Today I am Ok But Not Everyday

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Usually I would write a blog post separate from my personal blog for Widows Voice. However this week has been a rough one, we all have them. Rather than write a totally new post I want to share a post I wrote earlier in the week that shows the dark side of grief. The side that most feel they need to hide.

I want to tell you, it’s ok to not be ok!

So today I am ok, but not that day.

That day emotions ran wild and it felt as though I was thrown back into December. To the month that shattered the world as I knew it. That day I was not ok, but that’s ok!

That day I hurled breakable possessions at walls, I screamed at the top of my lungs with no one around to hear. That day I tore the house apart, I stared at my broken reflection and watched tears fall from blood shot swollen eyes. That day I wanted to die.

That day I was angry that I have to be here, that day there was so much pain. Digging nails into my flesh and pulling at my hair, I screamed for him to take the pain away.

Does he hear me yell “when are you coming home?” and cry “how much longer will you be?” 

That day I stared at a knife on the kitchen bench and thought “I ‘am so gutless!”. That day I felt defeated. That day I was exhausted. Every day is spent wishing he were here, but that day was much more than wishing. That day I felt beaten.

Every day, he is everywhere but nowhere.

In that moment, on that day, I tried to calm down so I took a shower. But the water didn’t scald my skin the way I wanted it to. I felt desperate, as though I physically wanted to burn. My heart raced so fast and I wished it would just stop beating. Before December, never could I of imagined what it felt like to actually feel so much heart ache that you long for the day it’s all over.

Today I know what it feels like to wake and wish I’d never opened my eyes.

That day I could not find my smile. That day I was simply existing in darkness and longing. That day I felt weak.

Afraid of myself and terrified to be alone, that day I wanted to be rescued. Most days I am merely fragmented pieces of the person I once was and that day my knight was nowhere to be found. No matter how loud I cried for him, how much my heart bled for him, I know he is never coming home.

That day I did not feel encouraging, that day I only felt empty. Parts of me forever missing because I miss out on him.  That day I felt the need to confess to the world the chaotic mess in my mind, because I know I am not alone in this chaos.

There are days that we don’t believe the sun is going to shine. And it’s perfectly normal to feel this way, because we have each lost the brightest parts of our lives. People ask, how are you doing? But we don’t answer truthfully because we know only few really care. And even fewer understand.

Society doesn’t like to hear about the dark side of grief but it needs to be heard. The weight of carrying it alone at times gets far too heavy.

There are days that we crumble no matter how sturdy our walls may look. Days that we do not possess the strength and the fight to make it through alone. Days where we need someone to draw our sword for us and fight the battle with us. Days that the silence becomes to deafening but just the sound of another’s presence allows us to hear with clarity again.

Not every day, but some days…

So my plea is this. If the person reading this is a friend of someone grieving, one of the few who care, do not wait for them to reach out to you. Please try to notice their pain. Know they are not ok and it’s ok for them to not be ok.  The grief of losing the love of your life is all consuming. It does not end. Not after three months, or six months or a year. Grief will always be there.

If you receive a message that may only read, what are you doing today? Please do not ignore it.

No one should ever have to grieve alone. Sending love and strength to all on this journey.

Today I am ok.  


