A truthful look at this messy business called grief…..
This is the post excerpt.
This is the post excerpt.
A truthful look at this messy business called grief…..
As the date for the move grows near and my house continues to be deconstructed, I find myself in strange moods. Part of me is so incredibly excited to start this new life and to have him here helping to make all of this come true, while the other part of me can’t help but remember back twelve and a half years ago when we moved into this house, and all the dreams we had then.
Packing up of course means revisiting his things, but it also means packing up things that I did after the funeral. After the funeral, I created a corner downstairs filled with all of his awards, halls of fame plaques, and various memorials received. Today I had to take it all down. Packing up pictures means packing away photos around the house that I still routinely look at and “talk” to him. At the same time, I’m packing up my son’s belongings to take to his new home. That’s a lot of change!!!
It is truly a roller coaster ride of emotions these days. I’m excited for what lies ahead and I can’t imagine my life without my fiance now. At the same time, it feels like I’m losing my late husband all over again in so many ways. This time it’s saying goodbye and revisiting all the lost dreams, all the little (and big) things he did for me. It will be especially difficult to leave the back yard, which was the last big gift he gave me. Leaving my lilacs, roses, hydrangea, and garden is probably the most difficult, especially his memorial rose.
When the day comes in three weeks to walk out of this house for the last time, there will probably be tears. But I know as soon as we get into our new house and start setting things up, the promise and hope of the future will win out.
It’s true that memories are nice to visit, but you can’t live in the past. Still, even positive, exciting change can be difficult. Risking to love again is scary, because with that risk comes the risk of loss again. But life is about risk. And life is about change. And I know that, even though there’s a side of sadness served with it, that this change will be amazing.
In almost exactly one month I will leave this house that was our home for eight and a half years, and mine for twelve years. The house that was our dream house. The house that had a two car garage that he was so in love with he would go press the button just to watch the door go up and down. The house I was so in love with that I actually hugged it. Yes, I hugged the house. Multiple times. The house I declared I would live in until I either died or could no longer live independently.
Oh, how much can change in twelve years. When we moved into this house, I was still disabled and wearing leg braces. Now, I can walk as far as I want in whatever shoes I want. When we moved into this house, we didn’t have enough furniture for it. Now I’m downsizing and deciding what to sell. When we moved into this house, our son was ten years old. Now he’s an adult and moved out on his own.
You would think that starting to pack up this place and selling things off would cause me to wax nostalgic far more than just a couple of paragraphs. The truth is, this is no longer home. If I’m completely honest, it’s not been home since he’s been gone. For a long time, it was a haven of memories, but now, it’s just a place that deserves more.
Having to go through the last of his things has been difficult, I won’t lie, but the time comes when you finally realize that things don’t hold as much meaning. The memories are with me, with or without his things.
I’m excited about the new life ahead. There’s still a small part of me that feels guilty, and a part of me that’s sad to let go of the rest of it all, and still a good part of me that’s still mad at him for dying. But mostly, I’m looking forward to what this new life will be, and to spending the rest whatever’s left of my life with “him” and beyond grateful to find such an unbelievable love at this stage of life. It’s time for new dreams and a new home.
Postscript: For those who believe in signs, I fully believe that it has happened and he is happy for me. Going on with life does not mean forgetting or no longer loving him. I will always love him, times infinity squared.
Brad Paisley has a song called, “Letter to Me” where his adult self writes a letter to his younger high school aged self. Hearing it on the radio today got me to thinking about what I’d say to the me of four years ago, fresh off the unexpected death of my husband.
At the time I was blessed to receive a letter from a friend who gave me advice on how to get through and what to expect. It was helpful, but there are still things I would tell the me of then, from the me of now.
The 4 year anniversary of his unexpected death is Monday. A part of me died that day, too. But a new part of me has come to life in recent months, and a new life awaits. As tough as the journey has been, it has shaped me into who I am today. His love formed me, the love of God and friends sustains me, and new love gives me hope; something I thought died with him.
