So I’ve been looking through early blog posts and reflecting.
Boy, oh boy was I kidding myself.
I made grief sound like a walk in the park on a spring day with bees buzzing, flowers blooming, baby bunnies hopping, and everything was turning up sunshine. There was even soft, comforting music playing in the background.
I was writing from my heart, but always wanted to end everything on a positive note. Probably because I wanted to convince myself that I was going to feel hopeful again.
No wonder my kids were worried about me.
I was a train wreck.
In reality, grief is like being in a rowboat in the middle of the ocean during a category 5 hurricane- winds and waves whipping from all sides with the eye of the storm nowhere in sight- and that’s just the first week.
Really, honestly, the only thing I really remember from the blur of the first week is that I cried 24/7, couldn’t sleep, could barely eat, and everybody was hovering.
Hovering. Made me even crazier.
Then everyone goes home and life resumes.
What the hell is life supposed to look like anyway? My love just died. How am I supposed to function? Go back to work? How to keep from crying whenever a patient asks me how my husband is doing? What am I going to do when I get home? Be alone all the time? All of these questions were in my head – screaming in my head – while I was going through the motions trying to keep from crying every minute of every day.
Everyone was so proud of me, said I was doing so well. But inside I was drowning. I wanted to be alone. I had difficulty being with more than three or four people at a time. I couldn’t sleep. I wasn’t hungry. Friends called to check up on me, but I didn’t want to burden them.
And then I was writing bucolic words about grief, pain, and how everything was going to be okay… eventually. I wanted to believe it too- just like everyone else seemed to.
Everyone except my son, daughter, and close friends who were worried about me – and called – incessantly. Called me out on my farce too. Man was I upset at them – how dare they ask me if I needed to see a therapist. Ha. I had myself convinced that I was okay.
Then another unaware angel came into my life. One who lost her husband a few years ago. She gave me a stack of books that included this book: Permission to Mourn, By Tom Zuba. (Disclaimer- I do not know the Author personally and receive no financial benefit by mentioning his work). But I must tell you, that this one book changed my entire outlook on grief and living after devastating loss. It validated what I was feeling. It literally saved my life. Even now, more than six months out, I still open it when I feel like I’m going underwater. I could never, ever thank Mr. Zuba enough for putting himself out there. The book helped me so much that I’ve sent many copies to friends and loved ones who are also grieving.
You didn’t really think I could write without going down a rabbit hole, did you?
Sorry (or not sorry) to be so real.
To be continued…
195 & 7/365 XO Lisa