Five month anniversary and it is not getting any easier

It is five months since Rob's death. How is that possible? I swear it is getting harder. Maybe initially the shock is such that disbelief was my byword. Then numbness. Oh I assure you grieving is taking place all along. The roller coaster is powering on. But with the passage of time the realization, the real undeniable, unequivocal, indisputable, unmistakable, incontrovertible realization ever so slowly seeps its way into my consciousness. It now goes two ways—He is never coming back and Where is he???

I had lunch with a group of women friends. We used to see each other once a week at tai chi class but that ended quite a while ago. We do stay in touch. They catered the "Celebration" I had for Rob after he died. We have always done food together—cooking, eating, sharing recipes.  

We met for lunch. Six of us. One hugged me and asked how I was doing. Damn, I was truthful. "A bit rocky as today is the fifth month anniversary". And someone else cheerfully asked what anniversary? "The fifth month anniversary since Rob died". 

That went over like a lead balloon. There was stunned silence. One of those pregnant pauses. And then they went back to chatting about what they had been doing since the last time we all got together.

I never felt so alone as I sat there and the conversation just washed over me. Guess my recent experiences with the Bereavement Group where that kind of comment is met with hugs and "I knows" and  "its my 4th or 8th month anniversary" made me forget what the "real" world is like.

It is with groups of people who are not involved with grieving where I run into trouble. One on one there is time for compassion and understanding. But in a group setting it seems to get lost. Or maybe it is hearing about what each of these women did, were doing, planned to do with their husbands that isolated me. There was no way to make a connection, no way to share an experience, and no way to think that someday Rob and I would do that.

Newton's Third Law of Grieving

Newton's Third Law—for every action there is an opposite and equal reaction. I felt whole and complete, and I suppose in control. That was then. Now I feel fractured, scattered, shattered. And that there is any hope of control is an illusion.

The feeling of being okay is now replaced with emptiness and longing. Where I was able to stand on my own two feet, I succumbed to a cold and crawled into bed. My feeling competent has been swapped out with an inability to focus.

I am caught in suspended animation. That moment of zero gravity. Free floating, no direction, no choice. Everywhere I look I see evidence of my past life with Rob. And who I was and where I was going. I can not see beyond.

I recognize I have been running and running and running. Apparently I finally caught up with myself. Catching a cold was my unconscious forcing me to stop. This cold is the one I could not have had with Rob during his chemo. There was no way I could get sick. So I didn't. But now that it is just me here....the cold stopped me dead in my tracks. Words are so interesting aren't they?

My answer to How are you? is Fine except when I'm crying. And I seem to be doing a lot of that again. Imagery fills my head, of peeling layers of the onion, of spirals, of dropping a pebble in a pond and the concentric rings that emanate, of my faithful roller coaster or ferris wheel or carousel. 

Each time I am here I think it is the first and only time. Or if I do acknowledge I might have been here before then this time it is deeper or darker. And then I go back and reread my posts. And surprise! I have been here before.

A reprieve from grieving the death of my husband

I took a trip—four whole days away. A big deal—flying, renting a car and driving two hours by myself to meet up with "virtual" friends. I have lots of "virtual" friends, people I've met online or only know from the phone. People I had never met in person. And here I was planning on sharing a hotel room with two of them.

In the days leading up to the weekend I alternated between abject terror—how could I do this?!?! And feeling that I would be fine. And I promised myself that if on the morning of the flight, if completely overwhelmed I would just stay home.

And then I found myself at the airport. Navigating the signage to find my flight and gate. And I felt okay. Even having my bag pulled out and inspected did not upset me. It just served as an interesting distraction.

Something had changed. I don't know what, a shift of some sort. I was doing fine. Oh I cried in the car during those two hours of driving. Passed through an area Robert and I had driven, and I got to wondering why we had not done more exploring. A moment of regrets.

When I was planning this adventure I kept thinking this "was the first time". The first time I was flying alone, the first time renting a car alone, the first time checking into a hotel alone. All alone. I had taken the first time to mean ever, not just the first time since his death.

But as I was driving I remembered doing all of these things numerous times in the past. It was like my memory only went back two and a half years, to the hospital room after Rob's original surgery, waiting for him to wake up. That is my image. With amnesia for any life of my own before that moment. And now the memories are coming back. Filling the blank spaces in me.

I checked into the hotel with a reservation made by someone I did not know and who was not even going to be there. Much to the confusion of the person at the desk. My friends arrived and it was like we had known each other forever.

We laughed, talked, went to dinner, to bed, and to the horse event. What amazes me was that I was able to be and stay in the moment. Be with my friends. Enjoy myself. Experience what was going on around me. And never feel alone. Or abandoned.

And with this awareness of being whole, I now felt guilty. How could I be enjoying myself? How could I manage to travel on my own? How could I laugh? How could I feel okay? Was this a betrayal of Robert?

