Three Years: When Do We Start Feeling Normal?

[KATPILOT]

Mary, I wonder sometimes if I feel better when the tears come. I do know that I accept it now as who I am and it is part of my life. Sometimes at night when something gets me, maybe a movie or a news story, (it doesn't take much) I then fall asleep soon after totally exhausted. Kathy and I used to enjoy watching a funny segment on late night TV so we could go to bed after a laugh. That just doesn't work for me any longer.

But a release it is. That is why I will always live alone. I like the privacy to live in the sorrow at the moment it happens. I feel safe that way., especially after working all day trying to hold it in.

Nice to see your face on your profile.

Stephen

[mfh]

Yes, Stephen, I do understand the need to cry when one wants to cry and not have to explain or defend or postpone the tears. Home is safe.

I have an artist friend who, since Bill died has gone to APT plays with me and because she is currently living several miles away stayed here and we would sit up and talk (or cry). She has seen her own pain...a wounded healer. I never had to hide from her so that worked. I could just be me. Now she is moving here this week into a house walking distance from here (everything in town is walking distance ) and opening an art gallery (at age 82) and teaching art. It will be so good to have her nearby. But with a couple who have stayed here I had to be on guard. Not fun.

I do understand not being able to watch your night show and go to bed laughing...a good way to go to bed...and someday perhaps you will once in a while at least be able to do that...I see those subtle changes in my own life. Be open to them. It is too bad that we can go into our jobs and share our joy and our wonderful feelings of love but when we grieve it become safer to hide those. It is what it is...everywhere and hopefully changing some. I see it sometimes. Peace to your heart, Mary

[melina]

Thanks Mary and Stephen - it helps to know that someone out there understands.

Mary - I didn't know about your anniversary yesterday, sorry. Hope you got through it okay.

Stephen - I think I understand about wanting to live alone. Despite feeling lonely, I think I prefer living alone to trying to adapt to someone else.

Melina

[mfh]

You are welcome, Melina. This year the anticipation of our anniversary seemed almost easy but then Saturday was tough...made it through, of course. We always do. I do understand, believe me.

What is the date of your anniversary?

Mary

[kayc]

Melina, I will be thinking of you as you face your anniversary.

[melina]

Thanks Kay, I appreciate the support of friends here.

Mary - sorry to hear it was a tough day. Sorry for forgetting. I'm not always on this site.

My wedding anniversary is July 9th, and the "other" anniversary is August 5th.

Melina

[HAP]

Dear Melina,

"The other anniversary" is a wonderful way to put it. There is such power in that phrase.

Wedding anniversaries seem to be a major theme here lately. Our 24th will be in September. Threes, sevens, and 12s held special significance of us. On our twelfth anniversary we renewed our vows in a woodland chapel overlooking a river valley in New Hampshire. It was just the two of us, the rocks, the trees, the birds and the chipmunks. Our 21st was our last together and she was already so sick I wondered if we would have it together. That we did is one of many blessings. It was both a three and a seven--for us a singularly important combination. While we planned for our 25th to be a public affair--tradition--we would have renewed our vows again this September. Instead, I think I will try to honor her wishes by finally moving my wedding ring to my right hand. She'd be angry I have not done so before now but it seems the end of the cycle is the appropriate moment for that.

Like you, I have often been struck with grief out of the blue. Part of me looks forward to those moments because they are powerful demonstrations that I am still capable of feeling deep emotion. I can feel happy sometimes, but joy is an alien place I remember from long ago and no longer experience. I've always kept anger at arm's length because it is such a dangerous place for me, but there are times I wish I could experience it again in all its rawness. And while I can love the world and all that is in it deeply and passionately, a platonic like is about all I can manage for individuals. I am frightened of opening that door that leads to the potential intense pain of loss again.

What I hear in your words so often is what I hear in my own: I want this time to be over. I want this ongoing trauma to end. I want to be free to feel again--to love again without reservation or fear, to laugh again without guilt.

It is what our spouses would want for all of us.

As I came up the stairs last night I heard Jane's voice in my head. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know it would be like this. I thought it would be easier."

"So did I," I said. "We were both wrong. Neither of us understood. But we had no choice--and neither of us has anything to apologize for."