If you read the previous entry, New Beginnings Does Not Mean Forgetting, you know that life is changing for me.
The house, OUR HOME, goes on the market in a couple of weeks, which means having to go through every closet, drawer, and the dreaded workshop. And with that, comes going through the things that I kept of his initially, and things of ours, things that were important to us and our relationship, and make decisions about if I want those items in the new house and to carry over into the new relationship. It’s like letting go all over again.
Last week, I made myself go through the sympathy cards from his funeral. I had initially just shoved them all in a box. There were, literally, well over one hundred cards. It’s been four years, but it opened that wound a bit. Thankfully, I was on the phone with “him” while doing it, and that support was a gift. I probably wouldn’t have been able to do it otherwise.
Yesterday, I was going through the guest room closet, which we used as storage. That proved to be more difficult than the sympathy cards. His monogrammed luggage, a gift I gave him early in our marriage, was in there. Ah, the memories! Buried underneath a stack of old blankets were his straw sun hats. Athletic trainers are in the sun and have high instances of skin cancer, so he wore wide-brimmed hats the last several years to protect his ears. They were so buried under things that when I picked them up, his scent was there. After nearly four years, there it was: sensory proof that he lived, that he’d been here, that he was real. A double-edged sword. Looking forward to the future but having to go through the past all over again.
Thankfully, again, I was on the phone with “him” as I was going through it. And he gets it, give me space, and most of all, knows words are sometimes not necessary.
If I’ve learned anything through all of this it’s that I can let go of most of the material items, but the memories and our life together have formed me into who I am now, and made me ready for what it is to come. I don’t have to ever let go of those memories and I don’t ever want to.
This new chapter of life is exciting and scary, but letting go of another part of him is difficult, too. But that’s change, and change is uncomfortable and scary.
I was talking to a friend last week and he asked me if I was sure I could take this risk again, and risk loss again, because that risk is the scariest of all. My answer to him was that yes, I was sure. Because the thought of not having “him” in my life is even scarier. So, I’ll keep my late husband close in my heart and in my memories, but look forward to the future with “him”.
In the last several days, I was tagged in a new relationship status on “the book of faces”. Yes, at my age, I find myself in a new relationship. Well, new in the sense that this portion of it is new. I’ve known this person for thirteen years, and as geography has us separated at present time, we spend a great deal of time of talking. During several of these talks, we’ve come to realize that there was always something between us, although we’ve always been close friends and never thought that would morph into something else.
It’s interesting to find myself in this situation. For twenty-two-and-a-half years I was a wife and partner to my husband, and I loved and still love him very much. Never in a million years did I ever picture myself with someone else. Yet to be with someone who knows almost everything about me and still isn’t scared away is pretty amazing. And while I could wax on about what a great guy he is, and what it’s like to have these feelings, that’s not what this blog is for.
I was talking to one of my friends last week about it, and her comment was, “Well, (your husband) has been gone for two years.” Uh, no…. He’s been gone almost FOUR years. But time makes no difference. Some days the wounds are still fresh and raw, while other days I can step back and look at my life now and realize just how different it is. There’s very little about my life that resembles four years ago.
The point is, the grief spiral doesn’t magically go away with a decision to continue forward. As happy as I am these days, and as much as I feel for this man, that doesn’t mean I no longer love my late husband or that I’ve forgotten him. I can honestly say, however, that I have no doubt that he would want me to be happy and would be happy I’m not alone. It will be interesting, as things move forward, to see if I feel like I’m cheating on him, or if I can truly separate the two.
I’m blessed that this man understands all of this, and is a great support. Having suffered some loss himself, though not the same sort, he knows the pain never truly goes away, and I know from past years and conversations with him as I was traveling this path, that there’s really nothing I can’t talk to him about, including the ugliness of grief.
