Living With The Hole

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A young widow in my on-line support group, who lost her husband to depression very recently, said something this week that really got me thinking.  She had one of those moments that happen in the early days where you kind of forget your partner has gone - she picked up her phone to text him about something and then it hit her hard, she could never contact him and tell him her news again.  

I had forgotten that feeling.  After 16 months without Dan, I've pretty much adjusted to being on my own again.  Sans-partner.  Table for one.  Lone wolf.  I don't like it - God no, it's bloody awful and lonely and it freaking sucks.  I miss him like my left arm, but I don't forget that he's gone anymore.  

That realisation that I've adjusted in this new life still takes me by surprise.  When Dan first died, the hole he left was so vast, I couldn't imagine how I would go on living and navigate my way around it.  But now I see, looking back, that I have.  I've slowly, step-by-step, started to rebuild my life around the hole. 

It is still there but I don't fall in as often anymore. I've gotten used to it. Then I've felt terrible for getting 'used to it' and confused by what that meant.  It's a long and difficult path but I have been walking it. I still don't really know how.  

Every time I've taken a step forward it's come with the complications of guilt and confusion along with constant self-analysis and judgement.  How can I be moving forward into a life where he's not here beside me?  So. Many. Things to feel bad about.  So much information and emotion to process and comprehend.  No wonder I'm exhausted all the time, with so much going on in my head.

I raised this with my grief counsellor and we spoke about the importance of trying not to assess my progress or determine my status in this process.  While it's wonderful to realise that I've made some kind of progress or grown in this after-life, I still get nervous when I'm having a good day, or disheartened when I have a bad day - because of my inherent need to 'assess' what it all means.  

Am I going backwards?  Have I turned some kind of corner?  Is this a milestone?  Ugh - so much pressure!  I am working really hard at letting go of the expectations I put on myself.  

She pointed out that people have good days and bad days - even when they're not carrying the extra complication of bereavement.  Before Dan died, I wouldn't sit and think 'But WHY am I happy today?  What does that mean!?  Will I ever feel sad or angry again or is that behind me now?!'.  

So I am trying not to question.  Not to assess.  And gee, it feels nice to stop worrying and just 'be'.  

Waiting for the Crash

So last week I put it out there that I’d been feeling happy and ‘doing ok’.  I seriously didn’t realise how scary that would feel, as if I was tempting the universe.  As the weekend came and went, I found myself full of anticipation and it took a while to work out what I was waiting for.   Then I realised, I was waiting for the crash. 

I know it’s coming.  It may not be today, or this week, or even for another couple of weeks, but I know for a fact that it will come again and I’ll feel foolish for my cockiness.  I know this, because there’s a proven track record.  The grief always seems to build and build and then surge into a wave that drags me under again.  Sometimes it’s dramatic and I find myself mid-meltdown in public, scrambling for a safe place to take cover while I try to keep my head above the tidal wave.  Other times it sneaks up on my when I’m not looking – I’ll wake up one morning and it’s back, just smothering me in its heavy cloak of misery.   

Gee, what a pessimist, huh!?  Here I am feeling pretty good, but rather than just soaking it up, I’m fighting this internal dialogue: ‘Hey lady, who do you think you are!  Don’t you remember that your husband died!?  HELLOOOOO!!  Who are you kidding, pretending that you’re not only coping – but actually finding some enjoyment in this world?  Pfft, good luck with that, enjoy your DENIAL, fool!’  Yeah, my niggling negative voice is harsh.

There it is… denial.  That’s what I’m worried about.  Am I really doing ok at the moment or am I just in a temporary state of denial where I’m subconsciously pretending that Dan isn’t really dead, he’s just gone away for a while.  Is it possible that I’ve just blocked out the horror of his suicide because it’s just too painful to deal with?  Maybe I’m not actually taking steps forward by feeling happy in my life, but rather, I’m regressing into a shock-like state where my brain is just having a holiday from the trauma? 

How exhausting it is to be constantly questioning and judging myself. When did I lost my confidence in my ability to know my own heart?  Why can't I just trust myself?  I think a big part of it is that I didn’t see Dan’s death coming.  I was so happy in my newly-wed glow, so secure in our love, so excited for our future together, so confident that Dan’s treatment was on the right track, so sure that he’d talk to me if he didn’t feel ok.  Now I look at that person and just think – you were so naive.  It’s always there – I missed the signs, I let him down, I failed him.  Will I ever trust myself again?  Will I ever let myself off the hook for not seeing how much he was struggling

  

I really hope so.  I know it’s not my fault and I didn’t cause his death, but I can’t imagine ever not wishing that I’d been able to save him. I will miss him forever.