Like you, I am exhausted by the process of grief--and like you I am tired of waiting for an end to it. I feel, sometimes, like the characters in Waiting for Godot: I want this to end--I want someone to come along and give me the solution to the problem in front of me. Unfortunately, there is no outside agent who will do this work for us; we have to do it on our own. Our friends can support us but they cannot experience this for us or take away the weight of it in any real way except for short periods of time when we allow them to take us out of ourselves. Those temporary escapes are important--they renew our strength--but they are never more than escapes. They are like weekends away from a job that we hate but that has to be done.

And I believe that eventually it will be done. We will never be the people we were again--this experience has changed us in very significant ways--but we will be able to feel something besides grief again. We will know joy and love and guilt-free laughter again. The fear of those things will slowly dissipate and we will be fully alive and in the moment again. It will sneak up on us and surprise us the way love once did Jane and me.

Patience is not just about waiting--it is about finding the courage to keep moving forward even in the midst of what seems an endless desert. It is about having the faith that even in our darkest hours we are still healing. Human beings are resilient entities but every wound is different. We heal, each of us, in our own way and in our own time. We are, all of us, stronger than we think we are--and capable of far more than anyone believes.

Be well, my friend.

Peace,

Harry

[kayc]

I have had those conversations with George, too. It's weird how naive I was, how blindsided I was by his death, how hugely it impacted me. I don't think anything could have prepared me for that. I, too, think he would be terribly sorry for all I have been through....but he would also be very proud of me for having survived.

[HAP]

Absolutely true, Kay. Absolutely true.

Harry

[mfh]

"And I believe that eventually it will be done. We will never be the people we were again--this experience has changed us in very significant ways--but we will be able to feel something besides grief again. We will know joy and love and guilt-free laughter again. The fear of those things will slowly dissipate and we will be fully alive and in the moment again. It will sneak up on us and surprise us the way love once did Jane and me.

Patience is not just about waiting--it is about finding the courage to keep moving forward even in the midst of what seems an endless desert. It is about having the faith that even in our darkest hours we are still healing. Human beings are resilient entities but every wound is different. We heal, each of us, in our own way and in our own time. We are, all of us, stronger than we think we are--and capable of far more than anyone believes."

Harry, I do agree with so much of what you share. We WILL never be who we were. It is "BBD and ABD" i.e. Before Bill died and After Bill died. My life is now divided. I feel as if I have become a recluse because i am now home and alone so much. I really never kept track of how much I did before Bill got sick and we did so much together that it is hard for me to grasp what is "normal" in terms of my activity level. What I do know is I am alone a lot since April. I think it is good most of the time but feels very strange and emphasizes how alone I am on this planet but also is getting it into my being the reality of my life right now. I keep reminding myself that if I ever find a passion to devote time to, I won't be alone so much. It is just very different for me Bill has been in my life forever and since he died, I have been spending a ton of time with others. April to now...I spend time with me and with Bentley, my pup...I suppose this is a learning situation and yes, I agree, keeping on through the desert, the mountains, the tsunamis, the jungles...even when we have not a clue where we are going or what lies around the next tree or cactus or rock... Not sure i feel stronger....I do feel extremely vulnerable.

[KATPILOT]

Mary I know what you mean when you speak of feeling vulnerable. I've been living alone now for a bit longer and I look back sometimes and see how I have evolved. That person before and the one after are what I understand so very well. I think it took almost two years though it seems like weeks that I began to emerge as the "now" me. I am that soul who has adapted to the reality that Kathy is never going to be here as she was before. I so very slowly came to understand that I had to get busy living, or get busy dying. You have to make that decision eventually. This new way of living demands it. You can't wake up every day with no direction. It will wear you down to your very core. So instead of dying, I stated living. The now me began to embrace itself. I am now her and me. I live to honor her and to do good till I join her. I had nothing better to do anyway right? So I will draw from her strength. I will learn from her actions. I just know there is more I can offer. More I can do to help others. I hate the lonely part but I keep faith that I will join her one day.

I hope one day that peace will find you and all of us who are going through the roughest of times. It's not the light at the end of the tunnel, but those little lights that light our path every step we take.

