Navigating a new life

[Pandora]

11 months, 16 days, 12 hours, 16 minutes ..... in to this "new life".

Where am I now in the grief process? Stranded, that's where. Am I still angry? Yes! Am I still sad? All the time. Frustration still a factor? You damn well bet! Shock and Numbness still hanging about? check. Still trying to make deals with my "higher power"? Sometimes.

They say the best way to get over a man is to get under a new one? Really? Is this an option? Any one try this way? I am guessing no. I cant even think of such.

Seems I am faking all the right replies to people. I smile when somethings funny, I say "I'm doing ok, I am making it the best I know how". Truth is... I am no longer here. The "Me" they all know left the night he passed away. I don't really know the person left, in my body, in my mind, in my soul. I kinda resemble the girl I used to be, only a little slower, less vibrant.

Do we ever really heal? Is it more that we just ;smile; keep moving, keep changing, keep on going because we have no other choice?

People have told me that you will feel when your ready to close the hurt. What if you don't "FEEL" anything. The only thing you know as truth, happens to be the "nothing" in your bones. The space they left in your life, the void that you fall into, tries to consume all that you are. And all you have is the "nothing". Can you, should you... hold onto that? I mean "Nothing" is a feeling... right?

 

[ottawa girl]

Pandora,

Your post brought tears to my eyes. I simply cannot imagine the anguish in your heart. Losing your other half. An amputation with no anesthetic.

I do know that feeling "nothing" is the worse!. Nothing renders you immune to joy and sadness. Nothing is the cruelest. Alive - but nothing to be alive for. Going through motions- like a zombie. I caught the nothingness bug when diagnosed. While family and friends surrounded me - I heard only indistinguishable garbled and muffled voices. Drowning. Their hugs felt like an intrusion on my nothingness. It was claustrophobic. Drowning. I could vaguely discern the life rings but my arms were unwilling to latch on. Fearing the surface, where life was.

Eventually, (with the aid of ativan) I started coming up for small gulps of air before sinking down again. The thought that my illness would eventually suck the life out of those I had once loved the most, was suffocating me. With each gulp of air- the mixed up feelings began to disentangle themselves from the heap- that knot in my throat. I stayed above water for longer moments- felt the fear, the panic, then love returned. Slowly. I ventured out of my bed- let people hug me and in those quick moments I suddenly realized that even more air was filling my lungs, the sun had risen, this is a new day and perhaps if I showered, brushed my teeth and hair, I could re-join the world. Did I want to?
I hoped I would be OK TODAY. Ahhh - Hope with a big old H.

Eventually, I allowed myself to verbalize my fears, panic and spoke aloud about the nothingness within me. It was a release and relief each time I shared - just a little more. First with my husband, then family, then friends. Then God. For me, as I spoke (yelled, sobbed, pleaded) more and more honestly to God, the nothingness was filling with light and lightness. Then the light started seeping out of me and in it's place, stillness. Peace. At last. WOW -Peace and Hope. Had I won the lottery?

I found my centre? Yes. An excruciating journey? Yes. I emerged as another "me"- a gentler me and a more patient me.

Thankfully, those I loved and re-love are here, present and real. Their voices are clear and their hugs are healing remedies. Everyday.
Sure, the nothingness bug lingers on the sidelines - waiting to invade and admittedly I do get a little off-centre - but it is getting better.
There is life- I have a purpose. I am responsible and accountable for my actions and in-actions. I love more urgently.

Pandora - I think the nothingness is grief. Its numbness protects us from feeling the bone chilling sadness. But in so doing, it isolates us from the world and from even ourselves. It makes us relinquish the love we have for others. The nothingness takes everything away - and for me, I wanted the joy back. The love back.

So- please, grab on to a life ring - they're available in different forms - memories, awkward but well meaning people, angels, God, an autumn tree, a blade of grass. These are life savers. There is much love in you to give- you're loving for two - and the planet will be happier place, once again.

 

[HelenL]

Elaine and Pandora, you both brought tears to my eyes... Pandora I pray that as Elaine so beautifuuly said that the nothing will be eased out of its place in you.

 

[vzandt]

I got the tears from your post to. Life is sometimes just so sad. When my dad died and mom was feeling those things she called it her "God zone". She said he took care of her when she couldn't.

 

[ises]

Dear Pandora,

I don't have all the answers by any means, so I rarely post. But I feel compelled to reach out to you and try to help, even if just a little.

I don't like posting because you can't see my face or hear the inflection of my voice, and the potential to misinterpret is huge. So, let me preface what I'm about to write by first telling you it comes from a place of caring and understanding.

