Missing my person

I feel so alone without my husband today.  I am lucky to have lots of friends and family who are always there for me, but I miss having my 'person'.

Lots of things have happened this week that I really wish I could talk to him about and get his thoughts on.  Like a big development at work that he would have let me complain about; or something exciting that happened to me that I know he would be proud of me for.  

I really miss the way he 'got' me and found me hilarious and cute and was always so supportive and accepted/loved everything about me - even my flaws.  Before I met him, I didn't think any man would ever 'get' me in that way.  

I miss calling and texting him throughout the day telling him little snippets about what I was up to or discussing what we were going to do that night, what to have for dinner, plans for our weekend, etc, and he would be so interested in my lame boring stories and excited to hear from me. 

Some days I feel like I've adjusted to being on my own again pretty well, and other days... well, I just feel lost.

The rhetorical question

Most days I don't really think about HOW my husband died anymore. The shock of his suicide has eased and now my pain is mainly focused around the loss of him, how much I miss him and my sadness for the life we should be living.

There are still days, however, where I find myself needed to share my story and as I get to 'that' bit... the uneasiness in my stomach grows again.

This morning I saw a health professional and as we discussed the stress I've been under due to my personal circumstances, it became relevant to explain the trauma around his death.

After nine months, I still stumble with the details and struggle to deliver it gracefully. 

It seems so inadequate to just say 'he took his own life'. 

He deserves more than this, he was so much more than 'just' a victim of suicide and I feel compelled to try and explain his actions. 

The most adequate explanation (short of spending a good 20 minutes going through what a brilliant, good-hearted, thoughtful, caring man he was) seems to be along the lines of: 'he had depression, we had no idea how badly... His symptoms were predominantly memory loss and inability to focus, so he became convinced he was developing dementia and, during a suspected psychotic episode, took his life to save us from having to care for him.'

But the truth is, this is merely the picture I ended up with from the prices of the puzzle that I could pull together. Pieces like: the beautiful, heart-felt note he left me; conversations we had about how scared he was by his symptoms, as well as those he had with his doctor; the assumption by police that his death was not planned or pre-meditated, but carried out in a state of detachment; and the undeniable fact that he adored me, and would never have wanted to willingly cause me this pain.

However I will never truly know what happened in his head that day. There will always be questions that creep in when I let my guard down. I will never fully understand the why's, no matter how much I try to help others understand and accept.

Maybe the best I can hope for is to find peace in knowing I will never know, and one day I won't need to ask the questions anymore. 

Doing something with the pain

Someone shared this with me on Facebook tonight. It summed up a lot of my thoughts pretty well. 

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Qag49gExyQs&feature=youtube_gdata_player

Climbing the steps

Yesterday was nine months since Dan died. All day I kept waiting for it to hit and for me to collapse in a heap, but I didn't. I shed a few tears, as I do most days, and thought of him constantly but it's like ... I crumble, acknowledge what I'm feeling and then it passes and I continue with what I'm doing.

I spoke to my counsellor last week about how I feel like I've been doing 'ok' and always get a bit worried when I go through a patch where the grief isn't totally consuming me. I confessed I was worried that I was in denial again or just letting myself be numb - because HOW can I possible be 'ok'?! 

She said I'm just moving up the steps and looking forward to what's ahead of me still rather than getting stuck or only looking back at what I've lost. 

Is that crazy? Is it even possible? 

I know it's different for everyone and I know there will be more dark days again where the pain and grief is so heavy that it's almost impossible to breath, and it will always be there in some form but can I actually be getting through this mess?

It's weird but I'm not sure I'm ready to get to that stage where I'm 'ok' more than I'm not. Sometimes I miss the constant, unrelenting ache where it hurts so bad I couldn't breathe. Because I know it comes from my deep, true love for him and I'm honoring his memory with my pain.

 

Today I realised that I'm used to this life on my own again - cooking for one; maintaining the house; making decisions alone. Basically I'm not waiting for him to walk back through the door anymore. It's like life without him is starting to feel 'normal'. And that's SO WRONG!!! 

A month ago I still couldn't believe I had to go home to a house where he wouldn't be there - but tonight I have to actively force myself to remember how wonderful it was to fall asleep in his arms each night, because it's been so long, it no longer feels 'normal'. 

That makes me so sad but deep down I guess it's probably a good thing that I'm not in that constant state of physically aching to hold him (it definitely still comes and goes but not as often anymore).

