Six months ago today Claire, and a huge part of me, died. I didn’t write what’s below for this blog, or even for anyone to read. I wrote it for myself. Someone told me sometimes it helps to write your feelings down. So far — it hasn’t.
It’s just a fact of life that almost everyone will go through the loss of a loved one. When it happens — to someone else — people are sympathetic, but they don’t really understand. After a short time, they return to their lives and everything goes back to normal — for them.
But for us suffering the loss, things will never be the same again. Life won’t return to normal. Maybe there will be a new “normal,” but it won’t be the same, and reality sets in as we realize what that means for us.
Of course, you know that I’m talking about myself and my efforts to deal with the loss of Claire.
The first few weeks, I heard things like “try not to think about it,” “be strong,” “life must go on,” and other such words of “encouragement.” It’s normal to say things like that, but they don’t fix anything…. right now, the situation can’t be fixed.
Another group of people tried consoling me by suggesting that what had happened was “for the best,” or “it was a blessing,” or “she’s in a better place.” Of course it doesn’t seem like a blessing to me and I certainly don’t think she’s in a better place — she’s not here with me.
For a couple of months, people told me, “you are handling this so well” or “you are so strong.” The fact is that I was numb. Everything happened so fast and there was so much to do, that nothing felt real — I was convinced it all had to be a bad dream. So I kept busy and tried to comfort our kids and relatives, and to make sure they were ok.
But now that numbness has worn off and I’ve experienced a range of emotions and feelings that I didn’t even know existed. I’ve found myself getting worse — not better. I find every day a thousand times more difficult than they were at the time she died.
Every day, I wonder what’s wrong with me — why am I not handling this better? By now things should be getting better, but they seem to be falling apart.
Someone said that grief is the cost of loving. I suppose that’s maybe true, but It’s certainly a high price to pay.
It seems like everyone has their own idea of how grief works — right now, I can tell you that I have no idea. I really can’t describe how I feel — I’m angry, sad, miserable, confused, befuddled, disoriented, reclusive, lonely, mindless, and I could go on and on — it seems like I go directly from one state into the next. I guess in a nutshell, it feels like I’m losing my mind. I’m constantly trying to accept something that is unacceptable. I find myself totally exhausted — I go to bed tired, don’t sleep well, and get up tired. All my energy is apparently being used up just trying to survive.
While I do have short periods when I think I’m getting better, suddenly out of nowhere I get this overwhelming feeling of grief — it’s like I imagine a panic attack must feel…. I guess these are “grief attacks.” So far I’ve suffered through Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day, her birthday, our anniversary, and our daughter and son’s birthdays, but sometimes just “things” bring on these attacks — her favorite TV program, a letter — still addressed to her, or even just seeing one of her good friends…..
Something that Claire used to say all the time — “it is what it is” — that’s true. I’m trying to make the most of what I have left. Right now, I’m not sure how I’m going to do that, but six months from today, I’m going to sit down and put my feelings on paper…. and then compare it to what I wrote today. Hopefully, my words then will reflect some amount of progress on my journey…..
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