Settling In While Feeling Unsettled

Experts tell us that healing from a significant loss involves embracing our grief in whatever expression fits the unique needs of the particular person. For me, expressing my thoughts and reflections in this blog is one of several strategies I am using to get through the process and come out whole on the other side. While writing out and sharing my reflections is cathartic for me, it is also my hope that others who may also be struggling with a significant loss will perhaps see themselves in my writing and feel supported and validated.  The power of human connection and the commonality of our experiences can provide comfort to those of us who are open to the possibilities. Sometimes it doesn’t matter whether our connections are direct, personal relationships or more indirect, abstract relationships such as those that are possible on the internet.

(Please note: It is not my intention that every blog post be about my personal grief journey after losing my husband last February, but it has taken me longer than expected to settle back into a routine after getting home from my six week trip abroad. Hopefully my readers will stick with me while I figure out my life in between attending to my goals for The Kindness Continuum blog. Thank you!)

I’m unique but not unique, and everything is as it should be even as nothing is as it should be.

I arrived home three weeks ago, and until now have not posted a blog entry. My son met me in Detroit and we spent a wonderful day and a half together before he drove back to New York, where he has (somewhat) settled into his new life as a computer scientist working in the financial district of Manhattan. Conrad took his adorable Husky Sophie with him, ending my month long stint prior to my trip as a stand-in doggie caretaker.

Being home has turned out to be a mixed blessing for me, as I knew it would be. I admit it was very hard in the first days after Conrad left. The house was way too empty, way too lonely, and I spent several very melancholy days just milling around, not eating, not really doing anything. A simple trip to the grocery store turned into a major challenge when, in every aisle, I saw only items that I would have normally picked up for Jay or Conrad (or even Sophie, the dog), but now had no reason to do so. I didn’t see anything on the shelves I wanted, only items I knew they would have wanted. Thankfully, the other patrons didn’t notice my tears as I wandered aimlessly through the aisles, and the cashier didn’t mention my red puffy eyes when I paid for the few items I forced myself to get. (Or at least they all kindly left me alone…)

I didn’t call anyone in those dark hours because I knew I would be too choked up to talk. Besides, there was a part of me that wanted, needed to be alone in the house and managing on my own. That’s the mixed blessing: the aching loneliness without Jay and the longing for him to return to me, coupled with the relative contentment and solace I feel in this cozy, comfortable place where I find peace and refuge. Jay and I loved this house, loved this city, and spent the last ten years carving out our life here and making a home; why wouldn’t I want to look for comfort here? Those initial days were made easier once I reconnected with friends and family, began taking walks, and resumed some semblance of a daily routine.

A prominent expert in the grief field, William Worden, tells us that when it comes to mourning, there are four primary tasks we all need to accomplish. On the one hand, this seems a rather simplistic view of a very complex process. But on the other hand, these four simple tasks cover a range of emotions and feelings that anyone who is grieving a significant loss can easily identify with. The tasks provide a useful tool to help us understand the process of mourning, and also serve to assure me that I’m not crazy or (God forbid!) “abnormal.”

Task #1 – Accepting Reality

The first task is about accepting the reality of the loss. Apparently it is quite common to live for awhile in a state of denial, or to express disbelief at what has happened. Indeed, even though Jay has been gone since February, I still find myself asking, “How could this have happened?” or “This can’t be true!” I can close my eyes and easily imagine him next to me, and can “feel” and “hear” him without any difficulty whatsoever.  I sometimes listen to a message on my phone and pretend that it is one day old rather than 2 years old.

Taking an overseas, faraway trip for six weeks was something I really needed to do, and I couldn’t easily explain why I felt so compelled to leave. On reflection, I believe (and the experts confirm this) that it helped serve as a protective mechanism, a buffer against the reality of my new life as a widow. Because I wasn’t at home, the trip allowed me to pretend when I needed to that Jay wasn’t really gone, and I could ignore the reality whenever I felt like it. The trip was my escape valve (admittedly, a rather expensive one…). Some experts say that this feeling of disbelief actually helps the grieving person survive the loss. The urge and tendency to deny the truth (or ignore it) provides the space and time needed to make the adjustment to a new life without the loved one.