My preference will always be that he is here with me. However I know it can never be. My heart has accepted that, so as a consolation prize, I still want to try and live a full life on his behalf. I hopefully have a lot of living to do yet, before I get to go and join him again. I don't want it to only be about the pain of his loss. But am I failing to properly honor him  if I accept a life without him in it?

A team of one

My first Easter without Dan starts tomorrow. This time last year we were cuddled up on the lounge, so excited to be spending four whole days together. Good Friday saw us dedicate a whole day to playing Canasta with my best friend and her then-fiancé (now husband). Such a happy memory. 

I have things organized this weekend with family and friends, which I'm looking forward to - along with some rest and down time. 

I am very comfortable and happy with my own company and I was looking forward to a quiet night in front of the tv to start my long weekend but when I walked through the front door, threw my handbag on the table, kicked off my shoes and flopped on the lounge, it hit me again - I'm alone. 

I'm a team of one. My partner is gone. I have people I can call but then it's not the 'quiet night in' I was craving. I don't want to socialize or entertain, I want my time out, recharging my batteries, but with by best friend and lover by my side, quietly sharing my space and making me cups of tea. I loved that quiet time together. Alone but with company.

Sometimes I look at photos of Dan and I and wonder if I just dreamt it. Did it really happen at all? It was so magical, surely it must have been a dream. 

I struggle to recall the softness of his lips, the way his strong arms would wrap around me, making me feel like I'd found my home. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, melting my heart. Or the music of his laughter. The smell of his neck when I buried my face in it. 

The edges of these memories are starting to fade. Have I let them blur in hope that it will also take the sharp edges off my pain? It hurts to remember because it makes me ache for him so. But how do I let go without losing him altogether? I want to hold on to those memories, but is it like gripping a sharp blade, that's cutting in to my flesh unless I loosen my grasp? This path is so confusing and difficult to navigate.

I miss him, I miss him, I miss him.

It's ok to not be 'ok' yet

A friend broached the subject of my grief with me recently. I consider this person to be very insightful and sensitive, so when he started to comment about my ongoing outpouring of grief for Dan, including my Facebook updates and photo posts, I tried not to feel defensive. Instead I decided to seriously think about what he said (I've been thinking about it for nearly two weeks now). 

He explained that his comments came from a place of concern and care (which I believe). He had seen someone very close to him lose her husband at a young age and hold on so tight to her love for him, that she refused to accept a world where further happiness was an option. 

He said he didn't want to see me martyr myself to Dan's memory. That my Facebook page had become like a shrine to his life, and this burning love could be so intimidating for any future potential suitors who might come along, only to be scared off. 

My friend then reaffirmed that he wasn't passing judgement or suggesting I alter my behavior, he just wanted to make sure I hadn't closed myself off to any future happiness and hope.

I took the time to process these comments and think about the points my friend was trying to make and after much reflection, came to the following conclusions.

Yes I use Facebook as an outlet for my grief. That's because writing is the easiest way for me to express myself and it instantly connects me to my support network when I'm usually feeling quite lonely and detached.

While I am still madly in love with my husband and mourning the life we were supposed to be leading together, I am also very hopeful that one day in the future my heart will heal enough to give to someone else. 

The love Dan showed me changed every part of my life. He gave me happiness beyond anything I could have imagined. If I seriously thought there was no chance of me experiencing that again in my lifetime then I probably would have died of a broken heart, given up and gone to join him by now.

I re-live every moment of that day he died constantly, along with the days, weeks and months leading up to it. Losing him in such a cruel and shocking way has been so horrific, I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. 

But I am moving forward with life the best way I can. I keep putting one foot in front of the other. I returned to work, paid the bills, kept a reasonably balanced diet (Ben & Jerry's aside!) and I get out of bed every day.

I've actively tried to accept and understand his death rather than dwell in self-pity. I've had a truck-load of therapy and counseling to help me make sense of what's happened. I've poured through websites and self-help books researching suicide bereavement; mental illness; grief and widowhood.

I've explored theories on spirituality - talked with our priest, took up yoga and meditation and attended seminars by spirit mediums.

I've fought back tears and choked down sobs in public places where crying would be inappropriate. I've bitten my tongue when people have given me unwanted and ill-informed 'advice'. I've maintained a brave public face while feeling shattered at the cruel things I've heard have been said about Dan's death - including speculation on our relationship from people who, I've had to conclude, mustn't understand mental illness.