Showing 11 reactions

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  • commented 2018-06-03 23:57:23 -0700 · Flag
    This was amazing and so comforting to read. I pray every night that it will be my last day I will have to feel the pain and sorrow I am constantly feeling. And each morning I wake up to find I have to do it all over again. I’m successful at work and I’m able to fend the agony off for some hours, only to have it hit me at various times and especially when I get home. My family and friends have gone on with their lives in their worlds while my world is hell. My world crumbled 4 months ago after my own battle with cancer, I got the all clear and felt joy and love and peace that I had made it through my trial of life and we felt strong together. We got closer and knew that nothing could break us in life. We were warriors and after 10 years together we set a date to get married and we’re on the top of the world. Then the night we booked our honeymoon and I was about to get my fairy tale, he went to sleep and he was gone. Just like that. And every night I scream for him. We won! We beat cancer. We beat death. Except we didnt. And I’m NOT OK. And this post, for the first time, makes me feel like it’s OK that I’m not OK.
  • commented 2018-05-11 09:48:13 -0700
    Your post made me feel like what I was experiencing is normal. It’s been almost two months since he died and a couple of weeks ago I became fed up with asking for help. I would feel guilty reaching out, not being able to do it, to clean my laundry or make myself something decent to eat. I had hundreds of people tell me to reach out and they would do whatever they could. I was wary to but eventually, I stared calling and asking if someone could come over even just to be there with me as I did my own laundry. Someone to make the house feel less lonely so I didn’t stare off into space or try and distract myself with movies. Every time I asked, I was told if I was lonely, I could go to their house because they were busy. I was told today was a bad day but then, they never offered an alternative either. After a week of this, I started feeling like I was being judged for not having it together after a month of my young husband being dead. I became angry and wrote a post telling people my husband just died, I shouldn’t be the one needing to reach out all the time. Of course I was not okay. I should be getting phone calls and people stopping by but instead it’s always silent. When I do reach out, I feel scared and when I get turned away, even more desperate and alone. I thanked those new to me who had been around and told everyone this was meant to help them try and understand so that in the future, if they know someone going through this, it’s important they reach out. That they try and call once a week and just check in. Of course, my post was met with backlash. I was told I was not handling it well or gracefully. That it was wrong of me to try and guilt and shame people into my life. Honestly, it just made me aware of how much I miss my husband, my champion, who supported me through everything.
  • commented 2017-11-16 17:57:30 -0800
    It is 8.5 months. I am not okay. I don’t see any path to ever being okay.
    I have put one foot in front of the other with the hope I would one day walk out of this fog and find myself in the world again. I seem to have only two states of being, zombie-like lack of connection or feeling to anything, or unbearable sorrow.

    I think I was an incomplete person before I met my husband. For 40 years, he made me better than I was alone. We were good for each other. Now, my better half, is gone. Sometimes it is so hard just to breathe, and I have less and less interest in trying.

    I don’t know that I will survive the loss of my husband. That might be okay.
  • commented 2017-06-06 08:04:10 -0700
    Thanks for posting this. My hubby has been gone 2 months. When I keep busy and around others, I seem to be ok. But… when alone in the house it’s almost unbearable. I miss him so much. So, your post lets me know that others feel the same way. I hate this.
  • commented 2017-06-04 09:43:29 -0700
    I broke down in tears as I was reading this because this is exactly the way I feel. It is only two months April 9th that I lost my best friend. I know people hear that a lot but he truly was my best friend. Someone I could sit down with and talk to for hours and hours. We laughed so hard as we both have such a great sense of humor. I miss that as I spend so much time alone now. Don’t now where I am headed but my dear Lionel told me he would watch over me before he lost his ability to communicate. I can’t wait to see your face and smile again some day.
  • commented 2017-01-10 02:31:05 -0800
    Hi Kaiti.. Crying while reading your blog. I just lost my husband before Christmas and your post is what I am going through each day of my life. It’s too painful and I will never be the same person as I was before.
  • commented 2016-09-06 18:26:02 -0700
    There will be days that we fall backwards and days that we take a leap forward. As long as we hold hope, we will get through. Sending hope and strength to all.
  • commented 2016-09-06 03:57:54 -0700
    Hello Kati,
    I stumbled upon your blog this morning… It hit home and hit me right in the forehead.
    I am only a little over two months into this travel, and today is not a very good day.. In fact it is starting out to be a day in which I am stepping back three or four steps…
    I will take a deep breath, face the grief and try to let it pass right through me. It is part of my life, but it is not the whole of my life.
    Thanks for posting and helping me set my perspective
    Blessing, Peace and Hope for all that our hurting this day… Mark
  • commented 2016-09-03 18:20:22 -0700
    My husband used to always say “I’m ok, you’re ok, we’re ok” whenever we’d have a problem, or disagreement. After he died I wanted to scream this is NOT ok. I am not ok. The inclusiveness of us being ok, together, was just gone. It’s taken me 3.5 years to realize it’s ok when I’m not ok, but most days are getting better. One day at a time.
  • commented 2016-09-03 17:44:26 -0700
    Today, I’m okay too. Not always but today, yes. Grateful.
  • commented 2016-09-03 17:27:02 -0700
    I understand. I am 4 years out and the screaming, crying part is pretty much gone. But I will never be the same without him.
    My family brings a smile to my face. And of coarse my faith.