I said goodbye to my soul mate and love of my life 20 weeks, 4 days and 10 1/2 hours ago. We were married 27 fantastic years. Well, the last 2 were rough, with the disease.

I get it, I really do. Half of "us" has been ripped away. Your best friend is gone. You still love someone who no longer is present in the same place as you. You grieve over the life you had and the life you thought you would have. It's painful to go to or even drive by the places you used to go together - as I write this, my son is watching a dvd of "The Avengers," the last movie we saw together as a family - it hurts. The calls and meals have stopped coming, and maybe people even think you should be "over it." I won't even touch on all the new things you've had to learn how to do and cope with.

I've learned that grief is a process, a journey. There's no switch to turn it off. It's different for each of us. We move through it at our own pace. I do think there are things we can do, decisions we can make, to help us along. At first, I had to decide to throw my feet out of bed and get up everyday. I believe we must choose to move forward.

You don't say if you've tried any grief counseling. I went to a therapist a couple times, but it wasn't a good fit. I live very near a Gilda's Club. They have grief support groups for just about everyone, regardless of how the loss occurred. They are not faith based, though the location by me is starting a faith-based group. I checked out one for spouses with children at home. I couldn't bring myself to go. I did finally begin going to a group called "Griefshare," which is faith based. It took me 4 months to be able to go. It's painful, but I'm learning that what I'm feeling and experiencing is normal. I'm learning how to cope with some of the feelings. I made a choice to find help.

You don't mention whether you have children at home. I do, two boys, 14 and 16. They are the biggest reason I choose to move forward. They need me. I'm all they have. Do you have someone who needs you to move forward?

But the single biggest reason I choose to keep putting one foot in front of the other, one moment at a time, is for my husband, Jeff. He would not want me to be stuck, as I believe your husband would not want you to be "stranded."

I did my very best for him, all through the illness and after his death. I had a list of things that I needed to do. After I sold our accessible van, I thought, "That's it. I've done all I can for him." Then I realized that no, the very last thing I can do for Jeff is to live my life. It's what he would want me to do. It's how I can honor him.

I find joy in the boys and their activities. We go and do things we were unable to do for a long time. I find joy in the fall colors. I try and help people. I volunteer. I keep moving forward.

Do I still get knocked over by waves of grief? Absolutely. Like yesterday, I cried 2 or 3 different times. I missed him so very much. But I lean into it, feel it, and it passes. Today was better. It will happen again. It will pass again. I will continue to choose to move forward, moment by moment.

And incidentally, I don't believe the way to get over one man is with another. Absolutely not, especially not in the emotional state you're in. I think you know that yourself. Maybe some day you will meet someone and love again, but that doesn't mean you'll ever replace the dear husband you've lost.

Choose to move forward, dear Pandora. Choose to live your life in honor of your dear husband. It's what he would want you to do.

I wish you peace. Marie

 

[vzandt]

That was beautiful Marie.

 

[ottawa girl]

My heart goes out to you Marie. Hope the big knock down waves are few and far between for you.

 

[kayedeedid5]

I have a million things to say to you. I so wish I could sit down and hold your hand. Give you a hug. I lost my husband on Jan 25th, 2012 at 11:55 p.m. His mother died 10 days prior to him. (Not ALS related). I was to numb to grieve. It took weeks of mindless wondering, never able to complete any task before jumping to another, before I was able to grasp what had happened. Weeks of being forced to plan a joint memorial service, help his sister with their moms house and forced to keep this house going. It was March before I was able to catch a breath and contemplate. I have little to no memory of what all transpired during that month of dealing with his sister who had lost her brother and mother within 10 day of each other, my stepsons who had suffered the loss of thier father and grandmother. I got lost somewhere in all of that. So in March when things had slowed down and the forced "this has to be done now" items were over I finally found time for me. Amazingly I was able to smile. I had time to reflect on our life together. I cried for the loss of that life but I also went over our plans we had made for ourselves. I looked at where we were with those plans, and set my course of action to continue on with them. That is my tribute to my wonderful husband. He loved his vegtable garden. So he will have one for as long as I can make it happen. He loved to work with his hands. I cleaned all his tools and am learning to use them. Everytime I use one I smile and think of him.
When I need to accomplish a task I have never done before but watched him do, I close my eyes and try to remember how he did that. I usually fumble through. So his memory still gudes me.
So see, he may be physically gone, but I hold him in my heart and mind. Love never dies.