What Now?

When the loneliness and fear invades

And I am too weak to care for myself

When I stand back to view the woman curled fetal

And hate everything I see about her

How do I survive?

She sits there now

A person once so strong and life-filled

Now an indiscernible wreck; dependent on others

Turning to the bottle to forget

But first has to travel the road to remembering

How does she survive?

When I want someone to take care of me

If only the focus for a night

But cannot pursue that evening of reprieve

Without sacrificing my pride

I’m not one to accept one-time use

Built to first require trust and connection

How do I survive nowadays with those demands?

It’s on those days and weeks

I’m reminded that right now

There is little value in a person so broken

Fragile enough that a single comment or joke

Can unlease months of self-doubt and reminders stowed away

How do I survive under these feelings of worthlessness?

I ask who do I still trust?

I ask why do I still share?

I ask how did I fail so badly

The one I loved wholeheartedly

To arrive here in the first place?

I ask what is so wrong with me?

I ask where do I go now?

I’ve told myself that I will establish no timeline

That I do not need to search but rather remain open to being found

But I am searching; to survive I must find comfort and reprieve

I must find the feeling again of being valuable to another

Something easy enough to tell myself, but so hard to believe.

Each of you have soothed your conscience with rehearsed words

At the expense of the weakest one here

A memorial service provided you “closure”

But did nothing to soothe the agony for the one

That stood by him even when that grown man looked at her

And in pain said “I don’t want you”

She stayed, though lashed out in frustration at times

Loved him; Helped him; Sacrificed for him. 

You have returned to your routines

You have continued to pursue your happiness and pleasures

You have declared yourself at peace

Night after night I have sat mostly forgotten but bathed in empty promises.

I am incapable of focus, unable to multitask, strained to remember the most recent past

I challenge myself and if I succeed it still leaves me exhausted as never before

I obviously lack discernment

I ask for honesty and have done nothing but give the same

In that I repeatedly opened myself up to silence and hurt I cannot handle.

Perhaps the road I go now is to continue the path I’ve been on before

With Abandonment the only companion at my side

Perhaps now I recognize that I have just two choices

To thrive alone or to die falling short in my attempt

I don’t know what tomorrow brings

Let alone the next day, month, or years

I was just trying to survive one day at a time

To grasp happiness when it appeared to me by surprise

I don’t know when the fog will lift

When discernment and focus and passion will return

I don’t know whether opportunities even await

Or when more pain and disappointment will be introduced.

I wish to simply be in control

But I can control no one’s thoughts or actions

He’d still be here if I could

I’d have replaced memories a decade long of saving others

And longer of feeling as a bargaining chip and not a son

I’d have captured the hauntings and tortures of his mind

And replaced them with calm: with a warm beach and peaceful water

We were going to physically share it together

A reprieve from the demons

A promise never kept and memories lost forever.

It’s time to shut my mind to others

It’s time to retreat to a distance

It’s time to busy myself to provide excuses

To pretend that I’m occupying my time

With (empty) events in the presence of strangers

And to mitigate the time left to a churning mind

Obsessed in my thoughts

“Why wasn’t I enough?”

“Why am I not enough?”

It’s time to remove honesty from my tongue

It wasn't wanted in the first place.

Perhaps then I regain control

Over a life that has been long void of just such.

Letters to Ryan: What You Taught Me

Good morning Sweetheart,

Someone asked me once “What did Ryan teach you?”

I had to think about that before I answered but the reality is you taught me a lot of little things. Many of them goofy. Some of them incredible.

§  You taught me that people still use the word “rad”

§  You taught me how good the Chargers are at messing up
§  You taught me how to eat salsa and break the chips into pieces to get more salsa/chip ratio

§  You taught me how to surf boogey board

§  You taught me how to make a kick ass steak marinade

§  You taught me why men buy baby wipes (eww…)

§  You taught me how to be playful in a relationship and how to giggle like a kid again as you chased me around the house with that look in your eye as I was playfully fighting you off in the middle of cooking dinner

§  You taught me to get back up, even if my pride is bruised and my butt hurts from falling really hard a few times even on the bunny slopes

§  You taught me how special I was to you when you walked on the outside of the sidewalk, opened my car door on date nights and randomly elsewhere (try as I might to fight this…)

§  You taught me how good your touch feels: rubbing my arm, walking up behind me and putting your chin on my shoulder and your arms around my waist, interlacing fingers, resting your hand on my thigh…

§  You taught me to walk a belligerent patient to the ambulance with your hand gripping/supporting the back of their right arm so you have better control of the situation and decrease the chance of them being able to get a good swing at you.

