated. As my genius friend Sarah says: the cup is not half empty or half full. It's both. I'm a strong person and nowadays in public I'm fairly even-keeled and doing pretty well. But I have my moments - moments usually no one but those closest to me know about. Sometimes, it surprises people that I'm still talking about it, writing about it, missing him, grieving him.

I try and explain how that can be...how I can seem relatively fully-functioning on one hand, and yet come out with all this grief on the other. But I can't really explain it. Nor can I speak for anyone else and their grief; it's just how it's happening for me.

Even though I can claim to have experience and understanding of a deep and abiding grief in a way I never imagined I would have this early in life, I also feel like I have no business telling anyone else what to expect or how to deal with it. Nor, may I say, do I appreciate anyone else other than my grief therapist telling me what to expect, how to experience it, what to think, how to behave, or what I should or shouldn't be doing with it, or about it. 

I don't have an ending to these thoughts...I don't feel like these thoughts will ever end, or that there will ever be a tidy summation to grief. So for today, that's all there is.

15 comments:

  1. And that's plenty Stephanie, nothing more needs to be said. Sometimes it just is what it is. Grief sucks, and not everyone understands the reality of losing a spouse, and how it affects you. I've shared before about avoiding conversations with people so as not to end up engaged in an awkward situation.

    People who have not suffered like we have oftentimes just don't know what to say or do. "They are in a better place", or "At least you had X amount of time with them". How many times have you heard those statements? Neither are comforting. Unfortunately, we cannot always escape these types of comments. Though it seems as if we are all alone at times, we have not been banished to a 'widowed island' where everyone understands how we feel. That's why I like coming here, and to Widowed Village. We have each other. Thanks for sharing :-)

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    1. I don't ever say anything mean to them, because I know their intentions are good...but yes it sure does feel good to have each other here, people who get what I'm really feeling!! Thanks Glenn.

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  2. Thank you for this post. You've put my thoughts and worries during the last year into words. It helps so much to know others feel the same, but it's SO confusing......

    Marianne

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    1. It IS confusing Marianne, isn't it? But it's nice to have each other, and people who get it. Thanks for commenting.

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  3. My husband died in his sleep at 3:11 a.m. of a massive heart attack three years ago. I've come to accept that I will never get over his death nor will I ever get over this all-consuming grief of missing him, missing his touch, missing his smile and his humor, missing his protectiveness, missing his kisses, missing his making love to me, missing everything about him that was so special. Yes, we argued on occasion, but that was part of our whole. My husband was and is the other half of me. I'm living day-to-day as half of a whole, missing my soul mate, my everything. Nothing anyone says to me can change that nor make me feel any better. This is my pain to live with until we're together again.

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    1. I am so sorry for your loss. My husband also died of a heart attack in his sleep. It was shockingly traumatic and I'll never get over it either, no matter what. I appreciate your commenting here and sharing. It means a lot.

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  4. Oh Boy! It is complicated! The past months I have started to feel like I'm living again. Well...at least on most days. There are still those dreadful days that come in like a hurricane tearing apart every belief that I will be okay without him. I sometimes feel like he is with me. There are little signs. But I don't feel like he is any longer the same flawed human being that I treasured so much. That person is gone and never coming back which is a really depressing thought. But life goes on right? And here we are trying to find a way to live full lives again.

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  5. Well said, I don't even need to share my grief or story. I think you summed up the whole "their always with you" crap very nicely. Its just a nice way to say sorry. I don't know if you ever noticed but its kind of like when your asked how are you doing "coping" and the people you talk to get a glazed over look because in reality they don't really want to know how it feels. I decided after the first month to not answer that question anymore. I just said "I'm fine". Its been 4 long years and I still can see him just as he was. Crystal clear. I talk to him everyday and I think about him everyday. Thanks for writing that... It really meant a lot to me to see that someone else gets it.

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    1. I totally understand why you don't answer with the deep truth anymore...neither do I, unless it's someone I know will get it - another widow or widower or a dear friend who I know knows me well, knew my husband or has experienced another sort of loss. I'm glad this resonated with you. I'm so sorry for your loss.

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  6. Stephanie,

    Very well said.Often words from others just make it worse.

    The emotions make no sense and follow no order. One minute you are fine and the next here come the waterworks. Thank you for sharing your thoughts.

    Dewey

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    1. Hi Dewey, thank you for your support, and for understanding what I was saying here. It is all confusing and nonsensical. Appreciate your coming here, best to you.

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  7. Stephanie,

    My Sally also died in her sleep from a heart attack March 2014. A blessing for for her but the worst day ever in my life. I would wish this experience on no one. You just don't know what to do!

    Sally was an attorney who went to law school in Portland. She loved the area but missed the Montana sunny days!

    I thought I was doing pretty good but, I just returned from a funeral in CO that really picked at the scabs.

    You writers are precious!

    Thanks for taking the time to share with all of us. We all have to look at tomorrow and see what joys tomorrow it will bring.

    Dewey

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  8. Thank you for giving words to this??? I am at 31 months. And I am 75 years old with a 53-year marriage. And I tell myself that should be enough.
    I was so blessed and should be resigned/reconcilled to this lot.
    But sometimes I am so overwhelmed with longing, with grief, with all the comforts of a partner you write about. Grief knows no bondaries, neither of time nor age.

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    1. I am deeply sorry for your loss...having spent 53 years with your love and then losing him must be horrendous. There are indeed no boundaries. Hugs to you.

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  9. Well stated by all...however this is our reality in our re-set lives

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