You hear of going through certain steps when you lose someone, but some people skip steps, or experience them out of order. This was very true for myself. So the following is somewhat how it went for me. Sometimes it will turn into random thoughts, but bear with me as I bare my soul of some things I may not have divulged before. My greatest wish is that this will help someone else.
When one first loses someone, particularly someone so close, the first feeling is, "My God! He/she is gone, just GONE, forever more." There is no getting them back. No "wait, I need to tell you something, I need for you to squeeze my hand once more . . .". None of that. It's the most final, sickening feeling in the world. I just sat there and looked at Ben, thinking in micro time about all that he'd been, not believing that he was really gone. I finally got up to find the nurse so that she could confirm that he was gone. I don't know that anything can prepare you for that. All of the advice (which is not always welcome) and comforting words on Earth may not fit your situation. You are on your own. Oh sure, there are some similarities to others' losses, but this one is your own, unique, loss. I remember thinking that the best thing people could do for me is not abandon me, just let me know they're there in some small way. As I went home to an empty house for the first time, I was so exhausted from the whole thing that, amazingly, I slept deeply. When I awoke in the morning, I knew I was on my way to a whole other life . . . without Ben. It was somewhat different with my mom. I wasn't there when she took her last breath, but I knew from watching Ben, exactly when she would move on. You just know.
Then came the "gotta gitter done" list of legalities. For me, most of that went smoothly, and it kept my mind busy. Friends and family stayed in touch, and I reached out when I felt the need. But because I was blessed with the ability to take care of myself (independence), I moved from the huge sense of loss into my next step.
As the days wore on, I found myself being almost obsessive about keeping things in order, the way Ben would have. I'd "talk" to him, asking him where things were or how he did things. I began going to church again, mostly to fill that seat that he had vacated. And I could almost feel him cheering me on as I did things that only he used to do. I may not have done them as well or as completely, but I was staying focused. I could feel my life shifting to different levels regarding who my friends were, what was important, and what I needed to do to stay on track. I vowed to myself that, at my age and after all that had happened, I would not remarry. I still maintain that. I know myself well. The first year is such an enlightening journey. I feel like a different person, yet not. I sense myself second-guessing which fork in the road to take. I still have days, albeit fewer in number, where I very much miss the presence of Ben and my mom. I expect that will stay with me always.
Some people have moved on, apparently feeling that I'm okay now. But the ones who were really there, still are. I feel no animosity toward those who are no longer "with" me. I'm just thankful they were there when they felt they needed to be. Others have moved into my life, and that's exciting. Meeting and getting to know new people is another reason that I've weathered adverse conditions. Dad is the same way. We're making history, having fun, and keeping one another on that track. I'm working my way through the natural feeling of disloyalty to Ben in regard to giving my self permission to be happy. That is a step survivors MUST take, or you will die unfulfilled.
I know that I could be in a world of hurt regarding what I have left to live on, especially if I carry on the long-lived tradition of most of my relatives. My health insurance runs out in September of 2011 with no Medicare until Feb. of 2013. I'll just have to stay healthy! Therefore, I've become much more discerning regarding what I can do for myself, and what I will have to hire done. I've made some pretty smart moves, but on some other things, I have made no move. Just knowing that I'm a survivor, I am certain that things will work out, otherwise known as Faith.
Another thing I learned along the way is to take deep breaths, take your time, do not make any important decisions without thinking it through completely. I hear of survivors who rush to clear out their spouses belongings, and to move closer to family. I realize that my house requires maintenance and upkeep, and that there are some who would feel it wise to sell and move. But I like this house and I like Prescott. And besides, it's a lousy sellers market right now. If I ever do sell, it won't be to get away from memories; it will be to downsize and simplify. I am happy that I was careful about what I kept, partly because I now know that I'm no longer an impulsive person; spontaneous yes, but that's what will keep my life interesting.
As for tomorrow, we'll get through it by remembering . . .
The shadow box I made of mom's favorite things
1 comment:
Well said, Kathy. When a loved one dies, we are on your own in many ways. You have the unique perspective of understanding your dad's
"1 yr anniversary" because you also had just lost your spouse. You already know that mothers can stay with us forever. Tom sometimes asks, "how are our mothers?" My reply is always, "they are just fine."
Post a Comment