I certainly can’t speak for others, but I can say it does give me some comfort to know that my occasional urge to pretend Jay isn’t gone is an expected part of the process. I am a highly rational person (most of the time), and my head knows very well that Jay isn’t coming back. But I’m glad I don’t have to feel shame or be apologetic when I express my disbelief, which is borne out of the heartache that doesn’t want to go away.

Task #2 – Feeling the Pain

The second task, according to Worden, is working through the pain of the loss. There is no timeline for something like this and it will be different for everyone. For me, I have little control over the pain and when it hits, it often hits hard, like what happened in the grocery store a few weeks ago. I have learned that embracing the pain is the best way to work through it, and so I do not fight the urge to cry or tear up; I just let whatever the feelings are wash over me.

This strategy of embracing the pain has served me pretty well, and I think I am weathering the storms more easily now than at first because I am not fighting them and I know that I will get through each when it hits. Of course, I am keenly aware that I have had the luxury of spending most of my time since Jay’s death in very supportive environments around very supportive people. In a few short weeks I will be returning to work. What’s going to happen then? It’s not so convenient to have your emotions right at the surface, spilling out while you are trying to run a meeting, or teach a class, or simply get work done. I’m hoping that by the time my first day back rolls around I’ll be ready, but I really won’t know until it happens.

Suffering Jay’s loss, and the struggle of the last year while he was sick and I was on an extended leave of absence from my career, has changed me. I don’t know yet what the change actually means for me or how it may affect my work. I hope that my colleagues and students will grant me the grace (and kindness) I need as I make the adjustment to an environment where others’ needs are as or more important than my own. I need to be able to balance the pain I experience on the inside with the important work of engaging fully with the world around me again.

The pain of grief is not just about emotions, however. There are well documented physical manifestations such as loss of appetite, memory problems, sleeplessness, anxiety, confusion, and lethargy. I have experienced all of these at different times, and I have noticed that my attention span and memory have been particularly affected. I am known to most of my friends, family and colleagues as a highly organized person who pays attention to details, meets deadlines easily and is generally thorough and reliable. I worry that my colleagues are in for a big surprise if I’m not able to step up to the plate. In many respects I feel I am now a shadow of my former self.

That said, I am encouraged by the fact that, as with Task #1, the pain of Task #2 is a necessary part of the process and there is light at the end of that tunnel.  If I am able to mourn in a healthy way then I will get to the other side of the pain and it won’t be so debilitating or as frequent as it feels now. Mourning in a healthy way basically means embracing the pain and expressing the feelings in ways that enhance the healing process rather than diminish it.  I already can see that I’m making progress in this regard, and my hope is that I will continue that progress over the next few weeks so that I am fully functional (or as close as I can get) when I finally get back into my office.

Task #3 – Adjusting to Life Alone

Task number three involves learning to live with the reality of the loss. It’s where we get to once we get past the feeling of disbelief and denial described in Task #1. As the episodes of incredulity at what has happened become less frequent and fade over time, I am slowly but surely adjusting and trying to embrace my life without Jay. I don’t really want to embrace it because that’s not the life I chose for myself. I feel a bit guilty for trying to accept my life the way it is now, but I understand the importance of not letting myself get “stuck” in a way that will prevent me from living my life fully and moving forward. Treading water is simply not an option I’m willing to accept.

For me, adjusting to life alone means learning not to let the loneliness take over, and not letting anxieties about living alone interfere with the contentment that is also possible. Let’s face it, when Jay was alive we often spent time apart due to our different schedules and work obligations. It was not at all unusual for me to spend days or weeks alone in the house, and I’m not too proud to admit that I sometimes savored that time alone. Of course, I would give it all up to have him back, but that isn’t possible, so what is one to do??

