What I Didn't Expect

When my husband died there were things about mourning his loss that I was prepared for.  Well, as much as one can be prepared.  I expected to be sad, I expected to be anxious, I expected to be emotional and cry a lot, I expected that I would have grief bursts.  But there were a some things that I didn't expect.  Like the extreme physical pain of mourning.  My body hurt.  I would wake up in the morning and every part of my body ached.  I didn't expect the mind-numbing exhaustion.  Even now, fourteen months into this journey, I barely have enough energy to get through the day.  If I do manage to have two or three productive days in a row, they are usually followed by two or three days where I can barely get myself out of bed, dressed and accomplish one or two small things. Not only am I physically exhausted, I find myself mentally exhausted after a day of work. 

I don't know why but I really didn't expect the bone chilling loneliness.  Perhaps because we had always had such a connection that the idea of it not being there didn't even occur to me.  I was in my mid-thirties when we married and had already developed a self-identity.  I didn't feel like I "needed" a man to make me whole.  And I still don't feel that is the case.  But a funny thing happened after we married.  The first Christmas when I was trying to make decisions about Christmas gifts for my family, I felt totally unable to do so without Tom's input.  I mean, it was my family.  I found the whole thing rather amusing. But what I am noticing now is the day to day loneliness.  Having to make decisions about the little things.  Doing errands alone, cooking for one, making sure the bills get paid, having someone to share commentary with on American Idol or Dancing with the Starts.  No one cares about the little things in my day.  There is no one to laugh with me that I finally figured out it was a California Buckeye tree at the bottom of the hill, the one that each spring for 18 years we wondered what species it was.  There is no longer anyone to reminisce with about our shared memories together, like how the first major fight we had when we moved in together was about a mattress pad.  This is the part of me that I lost, the shared memories that belonged to just the two of us.  They only reside in my mind.  This is why my heart feels so cold and so empty, because I have lost a part of my history, a major part of my history, not just Tom's physical presence in my life.

I was watching the scene in Downton Abbey right before Lady Mary's wedding and Lady Edith returns to attend the nuptials.   Lady Mary wonders why Lady Edith would come back after the awful fight they had.  Lady Edith explains that they are sisters and the day will come that only the two of them will remember their mother, father, and sister.  Others will not have known them and they have common shared memories.  I so relate to this.  My mother and father are both gone.  All of my aunts and uncles are gone.  It is only my brother and I and since he is so much older than I, leaving home when I was just four, we have very few shared memories from our youth.  I have cousins, but most are my brother's age and we have little shared history.  Well, perhaps it is the fact that my memory isn't so great, I tend to forget things until other bring them up.  Perhaps this is just a byproduct of becoming older and having no children, no legacy.  Whatever it is, it is deep and hollow and painful and lonely.

I suppose this is one of the reasons that they say the second year is difficult, perhaps worse than the first.  Lucky for you there are only 295 more days in the second year.  Whine, whine, whine.  I know, I'm getting sick of it too.  But each month, each week, each day, I discover something else about this journey that is often enlightening, many times painful, but always necessary in order to move through this period. I know that one day it will be different.  I appreciate those that listen to me, or read and comment on my ramblings.  I am missing the one person in the world that was so totally into me that he thought everything I thought and said was amazing.  It is a big Tom-sized hole.

Concrete Boots

WARNING:  Some of the content is a little out there for some.  I usually do not talk about my spiritual beliefs, but they have been vital in my mourning process.  If you are not in agreement with them, or are possibly offended by them, scroll on by.  Nothing you will say will change how I feel or "enlighten" me.  This is my personal opinion, please respect that.

It seems that every time I visit with my grief counselor I whine about how much I hate this "phase" of grief recovery--the mind numbing exhaustion that I can not force myself out of no matter what I try, the feeling of just barely surviving the days, trying to wait it out until every step does not feel like trudging through quicksand with concrete boots, the fear that there will never be joy in my life again.  Its not pretty.  The second year is incredibly hard, but in a very different way.

I really hate this. What I hate so much about it is that I have no control over it.  I can't think my way out of it, I can't work my way out of it, I can't eat my way out of it, I can't spend my way out of it, I can't force my way out of it, I can't act my way out of it.  Every coping mechanism that I've ever used doesn't work.  Its not that I'm not doing all of the right thing to move through the mourning period.  I go to one-on-one grief counseling.  I've done spousal loss bereavement groups (more than one).  I ask for help, I talk with other widows.  I write.  I try to be a productive member of society.  I try to participate in the lives of others without it all being about my loss.  Sometimes its not possible. I feel my feelings.  I am doing the best that I can.  But I hate it.  And I am trying to embrace it, for only in embracing the process, can I move through it. I must now live the antithesis of my personality, I must just be and let the process work me.

Having said all of that, I have come to realize that Tom will forever be a part of me.  It is not about letting him go, or getting over it.  His spirit is forever mingled with mine.  Our years together on this side of the veil have shaped who I am and who I will be.  And our years apart, with each on the opposite side of the veil, will also continue to define me.  I find myself talking about him more and think others are judging me about it.  Perhaps they are, perhaps they are not.  Most likely I am judging myself.  It seems that while we are physically apart, our spirits are more entwined. In some ways it feels like a way of reclaiming myself.  When people lose their spouse they may say that they've lost half of themselves.  I always felt like my own individual self and that self was still whole when Tom died. But I lost something, I lost the "us" part of me.  And now I am trying to redefine that.  Every single day I realize what is gone just a little bit more. Some days it is overwhelming. Bottom line is that we are together forever.  I found this meme a while ago and it really resonated with me.

Now when I say 'together forever" that does not rule out the possibility that I will have another loving relationship in the future.  And I'm not talking about any of that kinky threesome stuff either. Just as a parent's heart expands to love each additional child, I believe that our hearts can expand to love another without diminishing the love that we had/have for our departed spouses.  I hope to remain open to the possibility when the time is right. Last week I heard the song "Wherever You May Go" by The Calling when I was telling my hair stylist about a widower friend who had recently fallen in love again.  I had heard the song before but never really drilled down on the lyrics, I found them full of meaning.  I thought the timing prophetic.

So lately, been wondering
Who will be there to take my place
When I'm gone, you'll need love
To light the shadows on your face

 

If a great wave shall fall
It'd fall upon us all
And between the sand and stone
Could you make it on your own?

 

If I could, then I would
I'll go wherever you will go
Way up high or down low
I'll go wherever you will go

 

When I hear this stanza I think of Tom wanting me to know that he wants me to be happy and to be open to a loving relationship, whenever that may be. And that he will be with me, wherever I will go.

 

And maybe, I'll find out
The way to make it back someday
To watch you, to guide you
Through the darkest of your days

 

If a great wave shall fall
It'd fall upon us all
Well I hope there's someone out there
Who can bring me back to you

If I could, then I would
I'll go wherever you will go
Way up high or down low
I'll go wherever you will go

Run away with my heart
Run away with my hope
Run away with my love

 

Tom has found several ways to let me know that he is still with me, that he is watching over me and guiding me through this time. He has been very persistent in making himself known.

 

I know now, just quite how
My life and love might still go on
In your heart, in your mind
I'll stay with you for all of time

If I could turn back time
I'll go wherever you will go
If I could make you mine
I'll go wherever you will go

I'll go wherever you will go

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z2xeaGFi2q0

Yes, his love and life will still go on, in my heart, in my mind,  he'll stay with me for all time.