What I told the person that asked me was “Ryan taught me how wonderful it is to be with someone that will put your needs before theirs. And he taught me how amazing it really feels to do the same for them.” I shared that conversation we had last year when I sat down with you over dinner and I said “Sweetie, I know our 5-year plan had me going back to school first, getting my degree and then you leaving and going back to school. I want you to know that I think you need to get out. I think the plan has changed and it needs to be about you. Because I don’t want to be in my job forever – I don’t want to stay in government, I want to get back to research and medicine – but I don’t hate my job and it’s not wearing me out and we need to take care of you. So if that means going back to school or quitting…now you can’t sit at home all day and play video games…but I will support you, even financially.” And Ryan, Sweetheart, I will never forget the look in your beautiful blue eyes and the tone of your voice when you just said “Thank You.”

I knew I had done the right thing. Even if my personal dreams were on hold.

You taught me how to love unconditionally. Thank you.

I love you and I miss you.

Stephanie

Finding Your Tribe of Broken Souls

How someone can look me in the eyes and tell me "Yah, you're kinda F%#ked-up right now" and for that to be a comfort is hard to explain. I am broken. I know that. I'll always be a little broken and I'm ok with that. I sat with a group of women a few days ago that laughed over feeling like we were terrible employees. And we sat at the table and would smile and shake our heads recalling some really bizarre things we did after our losses: activities that were easier to just do at the time than it would have been to absorb and truly comprehend that information we had been given. There's a person you love very much but they died. Your brain under those conditions protects you from that reality. I sat at a table of amazing women that could understand how "ok" it is to be a mess right now. Grief is messy in so many ways.

When you tell someone that hasn't experienced deep grief that you feel broken, that you feel crazy, that you feel insensitive, that you feel screwed up...They want to tell you that you're wrong, that no you'll be ok, that everyone is a little screwed up. It's frustrating. In some ways I need that affirmation that I'm a mess: my memory is terrible, my emotions are out of whack, I have a really really hard time focusing, I do some bizarre things. I'm mean sometimes...and it's for no reason...and it kinda makes me feel awful. But I also kinda don't give a shit if I'm mean...Yah, I said it.

Early in grief, especially, I simply existed. I felt so incredibly alone. I felt so rejected. I felt so out of place. Most widow grief groups or blogs cater to the "traditional" widow. The men and women in their 60s and 70s. Terrible word to use, I know, because there's nothing "traditional" about grief. The grief experienced by someone that was married 35 years, however, for many reasons is dramatically different than loss of a soulmate in your 20s or 30s. It's not anything but different. So you feel isolated - as though you must be the only person in the world to experience this pain. There is some comfort I've found sharing with my MIL. But even grieving the loss of the same person - Ryan - from the standpoint of a spouse and that of the Mother of an adult child is dramatically different. (post: The "Worst" Loss)

I walked alone so very frequently for many months and do have those feelings still now though I react differently than I did early-on (post: But to be Alone)...I wandered down the aisles of a grocery store, within the break room, in the very corner of my bedroom and whether I was surrounded by other human beings or not, there is something awful about feeling excised from all of society because of your pain and your grief. And then, when I was ready to give up...I found my tribe.


I found people that made me feel less of a pariah.

I've found my peers among young widows
I've found my peers among suicide spouses
I've found my peers among those who lost a fiance
I've found my peers among those who lost a first responder 
I've found my peers among those young adults who lost someone they loved deeply
I've found my peers among those divorcees that are my advocate because they understand lost dreams.