When our careers and family activities were keeping us apart (as opposed to the permanency of death) we still managed to talk pretty much every day, sometimes multiple times a day. Even if I were the one making a decision about something (due to the fact I’m a rather controlling person when it comes right down to it…) we would still go through the charade of discussing things first, and Jay often offered a point of view that I hadn’t fully considered (and yes, it sometimes – ok, often… – altered the ultimate outcome of the decision). I don’t have his perspective anymore, nor do I have his deep knowledge reservoir that I tapped into so frequently over the years. Adjusting to the permanent absence of his readily available intellect is not easy.

I am also adjusting to the fact that if I get sick Jay won’t be around to take me to the emergency room, or even to consult with me about whether I should go to the emergency room. One way I am adjusting to this aspect of life without him is to pay closer attention to my health and see my doctor a little more frequently for check-ups.

Jay and I had talked about having some remodeling work done on the house but hadn’t made any firm decision about what to do. One of my adjustments to life alone is making the decision to move forward with the remodeling project in an effort to improve my own quality of life through my physical surroundings. I love this cozy home and want to stay here; making these improvements will not change the fact of my solitary life, but will enhance my ability to enjoy the time I spend here alone and also with friends.

Task #4 – Keeping Connection While Moving On

To illustrate this task, I want to share a story here about a special kindness that was shown to me recently. I first need to say that I have never been one to believe that everything happens for a reason, or that life is preordained, and I mean no disrespect to those who do. But I do believe that sometimes people come into our lives just when we need them to and they make a profound difference to our existence in that moment or over time. I have been blessed with meeting or knowing a number of such people over the years, and whenever it happens I am always left feeling that I have received so much more out of the encounter than I have given to the person who was so generous to me.

It is in this context that I want to share the kindness of a precious gift that was totally unexpected but that means so much to me. A friend who I barely knew 18 months ago has become an indispensable part of my life now. She jumped in head first when Jay got sick, and without asking for anything in return. Through many hours of hard work, she organized our affairs in a way that helped prepare us for Jay’s inevitable end while also minimizing the negative financial impact that his death would have. Suffice it to say that I don’t know what I would have done without Angela during those agonizing eight months of Jay’s illness, or the almost six months since he’s been gone. There is virtually no way I can ever begin to repay her for her generosity and kindness shown to both Jay and me.

With all that she has given to me over the last months as the backdrop (with very little in return by my reckoning), I can tell you I was totally unprepared for the drawing she presented to me upon my return from my trip. Unbeknownst to me she had asked a relative of hers who is an artist to do a special drawing based entirely on her memory and description of a tender moment she witnessed between Jay and me one day when we were out for a walk. I was (and still am) overwhelmed by the gesture, and burst into tears when I opened the package and saw it. I can clearly see Jay in the drawing; he’s even wearing clothes that are still hanging in the closet.

I am sharing the story because this gift, which I’ll admit brings pain and heartache whenever I gaze at it, also helps serve as the bridge I need to be able to move forward. Somehow, having the picture on the wall and knowing the effort, sensitivity and caring that went into getting it done for me, provides me enormous comfort and aids my healing. Jay will never see this beautiful picture – it’s the only one in the house that he played no part in picking out or hanging. Yet it provides me with a tangible connection to him while also representing my transition as I forge a life without him and move forward. I treasure the picture and the thoughtfulness that went into creating it.

Moving forward is inevitable, as is maintaining the memories that kept us connected all those years we spent together. No matter what happens to me in the future, Jay will always remain an integral part of my life, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. I feel confident that, wherever I am in the grieving process in any given moment, I will eventually succeed in mastering these four tasks. I am grateful to those of you out there who are helping me along the way. Your kindnesses are what make the difference between success and failure when a loss of this magnitude strikes. I know in my heart that I’m going to be okay, and if any of you readers are suffering in a similar way, take heart in knowing that you aren’t alone and that we have it within ourselves to honor and stay connected to our loved one and still be able to heal from the devastation.