I've reached out to other people in my situation, completed a group therapy program, joined online forums and support groups, met other young widows from around Australia and am traveling to the USA to attend a conference and meet the inspirational founder of an incredible charity who wants to expand their services to Australia.

I've felt happiness and excitement, belly-laughed with those who love and accept me, been to see live bands, booked holidays, felt 'lucky' and have had days of peace and acceptance.

Right now I am 262 days in to this journey. I often question if I'm doing it right - should I be stronger by now? Are people growing weary of my sadness? Am I making him proud? 

One of my counsellors likes to joke that I'm such a high achiever that I'm trying to rush to the top of the class and get an 'A' for grief. She has to constantly remind me that I can't 'project manage' my way out of this situation. It will just take time.  She also has to remind me that it doesn't matter what other people think and I need to learn to put my needs first. 

Yes I'm sad. Yes I miss Dan. Yes at some point in the future I would like to define my life by more than just being his widow - but that time hasn't come yet. And won't for a while yet because I still have a lot more mending to do. 

I'm slower than I used to be, my mind is always a bit foggy because my sub-conscious is still working so hard to process Dan's death. I'm fragile, becoming emotional and teary at random times, set off by 'triggers' too long to list, with more being discovered every week. I'm exhausted most of the time yet struggle to sleep at night. Despite this, I can count the days I've called in sick to work on one hand. 

Every social interaction is a mine field. I'm constantly at risk of blurting out something inappropriate or over-sharing because my sense of 'normal' is so dramatically different to most other peoples'.

Grief is complicated and unique but please be assured I am taking steps forward.

Every night before I go to bed I write down one thing that I'm grateful for. This helps me count my blessings and focus on all the wonderful people and gifts in my life. 

I talk to Dan, telling him my favourite thing about my day - just as I used to each night when he was alive.

Then I turn out the light, reach out to his side of the bed and let the tears flow, muffling my crying into my pillow so I don't scare the neighbours. 

I've accepted this is a long road and I will never be the same person I was before. I've accepted that this is the hand I've been dealt and despite our plans to be starting a family with the man of my dreams this year - I'm instead trying to learn how to feel light and happiness again.

I ask you to please continue to be patient with me, please let me grieve the way I need to. And please don't judge me. 

Missing the 'old normal'

After a busy week, I woke up yesterday, on Sunday morning with that glorious feeling of having nothing planned and excited about a whole day to myself, to potter around the house, bake, do some Spring (Autumn?) cleaning and catch up on my favourite TV shows.

As I was lying in bed, thinking about what I should do first, my mind started to wander to how different my weekends are now, and how much I miss waking up with Dan.  

We would love lazy mornings, laying around in bed for ages before one of us would finally try to get up (usually Dan), and the other would tackle them back to bed (usually me!) demanding more laziness.  Then, finally, we’d drag ourselves out of bed and start our day together.  

This usually involved heading to the gym - where he’d wink at me when he walked back and forward from the weights to the water cooler - before brunch at a cafe and then a wander around expensive furniture stores dreaming about what we'd like to buy. 

Even the most boring, mundane tasks, like getting groceries or doing our housework, were so fun with Dan.  He made a game out of everything and we were always laughing and teasing each other and holding hands and cuddling.  On our honeymoon, our flight to Koh Samui was delayed by 7 hours in Singapore.  We were tired and cranky and keen to get on with our holiday however being with Dan made it fun.  

I could have been locked in an empty room all day with him and we would have had an awesome time, making up stories and games and talking nonsense and laughing.  He was my favourite person.  I really miss having a ‘partner’ to spend those quiet, lazy days with - I really miss him.     

Once I started thinking about this, or course the tears came and unfortunately hung around all day and night.  I would have a good cry, then get up and think ‘right, that’s out of my system, time to go and hang washing out’ and half an hour later there’d be tears running down my face again.  It SUCKS!!!  

I miss him every day and think about him constantly, but some days, it seems to hurt a bit more or I just can’t shake it off.

Remembering a happy time

I was fishing around in some old emails today looking for something and stumbled across some conversations between my best friend and I back around the time Dan proposed.

I had been gushing to her about how over the course of a month or so Dan had casually started looking at engagement rings as we walked past jewelry shops, pointing out different styles and asking me (hypotheticaly, he insisted!) which ones I liked. 

In one message I said: 

"last night we were walking about the shopping centre and everytime we walked past a jewellery store I kind of slowed down to look in the windows, as we usually did, but he kept the pace and and dragged me on (holding my hand). 