Stephen

[mfh]

Stephen, I so agree with you. I made the decision to live a while back but have not figured out how yet...i.e. what i want to do that will have meaning. The case of the missing direction. Must have meaning. I do some things now but it is not enough. And it never fails that when I feel like I have been alone here as long as I can be, the phone rings or I call someone. Tonight a friend called who had a stroke and needs someone to run errands for her. She is one of those who is always doing that for others, has cancer, refuses treatment and chooses quality of life and has outlived the prognosis so far. But now a new thing to deal with. The new owner of my publication wants to have breakfast tomorrow and another friend is coming over for a light dinner. By the time I do all that tomorrow, I will be ready for a couple of days of nothing but things around the house. Patience...my big lesson. I do agree with you...we have to decide if we will live as fully as possible with meaning and joy OR give up. I choose to live and like you, honor Bill, with what I do. Until I figure out the direction, however, I will be keeping a low profile and waken without one...unless just making the best of each day is a direction. I do see some things I am interested in once I get some energy and can do things for more than an hour without getting tired. Peace to your heart, Mary

[kayc]

Harry accomplishes great things with his cause, but Mary, you touch so many lives in little ways every day, but oh so needed and important! Unbelievable, how many "friends" you touch lives with!

[mfh]

Harry accomplishes great things with his cause, but Mary, you touch so many lives in little ways every day, but oh so needed and important! Unbelievable, how many "friends" you touch lives with!

Kay, thank you. I really receive far more than I give, believe me. And I am happy to help. Thanks, Kay. I wonder if you know that it takes one to know one...you touch an unbelievable number of lives right here on this forum...let alone in your life away from here.

[HAP]

You both do far more good than I ever will manage. You touch so many individual lives in very personal ways that are far more meaningful than any dollar amount I will ever raise. I am in awe of you both.

Peace,

Harry

[kayc]

Are you kidding? This morning I woke up thinking about you and how much you accomplish and I though you must be 50 or under with all of your energy!

[mfh]

Kay, I do not think Harry is under 50....he is retired and I think he is into his 60s....but with far far far more energy than you and I put together, I believe.

Thanks, Harry...we all do what we do and all of it matters. What you do is amazing and YOU are saving lives....!!!!

[kayc]

I knew he was retired, but my sister retired at 49 so that doesn't hint at age. I guess he's like my younger sister...she works all day and then comes home and paints the fence! Me...I just come home and die.

[HAP]

61, folks. And not feeling very energetic today. Played golf for the first time since the summer of 2009 yesterday. The good news is I can still putt. The bad news is I hit two clubs correctly the entire round. The worse news is my shoulders ache this morning. The worst news is it has triggered a massive tsunami--Jane and I played together regularly, albeit on a different course that has since closed. Argh.

Peace,

Harry

[mfh]

Oh, Harry, I am sorry your venture to the golf course ended in a tsunami...it is so hard to return to those kinds of things.

I am glad, however, that you can still putt...it IS a start

At 61 I would say you are very energetic...but for me...61 seems young

[kayc]

I'm not feeling as young as I used to, I used to have boundless energy! Harry is indeed in a good state for 61, but I'm sorry how your golfing venture went, Harry.

[melina]

It was three years for me on August 5th, and I asked Marty to help me find all my posts from the last three years. She was very helpful, I found them all and I looked through them.

I was going to print them but quickly realized I'd practically be destroying a small forest if I did, so I just copied them to a file and stored them on a flash drive.

I see that I'm not as desperate as I was to begin with, but I'm still stuck in that rut I posted here in April, only slightly worse. I should be thankful that I have my health, my kids, a home, a job, etc. etc, but still I feel as if I'm not really alive and that nothing really matters - just waiting around for life to pass. Putting on a smiling face for work doesn't make me feel any happier and sometimes I wonder how long I can continue this way.

Does anyone feel like this after such a long time?

Sorry for complaining. Wish I wasn't so whiny.

Melina

[HAP]

Dear Melina,

We are all entitled to whine periodically. I'm having that kind of day today. Tomorrow is 32 months since Jane's death and while I need to be doing several things--my Marathon Walk is less than a month off--I am very much having one of those, "What's the point?" days where I want to do nothing but sit in the corner and eat potato chips. It does not help at all that the next two weeks are full of the nightmares of August 2010: the last vacation, the biopsy, the diagnosis, the blood clot, the first hospitalization, the first meeting with an oncologist...

