Letting Go

My husband left this Earth in September 2012. I was immediately struck with guilt because I was not at home when it happened. I had gone to work as usual that morning with a kiss and hug. I remembering lingering just a few minutes longer, now I know why .The first night was filled with so many phone calls and cigarettes- although I had quit years before. I just had not really processed the fact that my love, my soulmate, my first, last and everything was no longer here. I sat in our living room all night long not fully understanding what had happened. This is how it began.

The days that followed were filled with more phone calls…. I just couldn’t keep telling the story over and over. My head was spinning. I was a mess.  My sisters, nieces and nephew flew in from N.Y. and thank goodness, they took over. The day before Pete’s funeral it hit me. I literally collapsed. I was dripping with raw, dirty, emotions that felt like an angry emotional rape. Anger, regret, desperation, pit of the stomach sorrow, fear, relief, I felt giddy…. not happy- almost “crazy” giddy, fear, despair and those tears did not stop. Was this somehow my fault? Did I love him enough? Did he know how much I loved him? Was he afraid? This one still plagues me. Did I do enough for him? Was I the woman he wanted me to be? I never should have argued with him!  I should have paid more attention. Why did I tell him I was tired? Can he see me? Does he know how much he is missed and loved?  I still carried similar questions following the passing of my parents and younger sister.

So many people offering love, support and “Dear Abby” advice.  Well intended and graciously received.  All the past experiences of how I was exposed to this process with the passing of Grandparents, Aunts, Uncles, Cousins and friends shot to shit because it is not a scripted event. This was just the tip of the iceberg. I felt like everyone was watching to see how I was reacting. Did I cry enough?  Was it ok to say he died? How am I going to pay the bills? Where did I put his will? How is his family going to react to his wishes? What can I expect at the funeral? How am I going to pay for the funeral?? I can’t go to that place again.

It’s amazing what the human brain does in times like this. I surrounded myself with family and friends for the first week. When everyone went home and it was quiet again, I found myself reassessing all the questions I had.  Then as the days turned into weeks and then months there were more thoughts and questions. It became such an emotional tug of war. I lost so, so much.  The depth of the level of loss took 2 years to comprehend. Not just the obvious… the person. I lost family. I suppose they have their reasons, but they no longer call or attempt any contact. I have done my part. I cannot force anyone to do anything. This is their choice. Friends who just can’t handle how long I am grieving.  There are so many things.

It has taken me 33 months to be able to understand …. I did everything I knew to do at the time. Could I have done more? Probably. Would I do things differently given the chance? I don’t know. I don’t believe that God only gives us what we can handle. I believe my God, gives me the strength to carry the load and the resolve to use my other gifts to figure out another way to carry the load or decide which things I don’t have to carry anymore. I also embraced my belief that forgiveness of self is the hardest. If I could forgive myself then that was all I needed.

I cannot carry the negative any more. I will not. I was a good wife, lover, caregiver…. I did the best I could. I cannot carry guilt anymore. I have nothing to feel guilty about. This will allow me to move through my journey. I will never stop missing my husband. I will love him forever. In order to continue my journey up Grief Mountain, I have to leave the baggage that keeps me stuck in this place. This is necessary for me.

 I am letting go. I will no longer question myself.

I am letting go. I will no longer blame myself.

 I am letting go. I will no longer play Devil’s Advocate to try to justify someone’s behavior.

 I am letting go. I cannot be responsible for someone’s emotions.

I am letting go. Every negative emotion.

I am letting go. I know I was everything I could be with what I knew at the time.

I am letting go. I do not have anything to prove.

I am letting go. I am no longer worried about how long or how I grieve. It is mine.

I am letting go. This is my journey.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yes, I DO still talk to my husband

 

A few weeks ago, I was speaking to a dear friend. She has been through her own losses and asked me how I was getting through my own grief journey. I told her about my good and bad days and the different coping tools I used for each. I started to tell her a story and said “I asked Pete”, she stopped me in mid-sentence.  She asked me if I still talked to Pete. I looked at her and told her of course I did, every day. She asked me if I thought that was healthy. At first I was offended when it occurred to me that maybe she didn’t understand. After all this was my journey, not hers.

I never really thought about it until now. I guess I “assumed” everyone talked to their loved ones who passed on. I spoke to him while he was on earth why would it be different now. I don’t expect a response. My faith taught me that he can hear me and he is watching over me every day. I admit that it would be incredible to hear his voice or to have something tangible happen, but that is not my reason for speaking to him. I speak to my Dad, Mom and Sister in Heaven too.  The last few months of Pete’s life on Earth, he was in and out of it. He would forget that people had visited. Talking to him became soothing to him, I could see it in his face.  He became less agitated. Sometimes I had to repeat myself 4 or 5 times. To me it didn’t matter. I was hell bent on keeping this connection for him. Yes, I do still talk to my husband.

