Grief is like a roller-coaster, sometimes you are up and sometimes you are down. There is no actual manual on how to navigate all this. There are resources to help you with it, but everyone deals with things differently.
I feel like this roller-coaster of grief is tricky. I feel like I have made great progress in moving forward with my grief, but I still feel stuck. Before my husband passed away, I always knew what I wanted. I had a good career, I married the man of my dreams, I was blessed with a child, and things seem to be in order in my life. Everything I strived for, I got through hard work and dedication. Then my life blew up, and I just don’t know what direction to take.Read more
I struggle to sleep at night.
I have flashbacks of the horrific images of how my husband’s body was left.
I miss the love of my life every day.
It’s hard for me to trust.
It’s painful to see his things all over the house, but I cannot bear to take them down.
I miss feeling loved, protected and cared for.
I miss feeling like I was someone’s everything.Read more
The change in the air from humid to crisp, warm to slightly cool - puts a loud ringing bell on your death - as I ready myself for my birthday, then your birthday, Halloween, our wedding anniversary, Thanksgiving, our proposal anniversary, Christmas, and then ringing in another new year without you.
This time of year filled with holidays and family and love and my favorite weather and atmosphere, leaves way for a big red button on your forever absence - a button I'm forced to push again and again and again, letting off sirens of being left here on Earth alone, without my person. A future without you still frightens me, as panic and anxiety curl their way back into my bed each night, grabbing the blankets and stealing my sleep.Read more
This is what I wonder. And I wonder this even though my career was in grief support and I led groups and replied to this very same wondering from so many people who graced my groups.
Will I ever feel engaged in life again? Will I ever find passion for life again? And energy? Will I ever not feel that I am living without him and therefore I just don't really care about life? Will I ever care that I have a future and not cringe from even thinking about that future because what it means is that I have a long life to live without him?
I know, I know, I know, that there is no time frame for grieving. There are so many variables to it for each person. But I'm so exhausted. So very exhausted. Living without him takes every bit of energy I ever thought I had in my body.Read more
I am crying tonight, because Joan Rivers has died.
I did not know her. I have never met her. She was not my friend.
But something, many things actually, about her, resonated with me - and so I felt this unspoken kinship with her. Female. Comedian. Widow. Those are all me. Those are all Joan. As a woman, I identified with and respected like hell her ability to be such a fierce lioness in the world of Hollywood and comedy, and her almost insane discipline and work ethic. She was probably the hardest working woman, or maybe even person, in show business. As a comedian, I identified with her courageous and edgy material, and her natural way of taking something tragic or horrible, and somehow using the darkness to find the funny. As a widow from sudden death, I understood the way that losing someone in a flash, changes every cell inside you, forever. In Joan's case, her husband Edgar, ended his own life. Somehow, incredibly, Joan was able to simultaneously make dark and thought-provoking jokes about the suicide (always putting herself as the punchline), and also be a voice and an advocate over the years for those who have lost all hope. I found this quote from her tonight, and it stuck with me for so many reasons:
"Edgar was gone. Melissa wasn’t talking to me, my career was in the toilet, I’d lost my Vegas contracts, I’d been fired from Fox. Carson and NBC had put out such bad publicity about me. I was a pariah. I wasn’t invited anywhere. I was a non-person. At one point, I thought, 'What's the point? This is stupid.'
What saved me, was my dog jumped into my lap. I thought, 'No one will take care of him.' I had the gun in my lap, and the dog sat on the gun. I lecture on suicide because things turn around. I tell people this is a horrible, awful dark moment, but it will change and you must know it’s going to change and you push forward. I look back and think, 'Life is great, life goes on. It changes.'"
I don't really have any words this week.
I miss my husband more than any words can convey.
The more time passes, the more months go by, the more deeply embedded his absence from my life becomes.
If I were to write a full blog this week, it would consist of I miss you, I miss you, I miss you over and over and over again.Read more
I felt safe with Chuck. Emotionally. Physically. Every way. I knew that if a situation arose, he could handle it. I felt protected in a way I'd never felt in my first marriage. My well-being was first and foremost in his mind. His military training was in his blood and he'd run through "what if" situations with me so that I could plant responses in my head, but I always knew, if he was around, he'd ensure my safety.
He died and all sense of safety flew out the window. I was out in southern California, no family or friends around, with our community all the way back on the East coast. The only way to get there was to drive. Mapping that out, routing it out, left me paralyzed with fear. Thank all the stars in heaven, his sister road-tripped with me for a good part of the way and took over with those details.
As heartbroken as I am about the death of Robin Williams, I am not entirely shocked. Not entirely. I recall about 4 or 5 months ago maybe, seeing him as a guest on some late night talk show. (cannot remember which one) I remember distinctly thinking to myself that he looked exhausted, withdrawn, and old. Not old in the way that he got gray hair or wrinkles, but old in the way that life had beaten him up one too many times. He was coming up with insane one-liners and jokes like always, but his eyes looked vacant to me. He looked lost and in slower-motion than normal. I remember just silently thinking to myself: “He seems sad.” Then, about a month or two ago, I remember reading that he had checked himself into a rehab facility, “for precautionary reasons.” Everyone was saying good for him and all that, and it was – but I just felt like something was off. Like it was the beginning of the end somehow.Read more
You can't see me.
I am an amorphous spirit living within the physical body of the woman I used to be.
I'm not really here.
The mute button has been activated and what you (the world) sees is a woman who wears a lot of pink, who drives a pink car, towing a pink-trimmed trailer around the country. Perhaps, I think to myself, this pink, my mourning color, is also to ensure that people see me when I feel I've disappeared.Read more
to those of us left behind
standing amidst the ashes that remain
atop the skeletons of our lives and ourselves.
to those of us left behind
who struggle with unseeing eyes blinded by grief
and limbs made heavy with exhaustion
and shattered souls