This particular week is a rough one. It’s the anniversary of our last family trip four years ago, which means the anniversary of his death is about six weeks away. It’s the anniversary of my father’s death. And the basketball tournaments that hubby always worked are happening now, as well. That overwhelming sense of “he should be here” is still there. And his birthday is coming up, too. Yet at the same time I’m anxiously awaiting the next visit from “my guy”. It really is a double-edged sword.
I don’t have all the answers, but I do know that as this new relationship moves forward, that I don’t have to forget everything he and I shared or sweep it under the rug. It’s because of him and his love that I am who I am today, even though some days I’m not sure who that is.
On top of all this, the time has come to move out of our home and into something else. This decision has nothing to do with this relationship, but instead is the reality of life almost four years post-loss. I just can’t afford to stay here. It’s another heart-wrenching decision that I know will be difficult, but it’s also one that I can say with certainty that it’s time.
Onwards and upwards!
Yes, I’ve already written about the upcoming holidays , but I find I have more to say on the topic.
This will be my fourth Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s without hubby. There are those who say that by now it shouldn’t bother me. By now I should have made new traditions, “moved on”, “stop dwelling on it”. But, as anyone who’s on this journey knows, as much as you may “fake it til you make it” on the outside, on the inside, it’s still there.
My first Christmas without hubby was also my first Christmas at home without any family here. My husband died almost seven months to the day after my mother, so that first Christmas without Mom we took a trip rather than stay home and dwell on all the changes. My family always did Christmas up big, and I was used to being surrounded by lots of family over the holidays. I went from the equivalent of “The Berenstain Bears and Too Much Christmas” to a lone wolf.
I’ve tried many different things these last few years. I’ve tried keeping our traditions, just for my son and me. I’ve opened my door to anyone who needs a place to celebrate. I’ve accepted invitations to go to other’s homes. I’ve tried to forget it and just sit home and watch movies. No matter what I do, it’s still not the same, and the void is there. I can be in a room full of people, laughing and appearing to have a good time on the outside, but on the inside ready to run away. I do okay trying to find the blessings and I’m grateful to those who reach out and include us in their family celebrations. It’s just that “the new normal” is difficult at times, and this season is the worst.
After we get through these holidays, the anniversary of his death rolls around again. How it can be four years, I have no clue. I have no idea how I’ve managed this long without him. And it seems to have gone by in the blink of an eye.
The pain isn’t as crippling as it once was, but the loss never goes away. And with the void comes the “He should be here” thoughts and, while less than it was, the anger that he’s not.
When you’ve lost almost everything, you have to make the choice to look for the blessings. I was blessed to see both of my brothers this weekend. Family is everything, and while spread all over the map, any time with any of my siblings is treasured time. This Thanksgiving my son and I will join friends and their family. They’re a large, loving family who we’ve come to love dearly, and it will be great to be in that environment and feel the love. The loss will be there, but so will the love. And that’s what matters.
I….. am…. blessed.
I don’t know what it is about this time of year that brings it all back, but every year about this time, it comes back like a tidal wave. There really is no reason for it. There’s no landmark date on the calendar, no memories associated with October, nothing to really trigger anything. Sure, Facebook memories remind me that he started getting sick around this time, and hindsight reminds me that it really was the beginning of the end, but that shouldn’t cause it.
Perhaps it’s the anticipation of the upcoming dreaded holidays. Holidays that really aren’t anything special anymore. (More on that another time.) But again, after over three and a half years, that shouldn’t be bringing the tears to the surface so easily.
As one of my widow friends said tonight, “I just miss him and need one of his hugs.” Yep, that pretty much sums it up. Sometimes, nothing else will do but him, and he’s not here, and then I feel bad for being so selfish.
It all just goes to show there is no sense or logic to grief. It ebbs and flows, and can suck you back in anytime it wants to. Every year this time, I wish to just jump ahead to March, and bypass it all. Even when I try to not think about it, I find myself moodier than normal, weepier than usual, and there it is again. There’s only one word for it: Ugh.