 

"I must have gone a bit quiet (I really love looking at rings with him!!) and later on he asked if there was anything on my mind, etc. I mentioned about how I'd noticed he didn't seem interested in rings any more and hoped he still wasn't upset about me jokingly pointing out silly, expensive rings, and was a tiny bit worried that it turned him off the whole idea. 

 

"He just laughed and gave me a big hug and said 'there's a reason I don't want to look at rings anymore baby, but don't worry - it's not that at all, it's the opposite, it's a good reason!!".  OMG!!! :)

 

"He was also really sweet and soppy last night... we were going to spend a rare night apart since we both had to pack for our weekend at the Coast (we're leaving straight from work today) but he called and said he missed me too much and wanted to see me, so he came and met me at the shops (where I was helping mum get her phone fixed) and then drove me home so I could pack before driving me back to his house. 

 

"He admitted that he just feels so mopey when I'm not around and it scares him a bit how much he's changed to need me in his life.  He said that he'd never want to go back to the way he was before - so independent and preferring his own company, because he felt numb and ignorant and didn't realise what he was missing out on before we met. He said he loves me so much that he sometimes gets scared about how he'd cope if something happened to me or my feelings changed and I left him.  

"I can't believe this is the guy who, when we first met, would leave it a week to text and warned me he needed a lot of space and time to himself! He makes me feel so special and loved and needed. I assured him I wasn't going anywhere :)"

....

Reading over how excited and gushy I was at this pivotal moment in our relationship, it took me right back to how incredibly lucky I felt to have found this amazing love. For the first time in my life I could be totally vulnerable and open and didn't have to worry about feeling rejected or let down.

Here was this incredible man I respected and adored and he treated me like a princess and made me feel like I was blessing HIM with my presence! 

Knowing we would be engaged soon and starting the rest of our lives together, I was the happiest I'd ever been. So content, secure, confident - it resonated through every corner of my life and made me a better person.

I'm glad I didn't know that my time with him would be cut short and the pain that was to come. 

The happiness we shared was so special. I will always have that. 

It's nice remembering moments like this. They're always followed by a wall of tears and heartache that he's gone - but I fear that the alternative (not remembering these moments at all) is much worse.

Love doesn't 'die'

When I wake up tomorrow morning it will be eight months since I kissed my love goodbye, not knowing it would be the last time. I can't believe I've survived eight months without you, and haven't yet died from a broken heart.  

The only thing keeping me going (besides our family and the incredible friends who have supported me and accepted my grief) is that I can still feel your love all around me. 

I don't know how, but I know undoubtedly it's still here. I guess our love was stronger than 'depression' after all, because in the end it couldn't kill it.

I feel like I must be losing my mind to consider myself lucky, but I still feel so blessed to have known such a wonderful man, let alone been loved by you and getting to call you my husband. 

I miss you every day my darling, I adore you and would give everything and anything to feel your arms around me again. Always on my mind and in my heart. Xoxo

Being pulled back down

I'm really struggling with the 'why's tonight... Why did he do this, why didn't he ask for help, why didn't he tell me/anyone what was going on? 

How did my gentle, sweet, loving husband get to that dark, scary place? And how long was he there before he gave in? Days? Weeks? Months or years? Had he come close before? Had he even tried before and failed? Or was this a sudden psychotic episode, as we first suspected? 

Was the darkness there before we met and fell in love 18 months earlier? How did we all miss it? And how did he think we'd all be 'ok' without him? 

How was my love not enough? How could he do this to his parents? How could he leave me like that after promising to love me and care for me? How did this happen to him?

I know I'll never get the answers. So how am I ever going to let go of the questions? 

I feel so heart-broken tonight and miss my baby so much. 

A positive realisation

Since my husband passed away I've been working in a temporary contract. Recently, I was invited to attend a training workshop about applying for, and winning, a job. 

My goal for the workshop was to learn some helpful tips to use in future employment attempts. However, much to my surprise, I gained so much more.

The facilitator was wonderful and I took the opportunity during our lunch break to speak to her about my personal situation. I explained that since Dan passed, my goals and priorities have changed so drastically. 

In the 'before', both of our career choices were significantly driven by money, as we were focused on setting up our life together, having the wedding of our dreams, buying our family home and saving for a future that would hopefully involve me taking time off work to raise our children.

