I’ve found grief can sneak up on me at the most unexpected of times, triggered by maybe coming across a piece of paper Significant Other had written on for example, or seeing a particular brand of milkshake on a supermarket shelf that he really liked. Sometimes it’s a momentary sadness - a realisation that he won’t be home at the end of the day; I won’t hear him calling my name again; I can’t phone him; things we can’t talk over.
At the moment, it’s a much deeper pain, plus a sense of nothing being right and never being right again.
I’ve been feeling more and more unsettled over the past few days. For some reason, and there is no particular event such as a special date looming, the night Significant Other died has been on my mind a lot, which has been quite distressing.
I rarely think of that night now, choosing instead to recall our years together, rather than the time from when he went into hospital and the last six months of his life. Because remembering his death is so painful, I am aware there are times I deliberately avoid thinking of it; when it creeps into my thoughts, I shut it out, purposely blocking the memory which, perhaps, is not particularly healthy.
Much of the time I can see a humorous side to most things, and I focus on the positives in my life. At the moment though, I can’t. I do know I have much to look forward to, but right now I need to let this wash over me and to let it pass, which it will.
As my friend, Thistle, said to me some time ago:
“Shite and it sucks, but that’s widow world.”
Absolutely nothing I can say can make you feel better. Please do know that I care about you enough to really mean that I'm sorry for your loss and I'm sorry you're going through a rough time.
ReplyDeleteI'm always kind of afraid to comment on these types of posts, to tell you the truth. I'm always afraid of being accidentally insensitive (your 'never say these things to a grieving person' post is always on my mind). I'll feel guilty that my husband also had cancer, but he's still alive and yours isn't. But it's still in the back of my mind that his cancer might come back. It's in his mind too.
Last night we were watching a Showtime series called 'The Big C'. If you've never heard of it, it's about this woman that has terminal stage IV skin cancer. GREAT show. Sad, sad show.
Last night's episode that we watched was her 43rd birthday, her estranged husband gave her a surprise party. He said some lovely things to her, and she had a lot of old friends attending even though she really didn't want to be there (because no one knows she has cancer, not even ehr husband).
It's a TV show, so I wasn't thinking and said, 'Chuck, will you say sweet things like that on my 43rd birthday?
And Chuck said, 'I probably won't be alive on your 43rd birthday'.
I felt so angry inside. And it affected me for awhile, we even had an argument over something stupid because of it. Chuck never used to be so negative, and he sounds so sure he'll not be around very long. I'm only 13 years away from being 43.
Then I just read your post, and I feel like a doucheface for letting my dumb feelings get us into a fight over nothing, when I should be appreciating everything life has to give me. I forget to appreciate a lot.
Once again, hugs to you from North Carolina.
I have started to feel guilty if I mention hubbies name in conversations, which I know is so wrong. However I feel people are thinking 'oh here she goes again' maybe I am afraid that people will forget him if I don't say his name. Hope that makes sense.
ReplyDeleteA couple of days ago I answered the phone and a man said 'you rang' honestly I thought it was your S.O. and I was thinking did hubbie ring him? Bloody mind blowing.
It is strange what suddenly bring on the tears or the 'feeling' me just recently just writing my diary had me weeping. Why? I have no idea just one of those days.
Let it wash over you for a while, I think sometimes it recharges our systems for a while. xx
you're such a positive person and so good at cheering us all up with your fantastic blogs. The fact that you make it easier for us to push your tragedy to the back of our minds and choose to be in denial of your ongoing pain just goes to show what an inspiration you are.
ReplyDeleteI think we have these parcels of grief tied up with string, and in order to survive and get through daily life, we have to store them in a special room in our mind, behind a locked door. I think we often approach that door and begin to open it, to fetch the parcel, but for many different reasons decide to keep the door firmly locked. Sometimes we may unlck the door and look at the parcel but not unwrap it.
But then from time to time, maybe when we are feeling braver or sometimes for no apparent reason, we feel the need to open the door and fully unwrap the parcel, spend a long time examining the contents, and fully experience the memory and pain again.
Then when the time is right, we carefully wrap the parcel back up, tightly, lock the door securely and know we have the key to go there whenever we need to.
