Thursday, August 11, 2011
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Grief Club
The moment Mark was pronounced dead, I became a different person. I became the fifth wheel, the one that you had to be careful of what you said when you were near. Don't express happy things, lest I am reminded of my absence, don't say sad things lest I am reminded of my loss. We're naturally social animals (even introverts), and we seek comfort in each other.
It was really hard to hear people bemoaning the loss of the spouse that they had spent their life with. I was grieving the loss of a spouse that I wanted to spend my life with...I was grieving not only what was, but what might have been, what would have been. I craved to be around other people that knew what I was feeling. So, I started going to "young" widow grief support groups.
Here's what I learned. Grief is not a common denominator. I had less in common with these people than I had with many others. We didn't share beliefs - most of them felt that they would not have survived their loss without religion. We didn't share lifestyles - most of them had children. There is a multitude of positive interests that we each had, but we didn't share them. Instead, the only thing we had in common was the saddest part of our lives.
I finally realized...grief is no longer my main attribute. I am not merely a widow. I am a survivor.
We're all survivors. We have choices. We can stay in the dark, or we can walk into the light. Put your sunglasses on, and leave the darkness. Somewhere out there, there is joy waiting for you.
It was really hard to hear people bemoaning the loss of the spouse that they had spent their life with. I was grieving the loss of a spouse that I wanted to spend my life with...I was grieving not only what was, but what might have been, what would have been. I craved to be around other people that knew what I was feeling. So, I started going to "young" widow grief support groups.
Here's what I learned. Grief is not a common denominator. I had less in common with these people than I had with many others. We didn't share beliefs - most of them felt that they would not have survived their loss without religion. We didn't share lifestyles - most of them had children. There is a multitude of positive interests that we each had, but we didn't share them. Instead, the only thing we had in common was the saddest part of our lives.
I finally realized...grief is no longer my main attribute. I am not merely a widow. I am a survivor.
We're all survivors. We have choices. We can stay in the dark, or we can walk into the light. Put your sunglasses on, and leave the darkness. Somewhere out there, there is joy waiting for you.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Emotional Warrior
Grief and regret/guilt are inextricably tied together. We always think we have a chance to redeem ourselves, to undo the things we have done and said in moments of pain. We never get that chance when someone is suddenly taken from you. The game is over but I never got a chance to make my last move.
Lately, I've been dwelling on what I should have done and what I should not have done. Obviously, on the top of the "should have done" list is I wish I had never fallen asleep while he was breathing his last breaths next to me.
Our last few months were incredibly difficult. Mark nearly died, he became more sick, and his behavior was more puzzling. Despite pleas for help, nobody else arrived when he was in a coma. Countless trips to the doctors office never diagnosed him, never healed him. He was afraid that he was going crazy. I knew he wasn't, but at times his behavior weakened my certitude. But, in those last few months, I didn't go the easy route. I didn't lash out and attack him.
Still, I find myself thinking about the times before I "learned my lesson", when I would get so profoundly frustrated and hurt by some of the things he did/didn't do, that I wanted to verbally eviscerate him. My friends/family told me that his actions deserved my wrath, but I knew what they didn't know. Mark's actions didn't define him. They were symptoms of something that was wrong. Wherever we went for help, nothing worked.
I may have expressed my love, respect, and admiration of Mark a million times (a conservative estimate), but these days I spend myself mulling over the 100 times I tore him down. Its so much easier to say that we're angry and attack, than it is to realize that the source of anger is usually pain. Maybe there was an evolutionary advantage to being a warrior, but there definitely isn't an emotional one.
I can't take that back - not ever. So, I have to accept it, and also accept that he knew with absolute certainty that I unconditionally loved him, that I would sit beside him when he was in a coma and talk the whole time just so he knew he wasn't alone. I would remember everything he said because he was the most important person in my world. He used to say that if he committed the most horrific crime of the century, he knew that two people would stand by him and still love him: his mother and me. I would have. More important than what I would have done, is what I am doing now. Today I love him enough to let go of the regret - and remember the love.
Ultimately, we redeem ourselves daily - through our actions and words. Live free, love freely.
Lately, I've been dwelling on what I should have done and what I should not have done. Obviously, on the top of the "should have done" list is I wish I had never fallen asleep while he was breathing his last breaths next to me.
Our last few months were incredibly difficult. Mark nearly died, he became more sick, and his behavior was more puzzling. Despite pleas for help, nobody else arrived when he was in a coma. Countless trips to the doctors office never diagnosed him, never healed him. He was afraid that he was going crazy. I knew he wasn't, but at times his behavior weakened my certitude. But, in those last few months, I didn't go the easy route. I didn't lash out and attack him.
Still, I find myself thinking about the times before I "learned my lesson", when I would get so profoundly frustrated and hurt by some of the things he did/didn't do, that I wanted to verbally eviscerate him. My friends/family told me that his actions deserved my wrath, but I knew what they didn't know. Mark's actions didn't define him. They were symptoms of something that was wrong. Wherever we went for help, nothing worked.
I may have expressed my love, respect, and admiration of Mark a million times (a conservative estimate), but these days I spend myself mulling over the 100 times I tore him down. Its so much easier to say that we're angry and attack, than it is to realize that the source of anger is usually pain. Maybe there was an evolutionary advantage to being a warrior, but there definitely isn't an emotional one.
I can't take that back - not ever. So, I have to accept it, and also accept that he knew with absolute certainty that I unconditionally loved him, that I would sit beside him when he was in a coma and talk the whole time just so he knew he wasn't alone. I would remember everything he said because he was the most important person in my world. He used to say that if he committed the most horrific crime of the century, he knew that two people would stand by him and still love him: his mother and me. I would have. More important than what I would have done, is what I am doing now. Today I love him enough to let go of the regret - and remember the love.
Ultimately, we redeem ourselves daily - through our actions and words. Live free, love freely.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