And I understand about putting on the smiling face. I do it for board meetings, with potential sponsors and donors, with the people in the neighborhood... I do it no matter how I feel in public. It is the stoic in me: no one gets to see the pain I feel for the most part. My father's voice is always there: stop blubbering before I give you something to really cry about. I let it out here more fully than I do anywhere else because the people here get it. I let a bit of it out in my other writing and speaking when it will do others some good to hear--when the audience is ready for it.

I made the mistake of watching Sleepless in Seattle the other night. Or maybe it was not a mistake. Maybe it was time I started to confront some new demons. Regardless, there were a couple of lines that described what I am feeling--and what you seem to be feeling. In one scene, Tom Hanks' widowed character talks about forcing himself to get out of bed in the morning, forcing himself to take that first breath every morning--and thinking that someday he will get to the point of just getting out of bed without thinking about it--about breathing without thinking about it. Thirty-two months later I still have days I have to fight my way out of bed--days I still have to remember to breathe. My last conscious thought at night is still, "I miss you." The first fully-waking thought each morning is the same phrase.

People here and elsewhere tell me I am making a difference in people's lives. They are probably right. They tell me Jane is proud of me. They are perhaps right about that as well. And Jane told me before she died that I had made a great and positive difference in her life--in all of it. Intellectually, I've gotten to the point I believe that as well. That emotionally I feel I failed her because I could not save her life at the end--for all that I know logically there was nothing more I could have done, and that, indeed, I gave her what she wanted--I seem unable to change. Every day--though some days more than others--I relearn the thing my father said the night Jane died: there is nothing anyone can say or do that will make this loss feel any better.

Time and distance have eased the pain--or at least made me more capable of dealing with it and still functioning. Like you, I am not so desperate as I was at the beginning. I am thankful for my health, that I have a comfortable place to live, that I have friends who are willing to put up with me even if they cannot truly understand, most of them, what this is like. I am thankful that I am able to make a difference in the lives of others nearly every day and that I have work on several fronts that is important and useful and meaningful.

I even have moments where I am again fully alive and fully focussed on what I am doing in the way I once was before that horrible summer and fall of 2010 devoured everything. I suspect you have those moments as well--though they may be so fleeting that you quickly forget they were there--that is frequently the way they are for me. Life is stirring in us all--moistened sometimes by our tears, sometimes by the tears of others, sometimes by the wet lips of a dog or a cat, sometimes by a walk in a brief summer rain or the notes of a song or a line from a poem or play or film. Sometimes we can only sense it in a sudden burst of laughter or the slow smile that creeps relentlessly across our faces at the sight of hummingbirds at play or a dragonfly coming to rest on a tiny blade of grass or a baby praying mantis scurrying for cover when the weed it has been sitting on is disturbed.

That those things sometimes trigger grief simultaneously with joy when there is no one to share it with is a symptom not only that our hearts have not fully healed but also that the healing has truly begun. Healing, according to my friends who have gone through knee and hip operations, is often every bit as painful as the initial injury. They swear at the pain their physical therapists inflict on them. Our ongoing pain--even at this distance from our greater loss--is, then, not only a sign of the deep love we have experienced, but also is evidence of our healing.

I am in no way ready to pursue new romance as the character in the film is--I likely never will be. He says at one point that once you have been so lucky as to find "the one" there is no realistic chance of finding that magic again. Hollywood decreed otherwise for the purposes of the film--and I know people who have had lightning strike twice. But I will be more than happy to simply live fully again. I am not there yet. I don't think any of us are. A heart--a life--takes longer to heal than a knee or a hip--sometimes a lot longer. We must be patient with ourselves.

I hope this helps you with your healing. Writing it seems to have lightened my own mood.

Peace,

Harry

[MartyT]

Harry, your beautiful writing ~ and your continued presence here ~ is a priceless gift, for which I am very, very grateful . . . ♥

[HAP]

Dear Marty,

Thank you. But where else would anyone be able to understand me?

Harry