On Monday morning it will be a year and a half. Eighteen months ago I lived some of the hardest days of my life.
When you are in the midst if it, the pain is so incompassing that you don't know how you'll possibly survive. The death of your husband, the end of a life you loved, the end of a life you shared; it is horrible. The grief doesn't stop with time, but life goes on and the experience of the grief changes. As a good friend describes it, when the loss is fresh it is your entire experience; you life within the grief. As time passes, the grief doesnt go away but it becomes a part of your life as opposed to your entire experience. Like it or not, life goes on and the loss becomes just a part of it. The pain does not lessen, but it allows room for other experiences and emotions.
A year and a half later, I miss Brian every day. I miss the life we shared. I still have trouble understanding how I am living and experiencing new things - both good and bad - that Brian is not a part of. But I'm alive, and living means moving on and trying to build a new, happy, and fulfilling life.
I am living. I no longer feel like I'm just surviving. I have joy, gladness and love. I'm experiencing things every day that Brian will never experience. I'm finding room for happiness.
One thing that I'm realizing is that I was never truly happy before Brian. I didn't have a horrible childhood, but I was not a particularly happy child. My first marriage was not a good one, and I realize now how much I struggled to control things that were out of my control throughout that relationship.
I was never good at being alone. I was never comfortable with solitude. So now, I'm not returning to a former state of contentment, I'm trying to figure out how to be happy on my own. Something new that is hard and often terrifying.
I do have good times. I have formed new relationships and have enjoyed wonderful times. There are elements in this new life that make me extremely happy and bring me true joy. Things are not bad. But I'm lonely. Even after a great day, when I turn off the lights each night I am alone, and I'm still not comfortable with my own company. I still hate solitude.
I want more. I know that Brian is gone, and I know that I can be happy again, I just don't know how to make this new life happy. How to let my new found joy and love become the core of a new and happy life. I have to learn, relatively late in life, how to be happy and fulfilled with all the good that I have. I have to take the experience of joy that I learned with Brian, and apply it to a life without him. I know that I can do it, but it is a difficult thing to accomplish.
I question if my happiness was tied to my identity as Brian's wife rather to my identity as an individual. I'm no longer a wife, but I am still me. Better for the experience of true love, smarter for the experience of a healthy relationship, stronger for the pain and loss.
Life after Brian will never be the same, but it doesn't have to revert to the unhappiness of life before Brian. Life after can be beautiful. I can love, feel, enjoy and grow as a more whole individual. I can try to lessen my grasp on the loss, and allow the beauty and memory of love form the new and improved me. And even though this has been hard, I see and feel it happening. I'm not content with the whole of my life right now, but I am very happy with parts of it. I owe it to myself to figure this out and to make a happy life for myself and the people that I love.
I don't know why Brian had to die so young. There is no reason. Bad things happen, and life is shaped by how we deal with them - how we move on.
I am moving on. I'm not leaving him behind because our love and marriage have shaped me. I'm taking him with me, because I'm not willing to give up happiness and love in my life.
Saturday, October 18, 2014
Monday, October 13, 2014
Lonely
I'm lonely.
I have amazing friends, and I spend time with them. When I'm with people I care about I can feel joy, and I can experience laughter. I can forget that I'm lonely for a time. But at the end of the day, I go to bed alone. I wake up alone. I come home from work, and I'm alone. I eat meals (or skip meals) alone. I do the laundry, wash the dishes, sweep the floor - alone. Nobody greats me with a hug. Nobody asks how my day was. Nobody tells me about their day, discusses world events, talks to me about people we know, because nobody is there.
I have love, I have friends; but I have no partner to come home to. To share my life with. I have never been good alone. I hate living alone. I shouldn't feel lonely because I have so many wonderful people in my life, and yet I am alone and lonely.
How do I make what I have enough? How do I become comfortable living by myself? How does this existence become fulfilling?
I have amazing friends, and I spend time with them. When I'm with people I care about I can feel joy, and I can experience laughter. I can forget that I'm lonely for a time. But at the end of the day, I go to bed alone. I wake up alone. I come home from work, and I'm alone. I eat meals (or skip meals) alone. I do the laundry, wash the dishes, sweep the floor - alone. Nobody greats me with a hug. Nobody asks how my day was. Nobody tells me about their day, discusses world events, talks to me about people we know, because nobody is there.
I have love, I have friends; but I have no partner to come home to. To share my life with. I have never been good alone. I hate living alone. I shouldn't feel lonely because I have so many wonderful people in my life, and yet I am alone and lonely.
How do I make what I have enough? How do I become comfortable living by myself? How does this existence become fulfilling?
Thursday, October 2, 2014
Celebrate life?
Today was my birthday, and it was fine, mostly because it was just another day. I didn't have special plans. In fact, I didn't see anyone today. Other than an avalanche of Facebook wishes, I didn't have to think about birthdays, occasions or celebrations. I ran errands and cooked. I spoke with a few friends. I just got through the day.
I know that life is the right choice, and that aging beats the alternative. I'm grateful that I'm basically healthy and comfortable. I just wish I could find a reason to feel that my choice of life is the right choice.