When we first reconnected, our relationship was long distance NY-Florida. I traveled to Florida monthly to spend long weekends with him.  We spent many hours on the phone talking. I changed my cell phone plan. Talking was a big part of our reconnection.  Words were our emotional connection when we were 1500 miles apart. My husband was a paraplegic when we first got back together and as his disease progressed he became a quadriplegic. Conversations became difficult as he struggled to speak. We developed our own “sign” language. Again, talking was an important way for us to connect.  I would read to him and tell stories of my day at work or just even tell him things I was doing around the house. I dresses up in silly outfits and sang pretending to be Elton John. I read condensed stories from Reader’s Digest and his Facebook newsfeed. I read bible verses, short stories and even menus. Keeping the connection… the emotional connection.

In the days following his passing, I found myself calling out to him. I woke up calling his name. In the shower I caught myself asking if he was ok, like I did when he was still on earth. I clearly remember coming home expecting him to be there.  I have caught myself speaking out loud too many times to count.  I still sometimes wake from a dream calling his name. It is amazing to me how the connection is still there.  I have gone to sleep asking his advice,  dreamt of him and woke up feeling that all my questions were answered.

Yes, I do still talk to my husband and I will continue to do so.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Still my husband

It has been two and a half years since my husband was called home to Heaven. During this time, I have been asked many times, by many people if I have begun to move on or move forward with my life. It puzzles me as to what this really means.  The life I had was a WE that suddenly became an I. How does one begin to make that transition­…. HE IS STILL MY HUSBAND.

When someone passes away, it is the death of a person, not the relationship. Your parent does not cease to be your parent when they cross over. Your child will always be your child. A friend remains a friend. My husband is still just that….my husband. Move on­?

I have lost relationships with people I thought I could grieve with. Suddenly and with no reason. I do understand grief and grieving. You cannot do it alone. You cannot schedule it. Some days all I want to do is stay in bed with the letters, cards, receipts, stuffed animals… whatever and cry myself dry. I don’t for my own reasons. Some days my makeup is gone from my face before I get to work from a saline tear bath on the drive in. People who I considered friends have stopped answering the phone when I call. I understand their inability to be supportive, it is about them and not me. How can I not talk about him? He is still my husband.

I am no expert on this topic. Hell, I can only speak from where I have come from so far. Just my opinions really.  Things I have been learning. I am not trying to pass on any special grieving secrets, no magic potions, no short cuts.

I have learned that it is ok for me to keep talking about Pete. I should continue to honor his memory however I choose to. As long as it is healthy and productive FOR ME. I will surround myself with supportive people, environments and memories that will make me feel better. I was married to the person God chose for me, regardless of how long. He is still my Husband.

 

Tissue box

After the sudden passing of my youngest sister and then within months, my husband passed as well, I was carrying around tissue boxes everywhere I went. I began to measure my grief progress by how many boxes I had. The green boxes were for why me,  the blue boxes from my hysterical anger episodes, the pink boxes represented how many times I cried because I loved then both so much and happy memories. My purple boxes were for the times I cried because I felt sorry for myself.  Other colors and patterns were for the sudden outbursts, television commercials, "just checking on  you" phone calls, anniversaries, birthdays and holidays. I kept the empty boxes stacked in a corner in my bedroom. They reminded me of how much I had cried and in a way I was looking for the boxes to decrease which to me, would mean I was progressing in my grief journey.

A very good friend of mine lost her husband about a year after I lost mine. She told me that she gained some inspiration from my tissue boxes. She took her empty boxes and filled them with words written on scraps of paper. Feeling words. Every time she cried, she would write down the word associated with that emotional cleanse. She did this every day for a year. At the end of the year, she took all the words out and divided them. She was shocked to see how many words that represented anger there were. Dispair, Disgust, Frustated, Pissed off, and Really fucking pissed off were just a few of the words she had in that pile. It made sense to me, a "seasoned" widow. My first year was filled with day after day of "why me, why my family" and "what the hell did I do to deserve this??" I felt so guilty for being angry. My friend said that she was inspired by my story of what I was doing to move through the grieving process. I was flattered and still am humbled that my insane way of attempting to deal with my emotional rollercoaster of a life inspired ANYONE.

During the second year, my friend continues to use her tissue box. She tells me that she has already seen a difference in how many happy words she is adding to the box. Now she uses colored paper. She tells me that her pink paper- representing love and happy memories is getting low in the box while the blue (anger) and green (worry, wonder and what the hell am I gonna do now) piles get used, but not as much.

I shared this story with someone I trust very much and told her that maybe I would try writing the emotion I was feeling and the memory or event that caused it. After a year, I would take them out and examine them.