Thinking of you x
I think a bit of a wallow is good for you. really. And I mean this in a caring supportive way--it sucks and you should feel bad. you got shafted. and it's not fair and it's awful and all that stuff.
ReplyDeleteMy dad passed away November 1, 2005. He had a brain tumor. I was fortunate that my folks' home is only 10 minutes away, so I could help him and my mom daily. Yet, it was a very difficult time to see him lose pieces of his mind and his faculties until he died in a hospital bed at home.
But, when he could still share coherent thoughts with me, he said, "Melissa, when I die, I don't want you to feel bad or sad or depressed or anything." Then he paused for a moment, and said, "well, you need to be a little sad." And he and I laughed about that.
When I think about him and feel "grievy", I let myself by a little sad for a little while. I know that's what he wants.
When I lost my first husband (how Elizabeth Taylor does that sound?), I was running a guesthouse in Sydney and the best advice for the future came from one of my residents who came up to me and said - the pain is bad now, it fades and then when everyone else in the world has moved on, and thinks you have too, you get whacked with the whole realisation that the person you loved, planned life with and looked forward to seeing with grey hair, wrinkles and a paunch is no longer here to share it with you.
ReplyDeleteIt's not just a whack - it's a sucker punch and it hurts and he was right because everyone you know expects you to be able to deal with it, but life 12 months or 2 years or even now - for me, 7 years and 7 months down the track - something will trigger it and you learn that it's okay to indulge in the grief and the mourn and the celebration of the person you love who is now longer here.
Once you give yourself permission to have the cry or shout or day in a bottle of good wine and memories, then it's not such a shock next time it happens.
Meanwhile I'm thinking of you, who I know only through words, and raising my glass to your SO.
x
Bub, I read your post a few days ago but was a bit too overcome to say anything. And frankly, not sure what to say. But it's been bothering me that I couldn't comment on it. You had the honesty and courage to say what you really felt and that means something. The thing is, I haven't had to deal with death in my life. Only a few people I have known have died and I was young and didn't know them all that well. The thought of losing my spouse scares the hell out of me and I'd rather not think about it. So I tend to avoid. Anyway, I do want to acknowledge that you wrote a great post and thank you for letting it all hang out and to let you know how sorry I am for the loss you have experienced.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for everything that was written - it made me cry, but in a good way.
ReplyDeleteKyna, NEVER feel guilty that your husband is alive and mine isn't.
Having had such a close brush with a life-threatening illness (which, as you pointed out, could come back), I'm not surprised Chuck is pessimistic about his future. But he is a survivor and that should, and I'm sure is, be very much celebrated.
Seemingly throw-away remarks can cut surprisingly deep. At the weekend a divorced friend invited me out and said the words, "...because us single people can just drop everything and go and do what we like." She was mortified when she realised what she'd said.
Thistle, you shouldn't ever worry about talking of Hubby - he had such a big personality, he won't ever be forgotten. How could he be? Even now, in my mind I still hear him say, "Well bugger me!" - makes me laugh every time.
I'm guessing the people who you feel are thinking you oughtn't to be talking about him have not suffered a gut-wrenching loss in their lives.
Libby, thank you and what you wrote about parcels and doors made perfect sense. There have been many times I've avoided thinking about things because it's so, so painful.
Melissa, to watch someone you love deteriorate and to lose coherent thought is so difficult, but the times when they were lucid is so precious, both at the time and afterwards. Also, to be so near to your parents gave you more time together - also precious.
CGL, Your guesthouse resident was spot on - and I guess that sucker punch is something that's hit you too. I had been warned about it, but somehow forgot it could/would happen. Btw, get in line Elizabeth Taylor, S.O. was my second husband, although I would like to point out my first husband is still very much alive.
Marguerite, your not knowing what to say had me nodding and the fact that you were honest enough to admit it meant a lot. After all, what is there to say, particularly if it's something outside of your personal experience.
Who does want to think about their husband/wife/partner dying? I certainly don't blame you for not wanting to think about it. Having said that, S.O. was more than ten years older than me, so it would very occasionally cross my mind that there would come a day when he was no longer here.