Tuesday, May 17, 2016

The Waiting Room

I've heard this term before in regard to widowhood.  One meaning is that the surviving spouse is just waiting to die to be with their departed loved one.  For me it has a different meaning.  I feel like I am waiting to get better, to feel better, to start to live my life again.  I've made it through all of the firsts, and am into the second year.  But for everyone else around me, their lives have gone on.  They have new jobs, new homes, new relationships, adventures.  And me.  I am just waiting.  Waiting to feel better, to reclaim the energy and vitality that mourning has taken from me.  I have little extra energy to engage in life.

I am in an intensive recovery period.  Physically I am doing some of things that are necessary to recover--regular massage, acupuncture, getting enough sleep, but there is a lot more that I need to do--nutrition, exercise.  Emotionally I do what I can--regular meetings with my grief counselor, social meetings with other widows, I definitely feel my feelings.  I feel them all over the place.  They are generally not pretty.  I am seeing the beginnings of re-entry.  I am able to work, but not at the intensity that I've always been able to.  And I can at least engage in some sort of social life with my friends, limited though it may be.  I still have many death duties to complete, mainly dispersing of Tom's personal effects.  However, I fall short of doing what I think I need to be doing.  Some days the best I can do is just wait.

Last week I read about Sheryl Sandberg's commencement address.  She told the story of how her friend Phil stepped in to help with her children after her husband died.  When she cried that she wanted her husband, he said that wasn't an option and this was plan B.  And he said "Let's kick the shit out of Plan B".  I like that.

I plan to kick the shit out of Plan B.  As soon as I figure out what it is.

Sunday, May 8, 2016

Secondary Losses

It's Mother's Day, a day when we all honor our mothers and those who have been like a mother to us. This is the fourth Mother's Day without my mom. I miss her, particularly these past two years as Tom waged his battle against cancer, and ultimately left this earth. I've longed to have her just tell me that it would be alright.

But this day also brings up secondary losses for me. You see, I am not a mother and this day is a reminder on how I fall short in our society. It isn't that we didn't want to be parents, we were unable to. It was a long, brutal painful process, going through fertility testing and treatment only to be unsuccessful. At the end of that portion of the journey (my father was dying during one of our unsuccessful attempts at IVF and I was unable to travel to be with him during his last days because of it). We ultimately decided not to adopt, after exploring our options. I came to terms (or so I thought) with the hand that we were dealt. We made our family with fur and feathers. The wound healed, but left a scar that still hurts when pressed upon.

When Tom first died I thought "thank goodness that we don't have children so I do not have to keep going to care for them. How difficult that would be." A very selfish thought, I admit. But I did keep going because of my little fur-ball Zora.

But now, it is another loss replayed. I do not have children in whom to see the best part of Tom live on. There is no one to carry on his legacy. No one to say about, "he's acting just like his father" or "your dad would be so proud of you". It is realizing that there is no one into whose eyes to peer and see the reflection of the man I loved. That is a loss to me, but I also think it is a loss to the world, for the very best of Tom was a blessing to those he touched.

I was very fortunate to be able to spend today with my brother, sister-in-law, and niece. We had a wonderful lunch and hung out. My oldest great-nephew's girlfriend made bath salts with a cheerful Happy Mother's Day tag to give to his grandmother (my sister-in-law), his aunt (my niece, who also does not have children) and me. It was the most touching single act of kindness I have ever received on this day. I am grateful.

Sometimes we do not see the secondary losses coming. I certainly wasn't expecting it today. I thought I had put this issue to rest years ago. Days like today remind me once more of the depth of my loss.