I've Finally Found Something Perfect

Ryan was not a fan of tattoos, though he never stopped me from getting another. And I tried my best to be tasteful about it. I understand that part of my journey for survival is going to include doing something that I need to do regardless of the thoughts or considerations of my Sweetie.

I found the most beautiful and perfect memorial tattoo that I'd like to do. It came up initially on Pinterest and I tracked from their to tumblr where it was linked to a user Luster who interestingly enough is a Kelsi... Same as his beautiful sister. What are the odds?

Ryan loved van Gogh. His only interest in visiting Amsterdam on a trip to Europe (shortly before we met) he told me was to visit the museum there. I know what you're thinking -- "ha, yeah right, it's Amsterdam" -- but you don't know this guy like I do :)

I was quick to proclaim that on future vacations where he wanted to visit an art museum I would happily go with him - but that my time spent in there was capped out at 2 hours and then I'd be running off to a natural history museum or botanical gardens while he enjoyed the rest of his tour through the galleries in peace. I just don't "get" art. I can appreciate that it looks like a lot of work and understand a story behind the piece if first told "oh, ok, I get it..." but wandering for hours or meditating at a few solo pieces is not my cup of tea. And that's ok because it was his and I was happy to share short moments of that with him and then head out to retain my sanity.

On our bedroom wall hangs a replica of Starry Night. I've spent the last few weeks meditating on a solo piece of art. Much longer than I thought I would ever take time to consider something. I've read up on van Gogh as an artist, his style, personal life. The one thing everyone remembers is the claim he cut his ear off and that he was deranged.

Starry Night represents the turmoil seen in the sky set against a very defined world below. Straight lines and simple drawings are captured amongst the "normal ones" asleep while the world rages in the sky above them. Many other fine points are captured and I can relate to (now) in the painting. If there's one place I will travel to this year it's NYC...Ryan always wanted to go so I will take him with me and I intend to sit in MOMA and meditate on the turmoil that my life has become within the normalcy of the rest of the world.

I miss you Sweetheart, with every last breath. I understand your struggle.

Glimpse at Grief

This week wrapped up in a photo:

I think people are confused sometimes thinking a breakdown or

"grief attack"/emotional episode is what grief actually is. They really can't

know, but that's not in any way what it's like. That's the teaser

trailer of grief. Real grief is much much worse. 

I am very much missing your hugs this week. It's rough.
I just want your arms wrapped around me and you telling me it's going to be ok.

Three-in-one

I sat in a group therapy today. I listened to people share losing their estranged brother, their parent, and their friends. I could only sit there numb.

In a single day I lost my best friend - who I shared frustrations and secrets with. My #1 confidant. The person that knew when I was girl-cramping and brought chocolate over.

In the same day I lost a parent - the person in life that's takes care of you when you're sick and tells you everything is going to be ok. That gives you advice and helps you through problems that you just don't know how to tackle.

It gets worse. I lost my fiance - the man who I laid next to and looked into his eyes and promised I'd take care of him. Who I told whether things were good or they were bad ---- I loved him regardless. The man whose bucket list item was to deliver our child, or maybe all 4 of them.

I lost Ryan on January 13. I lost multiple people at once all wrapped up in a solo package...the single most important person in my life. He was my best friend and my caretaker, my lover. He was the person I wanted when it was a good day or a bad day, when I heard a good joke, when I was sick or hurting. He was the person whose life I wanted to make easier, whose feet and back I wanted to rub and who I relied on and who depended also on me.

The anniversaries are hard but so is every day in between then. He was my Every Day - from morning wake up call to getting to be little spoon as we passed out and everything in between, I'm reminded nearly every second of the day that he isn't here. I still expect him to show up; I do honestly hope for it down deep. It's pointless, I know, because I lost my life almost 3 months ago. It's why I ask myself everyday why I'm even still here; it really doesn't feel like there is life after loss like this.