You know what is so amazingly badass about this tribe? I've surrounded myself with these beautifully broken and effed-up people and they have shown me more compassion as strangers, as human beings halfway across the world than most old "friends" in my own city. They're mending their brokenness at whatever speed they can but they understand in a way that I couldn't find anywhere else.

I've removed the people around whom I felt so alone, so rejected, so awkward. The ones that said "anything you need" and then never answered your text when you needed to see another person's face and asked for coffee or a run. The ones that tried but could only help for a short time. They were thanked for their contribution and they were released, a technique I learned, oddly enough, from The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up.

I replaced 95% of those old ones with my new ones. My tribe is very small locally but they are global digitally. They are a gorgeous collection of hurting and fallible human beings but they're gathering the remnants of a life they may not recognize and they wake up every day to fight through pain and suffering.

They earn their widow badges. 

They take care of their families and strangers and friends. 

They do all of this even though they are themselves hurting. 

They will pick up your phone call from the ER at midnight. 

They will chat with you through an anxiety attack or a horrible screwed-up day. 

They will cry with you and send you hugs and true words of encouragement. 

They remember the dates that are bad. 

They step up when what you thought was a good day turns bad. 

They are a band of bruised but scrappy fighters. 

They have opened my eyes to how much pain there is in the world. They have reminded me how cathartic is is to share. How good it feels to support another person. They have kept me alive. They have reunited me with "society". They are not a traditional group of friends: we talk about fixing drywall from bullet holes and screaming at the dogs and panic attacks and crying on the bathroom floor after everyone goes to sleep. So many times these men and women's stories start with "I can't say this anywhere else but I know you understand..." 

If you've not grieved hard (as I never could have understood), though, these are not incessant sob sessions. They have been the source of some of the deepest laughs I've had. Of laughs over lost grooming standards, pathetic attempts at feeding yourself (yes, which are hilarious...), flipping off the photo of your loved one because your day is rough and it makes you feel better, jokes over the poor state of affairs for sex if it does actually happen again down the line, "what I wish I could have said to that insensitive asshole but didn't..." Some of it is dark humor and some of it is just honest conversations covering everything from nonsense to deep emotional information. We bare our souls to each other because we trust each other to protect that honesty. We stick up for each other.

My tribe lets me say Ryan's name as much as I want, tell as many stories as I want and express any emotion I want. And I love to hear about those they love. Months later. Years later. We let each other say their name every time, with no shifty-eyes or awkwardness (post: Say His Name). They don't try to direct my healing but they do stand next to me, and sometimes hold my hand, as I help myself.

Grief as an Agnostic

One of the only things that helps keep me alive is the fact that I'm not religious.
If I thought I might wind up with him in heaven I'd be gone.
If I believed in an afterlife I'd be gone.
If I thought in any way or for any reason I would see Ryan again, I'd be gone.

There have been multiple opportunities over many months were my agnosticism kept me alive.

I wish very much that it wasn't the case.
I don't believe I will ever meet my other half again.
He is gone. Forever. With no hope for reuniting. With no signs from the afterlife. He is gone. Forever. I lost my chance to connect with him again. My last image of him will be from a coffin and my last breath I spoke to him will be the words "Because Sweetie, I don't know what else to say..."

If I see Ryan again it will be in a dream. Unfortunately it's been a while. I don't dream much.
If I get to enjoy having Ryan's arms around me
If I get to see that goofy beautiful smile
If I get to hear his short-giggle or ridiculously-eccentric laugh
It will be viewed in my mind, felt in my heart. It will be only as a memory.

The only reason I am still here is because on the really bad nights and at the really bad times, when I asked the "why am I still here"s I realized that I truly believe my only chance to experience the happiness of Ryan's presence will be in my thoughts and memories. So when I die I lose that.

It makes the "I'm praying for you"s meaningless
It makes the "It's all in gods will" infuriating (<see "What not to say...")
It makes the "He's in a better place" pointless

Excuse the expression but "thank god" I'm an agnostic. I would not be here still if I were not.

Midnight Music: Tonight I Wanna Cry

And I thought that being strong meant 

Never losing self control

But I'm just drunk enough
To let go ahold of my pain

...from my eyes.

Tonight I wanna cry

I spent 4 hours today trying to raise money for a cause I truly believe in.