I was in uncharted territory. Yes I cried several times during the four days. But it was never that overwhelming grief. That did not hit until I was back in familiar territory. Back home. Stopping at the supermarket and seeing the handicap parking space I used to pull into for Rob.

So yes the grief is still there. I am still trying to make sense of what happened to me on this trip.  Guess I got a few days off from grieving.

So exhausted from losing my mind...where did I put it?

I need to print a shipping label so I get up from my desk and put label stock in the printer. Back to my computer and I fill out the USPS label form. I get involved with other things on my computer. And then remember I have to pack up the item for shipping.

I take several sheets out of the printer, box up the item and look for the printed label. It is printed on regular paper....because I apparently printed something else before I printed the label, and that webpage printout is now on label stock.

How could this happen? I specifically remember thinking, "I'll put the label stock in and print out the label before I do anything else." And in the time it takes to turn around and sit down at my desk I forget about the label?

I have a COD package coming. Write the check for it and put it by the door so "I won't forget". And then I walk out of the house and go meet a friend for lunch. When I get back there is a note on the door from FedEx about the attempted delivery.

I'm getting dressed and as I am putting on my socks—why this triggers the memory I have not idea—I remember that I had agreed to do something for a friend. That is all I remember—do something. I rack my brain and come up with she was supposed to email me something. Something! Don't know what we talked about or what she emailing. But feel I have let her down. What had I promised to do?

I make lists. And then promptly lose them. Or they get buried under other pieces of paper. Under other lists. It is like finding a treasure map when I unearth them. Ahh, this is what I was supposed to do!

Someone placed an order on Sunday and wanted to know when he would receive it. I told him by the end of the week. He offered to pay extra for express shipping. I promised I'd call when the item was in and then we could discuss shipping options. I mailed the package on Thursday, with no memory of our conversation. Until now.

A friend just called. After I hung up I got thinking about what I could work on and wandered back into my office. Sat down at my desk and imagine my surprise to find this post...waiting for me unfinished!

Grief is a brain altering event. A buddy said it is just like a concussion. She should know she had one. 

I Do Not Need Fixing. I'm Just Grieving the Death of My Husband.

I had to see my primary care physician because I now have a new one. My doctor of over thirty years left to set up a concierge practice two years ago. His replacement lasted little more than a year and now I am on Doc #3.

All I needed was for my prescription to be rewritten. My prescription for those life saving little yellow pills. My safety net. But protocol demands I meet the new Doc #3 before she will write said prescription.

I painted her a picture of my current situation. An abridged version, my husband's two year battle with cancer and his death four months ago. I was crying in the examine room while waiting for her and thought it might be helpful to explain my tear stained face.

She listened. And then her defining question was "Do you have family to support you?" "No, well I have a brother in Ohio."  She looks at me with great concern, "Are you seeing a therapist regularly?" "Not a therapist, I meet with the Rabbi every other week."

Have to admit I do not  understand the question about family and the assumption that family is what you need. Or that they can help. I do have family, it is just that they are not supportive or understanding or compassionate. For those things I turn to my friends....my cats, my horses.

I meditate, work on being in the moment, feeling what is going on with me. I do Tai Chi, I gather support from my friends, I joined a Bereavement Group. Apparently not enough for Doc #3.

She gives me her prescription: Weekly therapy sessions and the little yellow pill. There was no, "you might want to consider" or "a suggestion"— it was a prescription to see a therapist.
She said based on what she had heard a therapist would help me get through the grief faster. What it is now a race? There is a time table? I need to be fixed fast? Is a psycho-therapist like a physical-therapist? Have to get there in a timely manner or else.

The top of my head blew off! My anger was over the top. And I flashed back on what I had just been reading before she came into the room in Living Beautifully, with uncertainly and change by Pema Chodron:

   "First, come into the present. Flash on what's happening with you right now. Be fully aware of your body, its energetic quality. Be aware of your thoughts and emotions.
   "Next, feel your heart, literally placing your hand on your chest is you find that helpful. this is a way of accepting yourself just as you are in that moment, a way of saying, 'This is my experience right now, and its okay.'
   "Then go into the next moment without any agenda."

Oh I was in the present. And flashed on what was happening to me. I was totally aware of my heart pounding, my breath up around my ears, and the anger ready to spew out. I turned away from her and paused. This was a defining moment for me. I was aware. I thought of what I had just read. I thought about the consequences of my actions. I was making a fully conscious decision. This was not reactive. I was taking care of myself.

I told her I was outraged by her comments. "You Do NOT Know Me!"  That she did not know what I had gone through and what I was going through. She had no idea how I had dealt with the last two years or how I was dealing with them now. All she had to go on was my request for the little yellow pill. And now she was TELLING me to see a therapist. Not "it is a suggestion" but a prescription.

Doc #3 was taken aback. She thanked me to telling her how I was feeling. Was I being stroked? And she admitted she did not know me. Progress. The therapist was offered as a suggestion. Better. And she wrote the script. Probably to get me out of her office. Looking for Doc #4.