Nailed It

I've copied posts from the folks at What's Your Grief? before and ran across a moderately humorous but spot on "Grief & Loneliness" post which really needs no additional commentary:

The shift caused by significant loss can lead you to feel more isolated than you’re accustomed to. While you try to adjust to life in the wake of major change, it’s business as usual for those around you and it’s easy to feel cut off from family and friends, left out, alienated and misunderstood.  Not to mention, many people intentionally isolate due to feelings of anger, sadness, mistrust, helplessness, anxiety, and depression.  Grief and loneliness go hand in hand for a number of reasons but I’ll name just a few…

• The person who died was one of your closest confidants or best friends.

• Your friends stop calling because they feel uncomfortable and don’t know what to say.

• Your partner has died and everywhere you go you feel like a 3rd, 5th, or 7th wheel.

• You don’t feel like those around you are tolerant of your grief.

• Every interaction you have is filled with superficial condolences.

• You don’t want to leave the house because you’re tired of making everyone else feel better about the death.

• You don’t want to leave the house because you’re tired of having to reassure everyone you’re doing okay.

• You don’t want to leave the house because you’re afraid something will trigger your grief and you’ll become emotional in public.

• The things that used to seem important now seem pretty unimportant.

• You don’t feel like you have anyone to really talk to.

• People are pushing you to feel better and you don’t want to admit you still feel bad.

• You don’t want to admit you’re lonely.

• You don’t care.

• You’re struggling with anxiety or depression.

• An illness or disability makes it difficult to get out of the house without your deceased loved one.

• You can’t possibly think of where you would go.

I think so many people are also confused by what grief actually is such that seeing an emotional release or agreeing to go out, even if it's the only time the entire dang week, leads them to believe that you're "doing ok". This awfulness (for lack of any real word) - it's not an event or a single place in time. It's this modification of all things life - from staring at a wall at 2:45 in the morning to begging your phone to show a missed text or call from him to realizing the only thing I've eaten is a thing of yogurt and not really caring anyways. To hurting every. single. time. I go out and do anything or getting reminded of what no longer "is" by triggers throughout the day. It's the thoughts and feelings inside your head that sometimes stay trapped and other times manifest. It's knowing that it's bad but knowing that it will get worse. It's a loss of his life and mine. Looking back on the previous weeks and recognizing that even attempts at self care were pointless: I go for a run and am overwhelmed with hopes that a car will jump the curb and I won't have to worry any more, it's buying a ticket to a concert and then having a break down the night before and selling the ticket on Craigslist because there's no way I can go, it's leaving a movie early and deciding to never go back because there's too much to deal with in a 2 hour movie that should have been "safe". It's lying every single day that things are ok.

Wordless Wednesdays: Never the Same

The Vacuum

Yesterday's Show. Ryan planted for me last year.

There is this odd phenomenon that happens to a person after a loss.

Everyone wants to rush in immediately after when you're confused and hurting and stressed and they want to just "be there" for you. They make promises at the funeral that they'll be there and maybe check in by phone or text a week after and then *POOF* everyone disappears. There's this massive vacuum staring you right in the face every single day. You're Every Day is gone and so is everything else.

You lose friends.
No one wants to talk about the one you lost. They change the subject, ignore your comments or skip over you in group conversation. And it's super freaking obvious.

Promises are broken.
"Call if you need anything"
"Let me know how I can help"
"Rain check"
"I'll call you"
"Maybe next week"
Everyone tells the grieving person these things, but sooner or later (and I've been surprised how soon is sooner...) people you found the strength to reach out to wait a few days before responding to texts for coffee or dinner and (understandably so) they always have plans to do something else - always. Just don't lie to me about that.

I checked my phone one week and realized there were 3 people that had called me. And each one of them called because I had said something in text first that had started the conversation. Talk about a great feeling.

No one "gets" it.
The body language and the response to admitting you've lost a lot of weight, that you can't imagine disconnecting his phone, that no, you're just. not. hungry... it's why we stop talking and sharing things. Thoughts and feelings begin to be internalized (not good) and we're constantly spot checking whether we're "crazy" or not. I don't feel crazy. I feel hurt - very very hurt.

There's nothing more isolating than realizing everyone else's life is going on as usual. 