The whole time all I could see were the couples walking in.

Holding hands. 

Ready to spend Christmas with someone that cared about them

The whole time I fought the memories of being loved but abandoned.

Having promises made but never kept. 

I spent 4 hours today trying to raise money for a cause I truly believe in. 

The whole time I chewed the inside of my cheek watching dads walking with their young children.

Waiting for anyone to treat me like anything but an afterthought. I'm waiting for the flashbacks to stop.

You can try as hard as you want, fight as much as you'd like and still come home empty. Alone. 

I'm trying.

I'm trying so hard. 

And supposedly the second year is worse. 

I can't survive worse. I just want to feel like I matter.

Loss of Self

Last night, Friday night, I fell back again in my "progress". I got back to the house and broke down. I've been doing so good recently: resolved to move forward to love harder, work harder, and to be someone that at the end of her life people will say "she made a difference in my life/for me". I'm not there - I'm not the old person nor a new. I do not even recognize myself. It was Friday night. I was grocery shopping, cooking up some training pancakes, and I was all alone.

I wasn't out on date night
Wasn't out sharing time with friends
Wasn't decorating our Christmas tree together
Wasn't snuggled up against the cold watching a movie
No one was looking at me like I was important, beautiful, or like I mattered

I was alone - everyone else in my tiny sphere was out living life. Yeah, I had a freaking pity party. The "why us's?" reemerged. He spent a decade in a sacrificial career. We were responsible and compassionate...neither of us perfect. I was so loyal to him, even through the bad and really bad times. I donate to charity, challenged myself as my New Years Resolutions to random acts of kindness. Why am I am home on a Friday with no one that cares while everyone else lives their life and has their fun? I hate the loneliness. I hate the abandonment. I hate myself. I turned off my phone and deactivated Facebook.

It makes sense. Who would want to be around someone who is so damaged? The "baggage", if you will, that I carry is not something I should expect another person to be ok with. Who am I? I'm scared; I'm broken; I'm lonely; I'm tired; I'm frustrated; I'm unpredictable; I'm emotional. I don't feel in control of my own life some days, as hard as I might try. From the perspective of others, I feel like an afterthought. I feel very unworthy. I feel very disposable. I've fought these feelings for months but sometimes you just get tired of fighting. Sometimes you come home on a Friday night to realize what a crappy situation you're in, which you certainly never chose.

Sometimes you want someone to take care of you because grieving has left you so exhausted. But he was my rock, my support, my biggest backer and supporter. He's not here and there's no one that is filling that role. So when I break down, I'm left to crumble alone. If there is a picking up of the pieces that is also done alone, in my own strength. I don't know when that will happen.

I talked with a friend who is 17 months down the line. Someone that I respect - who took a severance package from work and instead of holing up at home has truly embraced a "life is short" perspective and traveled almost continuously for at least the last 6 months. She went and had experiences, she met friends and strangers. She has lived, not just existed.

She told me that last night she also had a grief attack: spent 4 hours crying for what most people who haven't experienced significant loss would probably consider "out of nowhere". I said "I don't know whether that's comforting or depressing."

This sucks: a life I never expected. A life changed radically from the time I got Ryan's phone call till I reached home and hour later. It's been nearly a year. This effed up reality one that I'm trying not to get trapped in, details and lessons that I'm simply trying to incorporate as my life experiences but only to build myself stronger, emotionally deeper, more compassionate. To move forward as a better person. But I still come home many Friday nights and I crack. Because it hits home that I don't have anyone around to have my back, to encourage me, to cheer me on in the direction I'm trying to go. It's isolating and lonely. It's the little things that I miss - it's not diamonds and fancy dinners - it's being held by someone that you know cares about you. I miss having the sole attention of someone in a room. I miss having an emergency contact, knowing someone in this world would show up to help if I needed it. I lost that beautiful person and I'm too broken for anyone to see value in me and fill that role. And I'm afraid, because it feels like that's a reality I'm just going to have to get used to...

Because everyone else is out living their lives and I'm failing miserably to do the same.

Wordless Wednesday: Afraid of Having No Control