Overwhelming grief and an unexpected life preserver

Every time I think there is some hope for a break in the grief, I run into a wall. Today is the fourth month anniversary. And the grief feels as overwhelming as the first moment. I want to just walk around screaming his name. And Where are you? And How could you have left me? And How do I live without you? And I miss you so much.

My cats and horses help me. I joined a Bereavement Group and find talking with other women, okay other widows, helps. But it is the between times that get me. When I stop doing and lift up my head.

Oh I can keep busy—I can visit friends, go to events, clean the house, do the laundry, go see the horses, work on the taxes, take some photos, ship out some items, work on my websites, write someone's copy, pay the monthly bills—all not working for me right now. I don't even want to call anyone. Don't feel like talking. So I find myself here. Writing. Thinking. Feeling. Grieving. Grieving. Grieving.

I've been reading about staying with my feelings, going into my pain. Accepting. Acknowledging. Being in the moment. Problem is I feel like I am drowning. That the abyss will swallow me. And I suppose it is a testament to my life force that I don't want to be swallowed. That there is still a fight left in me. I just don't know how to survive without Rob.

I found this poem, again. Rob believed that he had experienced a life/death choice during his surgery. And wrote this poem from his experience. I always read it thinking of cancer and illness and death. Now I feel he wrote it as a life line to me.

Ever/Bardo

By Robert Greenebaum

Have you ever dropped out of time

Have you ever been where

There are no directions

Where there is no bottom

But you are not falling

Where there is no volition

No will

No lies

Where the idea of hope

Is not yet emergent

Where even blankness

Has withered away

Maybe you have been there—or maybe not

It is not a place one chooses to go

It just happens

Maybe in an instant

If this has ever happened to you

Perhaps you might be interested in this:

Try it on for size; see if it fits; learn it

Word by word

Each word is a vessel into which you

Can pour your own meaning

Yet it is a vessel

A vessel hewn from within the bardo

If you use it, be patient, be diligent,

Be stubborn, and never give up

For a billion, billion lifetimes:

I

May there now arise in this very moment

Pervasive ease of well-being

II

Throughout the entire mind

And body with no breaks,

Holes, or lapses.

III

May the entire mind and body

Be wiped completely clean

Of any and all ill-ness

And all dis-ease

IV

May there now arise in this very moment

Pervasive ease of well-being

If you take up the mantra

Never lay it down

I pass it on to you from within the bardo

May you receive its beneficial effects

Freedom is not all its cracked up to be

This past weekend was jam packed, again, still. A combination of my need to keep busy and the freedom to actually be able to get out. But obviously that freedom comes at a high price.

All the usual running around I have been doing has not been that far afield. Pretty much in a 45 to 50 minute radius. But to meet with a group of like minded horse people on Sunday I drove almost 2 hours just to get there. That brought up some of the same feelings I had when I was driving around for Cavalia—being away for hours or a whole day. My heart attachments were being stretched once again way beyond their limits.

It took me a while to recognize what I was feeling. Going away from home. Home and Robert used to be synonymous. I had to make a huge mental adjustment that he was not home waiting for me. Yes to more driving and crying. I do that so much I have a box of Kleenex on the passenger seat.

Felt like I was passing through a portal. Moving through it was hard and painful, but once on the other side I was okay. And I arrived at my destination to a large group of old and new friends where I enjoyed myself.

After the group get together I was then onto uncharted territory. I was going to meet a client in a place I had never been. It was getting dark and I was coming from the unfamiliar north. I found myself totally dependent on "Steve" my GPS' voice.

When I made the arrangements it all seemed so logical. But there is logic and there is emotion. And to avoid emotions I operate on logic. Which gets me into these situations. You would think I would learn. Or perhaps—obviously—this is my learning path.

Driving in the darkness only intensified my feelings. I had to face being totally and utterly on my own. The cockpit of my car was the familiar and everything I was seeing out the windshield was the unknown. I so wanted to reach for my phone and call Rob. To touch base. To be grounded. To be connected. To be reassured. But there was no one to call.

I was—to refer to one of my posts about time—untethered. Ah the title of the book, the untethered soul….maybe that is why it resonates so much with me. Yes I was feeling completely untethered. And again I had to adjust my thinking. I could, and can, and it is okay, to stand on my own. To be on my own. This is not about being alone. Words words words.

I find I am now free to do what I want, to go where I want—when I want. I am not accountable to anyone. Untethered, adrift, unattached, unbound, cut loose, unanchored, unmoored.

Being connected has always been my safety net. I know friends saw me as independent and doing my own things. Yes, I would go out and explore and experiment and test the waters—but I knew my anchor, Rob, was waiting for me. No matter where he was, he was there for me. And now he is not.

It is this part of being on my own, of having no attachments like I had with him, of being free that is so incredibly difficult to deal with. The personal pain is so enormous.