One day, hopefully not too soon, I'll die. I'll simply cease to exist. I hope that I can find a way to make the time between now and then meaningful. Maybe then, in 2015, I'll feel a reason to celebrate life.
I know that life is the right choice, and that aging beats the alternative. I'm grateful that I'm basically healthy and comfortable. I just wish I could find a reason to feel that my choice of life is the right choice.
One day, hopefully not too soon, I'll die. I'll simply cease to exist. I hope that I can find a way to make the time between now and then meaningful. Maybe then, in 2015, I'll feel a reason to celebrate life.
Friday, September 19, 2014
A year and a Half
A year and a half ago was Brian's last night. A year and a half ago tomorrow morning I became a widow.
Was there something that I was supposed to learn in this time? Was I supposed to become smarter or stronger? Was I supposed to be more enlightened?
I'm not. I'm so much more alive than I was a year and a half ago, but I don't see any good that has come from Brian's death. It was random and cruel. It was meaningless.
I've always thought that the difficult times in my life were meant to teach me something. I no longer believe that. There isn't always a silver lining.
Edit: I just realized that it isn't a year and a half, it is a year and five months. Memory and emotion don't always coincide with anniversaries, and thank God for that.
Was there something that I was supposed to learn in this time? Was I supposed to become smarter or stronger? Was I supposed to be more enlightened?
I'm not. I'm so much more alive than I was a year and a half ago, but I don't see any good that has come from Brian's death. It was random and cruel. It was meaningless.
I've always thought that the difficult times in my life were meant to teach me something. I no longer believe that. There isn't always a silver lining.
Edit: I just realized that it isn't a year and a half, it is a year and five months. Memory and emotion don't always coincide with anniversaries, and thank God for that.
Saturday, September 6, 2014
Another Goodbye
This morning I had to put my sweet kitty, Tater to sleep. "To Sleep", what a comforting euphemism. He's not sleeping, he's dead, and I'm so so sad. When Brian and I met, he had one cat and I had two. Tater was ours. The kitty we both fell in love with and invited into our family together. He was the sweetest, most cuddly, loveable cat we had ever met, and he brought us so many smiles.
He was an old boy - at least 16 and very likely 18 years old. He lived a long and good life, but somehow that is little comfort when you lose a pet. Ironically, and thankfully, my friend Sharon came to visit me today. Sharon was Brian's hospice nurse. She took care of him, and she took care of me. She is one of the most beautiful, kind, and compassionate people I know. We planned a short visit and a chance to catch up with each other. When we sat down to talk, and Tater came over for some loving, I knew that something was very wrong. His eye, which has been weepy on and off for a few months was covered with a bloody puss. He smelled like infection - a horrible hospital smell that signals the worst kind of wrong. I pulled him to me and saw that his beautiful coat was lackluster and course, and that he seemed to have blood, or puss, or something on his coat. Then I pulled back his lip, and saw what I thought was a huge abscess in his mouth.
Sharon, who knows more about end of life care than I ever hope to know, agreed that I should call the vet right away. I'm not allowed to lift, so she put him in his crate and drove us to the vet. While his vitals were ok, his mouth and eye weren't. The vet said that the infection and swelling in his mouth was almost certainly a malignant tumor. She let me know that I could bring him back during the week to biopsy it, but that if it was malignant, nothing could be done. How could I put my aged kitty through anesthesia and the pain of recovery if there was nothing to be done? His temperature wasn't high enough to suggest an infection. And then it all sort of clicked. That adorable snaggle tooth that he developed about five years ago was actually the result of a growing tumor. His weepy eye that never responded to medications was actually caused by the growing tumor pressing up through the roof of his mouth into his orbit. My sweet, loveable, purring kitty was very very sick, and beyond medical help.
Having seen cancer in cruel action, I knew that the kindest thing to do for Tater would be the hardest thing for me to do. So with a broken heart, I told the vet that it was time to euthanize him. She and Sharon both sadly agreed.
This is the fifth time I've had to euthanize a pet. Every other time, the decision was clear; they were in pain and suffering and had no quality of life left. Tater was purring - even as they put in his IV. As bad as things were, he didn't indicate that he has been in pain. He had slown down a lot,and slept most of the time, but he still ate and drank and purred so loudly that you couldn't believe anything could be wrong. But my once robust 25 pound kitty was down to 12.4 pounds, and as horrible as it felt, keeping him alive would have been incredibly selfish of me.
Life is so unfair. Things have been so hard lately. I can't stand any more loss or pain. I know that AI did the right thing. I know that if Brian had been here to help me with this decision, we would have done the same thing, and then we would have come home and cried together. I don't want to be selfish, but I want a break.
Today I was supposed to be in Fort Wayne attending my niece's wedding. Instead, I am home recuperating from another back surgery, and mourning the sweetest cat I have ever known. I have missed so many celebrations lately, and have dealt with so much loss. This just isn't the way life is supposed to be.
Goodbye, my Sweet Tater. I will miss you so much.