There's nothing more frustrating than watching the eyes dart and people shift in their seats when I say "Ryan" in a sentence. Ryan planted this beautiful rose bush in the yard last year because he said he was going to be buying so many flowers for me that it would be more economical to have them on-hand.

Rose bush planted with help from the supreme digger.

What people don't get is that I've already got the constant reminders - from the time I wake up to the time I pass out - that he is gone. No one calls to wake me up, there are no sweet texts and "checking in" during the day. The phone never goes off anymore. The one person I want to call when I see something funny, run across an inside joke, have a bad day, have a good day, am sick or hurting, need a hug....that sweet wonderful man is gone. Not just my future but my present is unrecognizable.

I DON'T CARE if talking about someone that died makes you uncomfortable. Chances are, if I'm talking to you about him, it's because you knew him too. Pretending like it's "business as usual" does nothing but further alienate someone that is grieving. Changing the subject to talk about something as trivial as the weather or the newest pair of shoes you bought or any number of other nonsense is not being helpful. All we expect is that our friends and family and the people around us are good listeners. We would expect that if our loved one was still alive? So why has that changed now? Listen and respond.

What Not To: Circumstantial Treatment

If your mom/wife/sister/daughter dies of breast cancer, most people understand if you then make it part of your routine to do Komen Race for the Cure every year. It's ok to learn more about childhood leukemia, to do ice bucket challenges for ALS, or to rally and speak out against secondhand smoke/cigarettes contribution to lung diseases.

If your sweetheart dies from suicide, everyone treats you completely different. They caution you to not think about it and push you to move away from anything related. They expect that there is nothing therapeutic that can come from making the problems of mental health or suicide a new part of the loved one's journey. Why?

It's not embarrassing; It's not cowardice; It's not any different than communicating a death by car accident or disease. My Darling had no more control over his death than someone that wrecked a motorcycle or had a stroke.

Not for a single day have I been upset at Ryan because of the way he died. And I never will. I honestly can't understand how you could be mad at someone that dies by suicide. It is agonizing to experience only short glimpses of the anguish that he must have felt in the final hours and minutes. My heart aches to know that he was tormented so intensely.

If you feel the need to ask someone how their loved one died, be prepared to offer condolences regardless of the conditions. Whether a MVC, medical condition, suicide, overdose, etc. when we lose someone important in our lives, there is a unique and horrible experience that will follow called grief.

**I miss taking care of you: laundry and trimming the scraggly hairs from the back of your neck between haircuts and making sure your deodorant and soap is always well stocked**

What No One Tells You: It Gets Worse

Oddly enough I ran across a "What would you tell your younger self about grief" post on WYG just an hour after posting. (http://www.whatsyourgrief.com/what-would-you-tell-your-younger-self/)

"Time heals all things"

"Just give it time, things will get better"

Closing in on 3 months and I can say with absolute certainty, at this point, it doesn't get better with time. I was lucky enough to float through a solid 2 weeks that were absolutely my period of shock.

Shock is great. It allowed me to get up at the service to deliver a eulogy. It's great because it let me take care of my mother-in-law who was an absolute wreck. It allowed just enough clarity to try keeping things in order and to experience things without breaking that I doubt I could now.

But it wears off. Grief gets worse. Day 1 was awful but it is far from the worsWith time you gain the ability to reflect back on the things that you experienced, to relive the event itself and to start processing what you saw and heard and what happened. And it's awful.

I know what I thought and felt at week 1, week 2, month 1... I have a morbid running count of days I haven't seen my Sweetie: 79 days today. It becomes overwhelming because I know how I feel now and I know that I have the buffer of denial still. Depression is still down the road. If there's a worse to come, how the heck do I deal with that? I had assumed in the immediate days after that maybe putting something on the schedule to "enjoy myself" in April, May, or over the summer would give me enough time. I can't believe I'm this far and at the same time so short. I can't imagine attempting to enjoy life on a vacation or adventure in the next month or the next 2, 3 or 6 months even.

Losing Ryan froze my life.

Maybe time applies to a much longer period. Or maybe those are just stupid catch phrases used by people that have never experienced loss.