Talked to Grace about my two days of distraction; she prefers to think of them as "breaks," but a rose by any other name and all that. The key, she said, is to try and find some balance between the active grief work and those breaks. Balance is not my strong suit; I tend to be an all-or-nothing kind of gal.
She also said she sees lots of signs that I'm going to be "fine," whatever that means: despite my desire not to be here, I'm taking the right steps, even if I can't get my sleeping and eating in line. But continuing to write, to try and maintain connections to other (still living) people, to try and accomplish SOMETHING each day... Grace thinks all those are positive.
Her one concern is my obsessing about the future: it's too early to worry about the future, she said. I need to just worry about what I can do TODAY to make today bearable. And that's what I have to do every day. But to my mind, that just means that what I have ahead of me is an endless string of days where I make each day "bearable," but... so what? Who wants a "bearable" life? Do YOU? Is that good enough for you? Because "bearable" is NOT good enough for me; not after having a life I actually loved for four years.
I've slept in our bed twice in the past week; the first night was, I think, Saturday? Last night was the second. I was hoping that maybe sleeping in our bed would trigger dreams about Doug, but no such luck (why would I have good luck, right?). Adding insult to injury, both times I slept in our bed I woke up with my back killing me: guess I'm used to sleeping with one of Doug's legs thrown over my legs, and missing that weight is screwing with my back. Yet another adjustment to make. Oh, goody.
I worked through Chapter Three of The Grief Recovery Handbook, which had a lovely writing prompt for the reader to identify all the various bits of misinformation they've internalized around grief and loss. How have we internalized this misinformation? It's because it's what we're taught:
- Don't feel bad (this is what's behind nearly every horrible cliche response to grief). But why? Why shouldn't I feel bad? MY HUSBAND IS DEAD. I should think folks would be more concerned if I DIDN'T feel bad. Examples of those cliche responses below, and note that the grieving person hears these with the addendum, "so don't feel bad":
- He's in a better place
- Everything happens for a reason
- He wouldn't want you to be sad
- At least you had him at all - some people NEVER find love
- Replace the loss (the kneejerk reaction of parents everywhere when a pet dies, right?). Examples below, and I don't think I need to tell you why these are HORRIBLE things to say to someone who's grieving - and all of them are absolutely true; they've been said to me or to others:
- You're young; you'll find another husband (people hear this when they've lost a spouse to death or divorce, and it's never acceptable)
- You can have other children (don't even get me started on this)
- There are plenty of dogs available for adoption, so just get another one (while it's true that it can be comforting to love a new pet, that doesn't take away the pain of missing the one who died)
- Grieve alone: every time you see a grieving spouse refusing to cry in front of his or her children, it's very possible it's because they've internalized this message; every time a grieving person stops reaching out, it's because we've internalized the message that grief is something we have to do on our own because nobody wants to hear it.
- Just give it time or Time heals everything. Umm, how about no? TIME does nothing. Time passes. If I "just" give it time and don't do anything else, I'm "just" gonna keep feeling the way I feel forever. Time, all by itself, does exactly SHIT to process/heal/integrate/manage grief.
- Be strong. Oh, this one burns me up, and it's the other reason grieving spouses avoid crying in front of the kids - they think they have to be strong for them. First of all, what in the actual fuck does that even mean? "Be strong and stop crying"? "Be strong and get back to 'real' life"? "Be strong and grieve alone like you're supposed to"? "Be strong and move on"? Listen very closely, folks: FUCK. THAT. SHIT.
As far as I'm concerned, leaning into my grief (instead of hiding it in a package more palatable for others) IS being strong. Letting non-grieving people see what grief REALLY looks like is being strong. Openly admitting that my life is empty, lonely, and devoid of meaning without Doug IS being strong. - Keep busy. Why? To make the time pass? To distract ourselves so we don't feel bad? Distractions can be helpful to a point - a palate cleanser, if you will - but they can't be the whole diet, or eventually the grieving will crash and burn in spectacular fashion.
NONE of these statements is remotely helpful or comforting. Is my pain lessened just because some other people never have the love that Doug and I shared? Is my pain minimized because Doug wouldn't want me to be sad? Is it minimized because MAYBE someday I'll find love again? Is it minimized by keeping it to myself? Have the past 54 days done anything to mitigate the pain of not having Doug next to me every night? Do I hurt less if I plaster on a happy face and pretend to have... well, this one doesn't apply to me, because I'm not plastering on a happy face for anyone. Is my grief easier to bear if I stay so busy that I can ignore it? The answer to all these questions is a resounding no; none of it helps, so the next time you happen upon someone who's grieving, DON'T SAY ANY OF THOSE THINGS.
I planned on taking a 30-minute walk today once it warmed up, but that never happened. At 1:45, when it became clear that there's rain headed this way, I gave up on waiting for it to warm up and went on out. FYI, 48 degrees and breezy is too forking cold. Or too breezy. It's too SOMETHING, for sure. I only made it twenty minutes because it was just too chilly. If it's like this again tomorrow, I guess I'll be settling for the elliptical instead of walking outside. It's not that I particularly WANT to be remotely active, exactly - but activity may give me an appetite enough to start eating real food again, and might help me sleep more than four or five hours.
On returning home, I decided against creating a schedule for myself: that's too much pressure, especially given that I have ~20 hours to fill each day, at least until I go back to work. Instead, I'm just going to schedule my wakeup time (we're aiming for 7:00 AM), and the first hour of my day will be drinking my coffee and planning my day. I'm not going to bother trying to schedule a bedtime, because I'm having enough trouble sleeping - I don't need to pressure myself, because that will only backfire.
I took a shower, and then... and then I fell apart. I don't know why, on this day, the simple act of taking a shower caused me to come undone, but here we are. Maybe it's because I'm still not used to walking out into the living room after showering and finding it empty. Maybe it's for no reason at all other than I miss my husband. And I do. I miss him so much. He had this dimple in his left cheek, and there was this particular smile that I never saw Doug give to anyone but me... it was his very own "I love you" look, and my heart skipped a beat every time he smiled that smile. Even after four years together, even with him pushing 67 years old, he grew more handsome (and yes, sexy) to me every day. And before you think "Ewwww! Unattractive old people getting it on? GROSS!", let me remind you that, if you're lucky, you too will be old someday and you'll be grateful that you still want to get it on; sex is fun, people, and that doesn't change just because parts start getting saggy. Sorry not sorry.
And, with that falling apart, I was right back to sitting cross-legged on the sofa, rocking and crying, and feeling as though there's no point to any of this. I'll keep doing the work - because what ELSE am I going to do with all this time, right? But the longing for Doug, the silence in this empty damn house, the empty spot next to me in our bed, the NEED to talk to him and see his face and feel his touch... Those aren't "better" and they aren't easier, and they aren't gone. They feel just like they did 54 days ago. It's just so hard to be here without him. Nothing feels right, and nothing makes sense, and nothing eases the pain.
I miss Doug. I want Doug. I need Doug. But I can't ever have him again.
And I don't know how to do this without him.
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