He was an old boy - at least 16 and very likely 18 years old. He lived a long and good life, but somehow that is little comfort when you lose a pet. Ironically, and thankfully, my friend Sharon came to visit me today. Sharon was Brian's hospice nurse. She took care of him, and she took care of me. She is one of the most beautiful, kind, and compassionate people I know. We planned a short visit and a chance to catch up with each other. When we sat down to talk, and Tater came over for some loving, I knew that something was very wrong. His eye, which has been weepy on and off for a few months was covered with a bloody puss. He smelled like infection - a horrible hospital smell that signals the worst kind of wrong. I pulled him to me and saw that his beautiful coat was lackluster and course, and that he seemed to have blood, or puss, or something on his coat. Then I pulled back his lip, and saw what I thought was a huge abscess in his mouth.
Sharon, who knows more about end of life care than I ever hope to know, agreed that I should call the vet right away. I'm not allowed to lift, so she put him in his crate and drove us to the vet. While his vitals were ok, his mouth and eye weren't. The vet said that the infection and swelling in his mouth was almost certainly a malignant tumor. She let me know that I could bring him back during the week to biopsy it, but that if it was malignant, nothing could be done. How could I put my aged kitty through anesthesia and the pain of recovery if there was nothing to be done? His temperature wasn't high enough to suggest an infection. And then it all sort of clicked. That adorable snaggle tooth that he developed about five years ago was actually the result of a growing tumor. His weepy eye that never responded to medications was actually caused by the growing tumor pressing up through the roof of his mouth into his orbit. My sweet, loveable, purring kitty was very very sick, and beyond medical help.
Having seen cancer in cruel action, I knew that the kindest thing to do for Tater would be the hardest thing for me to do. So with a broken heart, I told the vet that it was time to euthanize him. She and Sharon both sadly agreed.
This is the fifth time I've had to euthanize a pet. Every other time, the decision was clear; they were in pain and suffering and had no quality of life left. Tater was purring - even as they put in his IV. As bad as things were, he didn't indicate that he has been in pain. He had slown down a lot,and slept most of the time, but he still ate and drank and purred so loudly that you couldn't believe anything could be wrong. But my once robust 25 pound kitty was down to 12.4 pounds, and as horrible as it felt, keeping him alive would have been incredibly selfish of me.
Life is so unfair. Things have been so hard lately. I can't stand any more loss or pain. I know that AI did the right thing. I know that if Brian had been here to help me with this decision, we would have done the same thing, and then we would have come home and cried together. I don't want to be selfish, but I want a break.
Today I was supposed to be in Fort Wayne attending my niece's wedding. Instead, I am home recuperating from another back surgery, and mourning the sweetest cat I have ever known. I have missed so many celebrations lately, and have dealt with so much loss. This just isn't the way life is supposed to be.
Goodbye, my Sweet Tater. I will miss you so much.
Tuesday, September 2, 2014
Stuck
My life is starting to feel like one pathetic bad joke. I just want a break from it. Bad luck, bad circumstance, bad turn of fate. I'm so tired of it all.
Jokes on me.
Jokes on me.
Monday, September 1, 2014
can't rationalize it away
I'm depressed. I'm sad, lonely, exhausted, and finding it hard to rationalize away some crushing feelings of despair.
I come home from the hospital yesterday. I had five friends come visit today, and several others call or email, and I know that I'm so lucky to have so many people who genuinely care about me, but I'm depressed. I feel like I have to put on a smile and a sunny disposition, but I just want to cry. I want to curl up and hide from the world and just stop feeling, stop pretending, stop putting on a good face for others and just allow myself to be genuine in my pain and grief.
Things have been hard. Too hard, and I feel like people either over or underestimate me. They assume that I can manage with little help, or that I'm a wuss with no tolerance for pain. I have a lot of tollerance for pain, but my pain before surgery was unbearable. I do the best I can, but I do need help. The hardest part of all this, the biggest challenge is coping alone without Brian. Waking up alone every morning, turning out the lights alone every night.
I loved being married. I loved being a wife and partner. I hate facing every day and every new challenge alone. Some days are better than others, but I'm really starting to doubt that things will ever truly feel OK again.
I come home from the hospital yesterday. I had five friends come visit today, and several others call or email, and I know that I'm so lucky to have so many people who genuinely care about me, but I'm depressed. I feel like I have to put on a smile and a sunny disposition, but I just want to cry. I want to curl up and hide from the world and just stop feeling, stop pretending, stop putting on a good face for others and just allow myself to be genuine in my pain and grief.
Things have been hard. Too hard, and I feel like people either over or underestimate me. They assume that I can manage with little help, or that I'm a wuss with no tolerance for pain. I have a lot of tollerance for pain, but my pain before surgery was unbearable. I do the best I can, but I do need help. The hardest part of all this, the biggest challenge is coping alone without Brian. Waking up alone every morning, turning out the lights alone every night.
I loved being married. I loved being a wife and partner. I hate facing every day and every new challenge alone. Some days are better than others, but I'm really starting to doubt that things will ever truly feel OK again.
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