It has been 2 1/2 years since my husband was called home and almost 3 for my sister. I am very vested in making this journey  one that is not just healing, but a learning one as well.

All Fakakta

Fakakta. Great word. Yiddish for "messed up" as well as a few other choice words....

That's how I have been feeling. My husband left this earth almost 2 1/2 years ago. I start to feel a little less sadness and then BOOM it starts all over again. I am beginning to  understand that this is what grief is.

Don't misunderstand me. I don't go a day without crying for his loss. Some days it is unpredictable and others, all I have to do is think of him and then the waterfall starts. It's a good thing I drink so much water or I swear I would be dehydrated. It is exhausting and cathartic at the same time. How is that possible?

I am so happy that my husband is free of pain, suffering and is in a place where he is whole again and able to do all the things he wanted to do while on earth. Selfishly, I want him back with me. Yes, I saw his body slowly being taken over by the Multiple Sclerosis. Yes, I saw his body twist and shrink as his muscles shriveled up. When he was  unable to eat he got thinner and thinner. We had to be so careful not to break his bones when trying to move him or straighten him out when he would have muscle spasms. We would all wear a happy face so that he would not see how much it pained us to see him in this condition. All these things haunt me and I take a deep breath and know that his suffering is over now.

I felt guilty for wanting him to live. Even when he forgot names. A few times he looked at me like a deer in headlights. He really didn't know who I was. I would joke with him and say "you know who I am, it's me the love of  your life". He would tear up and shake his head no and then in a second, he remembered and whispered my name.... Steph. I would tell him "see you DO know  me!" Triumphant for him, and bittersweet for me. Many afternoons were spent crying on the way home from work. I felt sorry for myself. Then I felt guilty for feeling sorry for myself.

What a twisted way to live. This insanity went on for the first year following his passing. I had such conflicting, mixed emotions. I wanted to label each one, put it in a jar on a shelf and open it only when I wanted to. Well that bitch GRIEF would not let me do that. She grabs you by the throat and throws  you into a clusterfuck of emotions. And then just when you think you have it kind of under control, she spins it up again when there is a holiday, anniversary or really sad commercial on TV. I never knew when something--a smell, sound, song, the bark of the dog... whatever, would stir up the tornado of emotions.

I couldn't understand what was going on. I had my verbal one to one's with God. I  yelled and screamed at him. I even got angry at Pete. He just left me. No notice, no great parting words of wisdom. Nothing. Slowly, I started to understand. Everything I was feeling was ok. It was part of the plan. Part of the process. Part of the healing.

Fakakta. Yes, that is how it was and some days it still is. And that is ok.

1 more minute.....

I struggle with whether or not I was a good enough wife, friend, lover, companion or caregiver. I never asked my husband and he never made me feel like I wasn't. Since I was not  home with him when the Big Man upstairs came to bring him home to Heaven, I never got to say goodbye. This haunts me. I wonder if he was scared. Did he suffer? Did he know? What was the last thing he thought of? Did he smile when he saw God?

I have begged, pleaded, bargained and offered to be the best damn spokeswoman for Heaven, if I could have just one more minute. I know exactly what I would do with every nano second of that time. 60 seconds. Try looking in the bathroom mirror and talking for one minute straight. The average person only gets to 47 seconds before they run out of things to say. I dream about this minute. I imagine it. I know what I would do. I would make it the best 60 seconds of my life. 1...2...3...4...5...I just want to be able to look into my husband's eyes one more time.  I want to gaze into his soul. Those beautiful, puppy dog, chestnut brown eyes. The eyes that could melt a glacier, the eyes that captured my heart in 1980.

One more minute.6....7....8....9...10  I would stroke his face with the back of my hand like I did to calm him when he was in pain. One more minute to look at the handsome face of my first, last and everything11...12....13..... I would run my fingers through his hair. I would hug him harder than I ever had before, knowing this would be the last time. One more minute.    28....29........30.....We wouldn't even need to speak. To see him smile, watch him look at me. One more minute.

I would press my cheek to his, close my eyes and imagine us dancing. 31....32......33.......34

35...36...37.. The day he first said I Love You. 38....39....40.....I do and still do. 41....42....43....44....tears because a minute is almost up. 45....46....47.. he holds me close and  when our eyes meet again I see everything he is trying to tell me. Don't be sad, I will miss you more than  you can imagine. 48... 49.... 50... Oh, God, please stay!! Don't go Pete. . 51... 52....53....54....55... I see the pain in his eyes and whisper "I will be fine. I love you too much to ask  you to stay. Be with me every day and let me know you are there."


56...57...58...59... He would gently kiss me and hold me for the last time. His fingers trace my face as I close my eyes and silently beg for him to stay.  When I open my eyes he would disappear from my sight leaving the impression of ever after and forever love on my heart.