However, in the 'after' my priorities are obviously very different. The most important thing to me now is a work/life balance that gives me more time for personal healing, reflection and time doing the things that bring slivers of joy to my life (such as spending time with my nephews, family and friends, traveling, baking and yoga). 

My concern was that potential employers would see this choice as a lack of motivation or aspiration.

When I mentioned this to the facilitator she gave me some wonderful advice on how to handle this particular scenario (including negotiating part time work) and as the day progressed, I realised something important about my new outlook.

For the first time ever, I saw that my situation as a suicide widow may not actually be a liability to any future employers. Because by surviving the pain and trauma of losing your spouse in such a tragic way, I have had to dig deep within myself and find resilience that I never knew existed.

This experience has consequently given me a suite of traits I either didn't need before or just didn't know I possessed. In my after I now have: more maturity and wisdom; healthier priorities and a different perspective when looking at 'problems' and petty dramas; empathy and compassion; and a stronger resolve in the face of adversity. 

It's always a very strange experience when I identify some kind of 'positive' that has risen out of the ashes of this tragedy. Because obviously I would give everything any anything to undo this and bring my husband back. 

But the truth is there ARE some aspects of this experience that have been positive, and this is a good thing. Let's face it - if it was ALL bad, it would be pretty hard to keep holding on.

It is because of Dan's death I've met some wonderful people who I wouldn't have met otherwise and I've been able to help other people who have been affected by mental illness. 

I don't know what the future holds for me, where my career will go, the experiences I'll have and the people I'll meet. But I feel like I will continue to receive gifts from Dan for the rest of my life, which I love. I'm so grateful that he have his love to me and he's still making me a better person, after his death. That's a very wonderful thing. 

Power of positive thinking

A few weeks ago I started a new exercise where every night before I go to bed I write down one thing that I'm thankful for. 

Some days it's been a particular friend or family member or even stranger who helped me through a tough moment, some days it's been a pretty sunset or a fun social outing or holiday plans or an issue that got resolved, some of you have made the list and some days it's just that I made it through the horrible day!! 

I've noticed that doing this has stopped me from focussing on what I have to feel horrible about (husband's suicide six months ago and the massive truck load of shit that comes with that) and it's improved my mood and outlook. 

I still cry and I still miss him like crazy and have bad days where the tears won't stop. However, in general I've found myself looking forward rather than looking back. 

I'm also remembering more happy memories of him and smiling/laughing more, and spending a bit less time thinking about the way he died. 

I actually feel like it's reduced the self-pity and I most days I even feel lucky. Imagine that! Last week, on Dan's six-month anniversary, this sunset from the view of my plane ride to Melbourne made the list:

The physical ache

Tomorrow will be 6 months since Dan died. It's such a weird thought that it doesn't even seem logical.  I was walking to work from the train this morning and got this sudden random urge to hug him, like my whole body started aching.  

I wanted him to be standing in front of me so I could just throw myself at him and feel his entire length against mine.  It came on so suddenly that I couldn't breathe for a moment.  It felt so real, like I could see him there and the ache to reach out and touch him was like an electrical current running through me.  

As soon as I could pull myself together I tried to push the feeling out of my head and ignore the urges, because there's no point in embracing them.  I'll never be able to hold him again, so no comfort or good is ever going to come of it.
  
Made me think of all the times he was away for work and we'd phone or text each other to talk about how we couldn't wait to hold each other again.  Which then makes me think about all the times he said he couldn't live without me and can't believe he ever did before.  Which then makes me wonder HOW he thought I'd be able to live without him - which makes me think of his suicide... which drags me into the hole of confusion and despair.  

So on days like today where the grief isn't suffocating me, I'm trying not to let it in.  

Friends

Today I'm grateful for the friends who haven't shied away from my grief. I know it must be scary for them, and many have avoided me, which makes me sad. But I'm thankful for the brave ones who call even though they don't know what to say, who sit with me even though it hurts them to see me cry, who love me even though I can't give much love back right now.

Baggage

Sometimes I feel like my grief is a bag that I have to carry around with me.  

On good days it's a brief case or a small carry-on bag with wheels that I can drag behind me. It's annoying that I have to lug it everywhere with me, but I can still get around the place easily enough.  

On bad days it's like an old battered suitcase that's heavy and exhausting and awkward to carry. It makes me ache from the weight of it and slows me down to a snail's pace.

On really bad days, it's a massive vintage chest that crushes me under its weight. It is so overwhelming that I can't move or breath and it eclipse me altogether.