A Smiling Young Widow

There’s been a lot going on for me this last little bit. Mostly things the outside world wouldn’t actually see as being a lot, and my old self wouldn’t have flinched at. Doing a mountain bike class. Buying corn on the cob. Figuring out hot tub maintenance. Bigger adjustments too.

Everything registers differently now. Managing to get out and accomplish something can still exhaust my entire system. Little changes can feel huge for me now. Loving Tom and losing Tom touched every piece of my life and I continue to feel that.

I have been studying for a certification exam that is coming up next week. I was registered to write last May but was able to defer it for a year when everything went down. So here I am, with a brain that is still busy rewiring to figure out where the F our Tom is, trying to memorize meds and lab values. Symptoms of a grieving brain – like fogginess, lack of motivation, forgetfulness, trouble concentrating – oh those really set you up for success in getting all these numbers and guidelines to stick. Then there’s the whole piece of how I found myself writing this exam in the first place, Tom was my biggest cheerleader in signing up to do it. You know shared life plans and what not. It is really weird to be here doing this now.

So studying has taken over as a priority. I know it will take more effort to retain all this information than old me would have needed. I’ve somewhat subconsciously pushed things back. Like I’ve done with other appointments, oh I’ll just book that in for the last week of May, is sort of what i’ve been doing with grief. Writing for the blog, I was thinking just leave that until the exam is over. You don’t have time. You’ll just have to sit with this weirdness until the exam is over. I’ve been journalling less for myself too.

It is not that my grief ever actually takes a break. I cannot truly pretend all is good and normal ever. I think this is something that sets levels of losses apart a bit – how much a person is forced to confront that death in the day-to-day, how much of the weirdness tags along as you try to carry-on in a life that just doesn’t sit right. Megan Devine talks about the kind of losses that rearrange your world. That is for sure my experience. It is not something to “get through” with any kind of speed. I’ve written before about the loneliness of grief, and I feel like this is a big part of it. Other people might not have to rethink their whole worldview, they might be able to compartmentalize their grief or have a normal life to retreat to with their support system intact. A strategy like staying busy might work. Not for me. The head in the sand approach hasn’t been my jam since the start of this, and my body knows that. Sure I can try to carry-on and push those feelings down. But they catch up. They will always catch up.

“There are losses that rearrange the world. Deaths that change the way you see everything, grief that tears everything down. Pain that transports you to an entirely different universe, even while everyone else thinks nothing has really changed.”

Megan Devine

Yesterday I was so grumpy and so on edge. Anger hasn’t really been the “star” emotion for me on this journey, but yesterday it was centre stage. I went for a walk in the woods and the tipping point of it all? So silly. It was Franklin’s insistence that he did not want to walk with a pep in his step. He gets lazy and just saunters behind sometimes if we’re on a familiar route, as if he’s like yeahhh I know this place well so I’d rather just sleep on the couch at home. Sometimes I can lean into that energy, take it slow and just enjoy all the forest has to offer. Yesterday was not that day. Movement has been my medicine – a way to cope, a way to move some anxiety out of my body. I let Frank off his leash and I carried on ahead at a power walk, letting everything bubble over. He could catch-up to me if he damn well wanted to, but I needed to move! I was talking out loud – to Frank, to the trees, to Tom, to a squirrel (widowhood makes you crazy, this is the least of it). Ranting about all the things that were making me so upset. Who was annoying me. How much I hate all the changes forced on me. Why did I have to lose Tom, my biggest support, and be here continuing on alone.

All the weird little shifts and all the “just save it for later” caught up to me. I guess I needed the forest to take that in, let me feel all the feelings. The beautiful, solid, judgement-free forest is a gift. A witness to the grief. With the busyness of the last little bit, I haven’t been leaning into myself or checking-in like I was. I haven’t been doing as much of the active mourning.

Remember my own advice? There is a difference between grief and mourning. The grief is there, whether you like it or not. The mourning though, you gotta put in the work to move the grief from the inside to the outside. Or else, well, you might just end up in the forest angrily talking to yourself. It’s coming out eventually.

This morning, I lit a candle next to Tom’s picture and caught up on a few days worth of reflections. This had been my daily routine for a bit and fell off. Well my daily meditation was on point – how important a kind of shrine for a loved one can be in offering a way to connect and find the fortification to carry-on. Then there was the reflection from Dr. Wolfelt, “grief requires time to dream, remember, reach for the infinite, and simply to be.” Reminders that I still need to give myself that dedicated time to sit with my grief and my love. I need to continue to lean into fluidity, trusting that I know what feels ok when.

So, just me over here re-reading my own advice and getting back on track. Trying to once again give my grief time, even when I can’t quite put a finger on what is going on for me. It’s finding the stillness in the chaos. Prioritizing time to just be.

I have plans for tools to try, other strategies that might help me move more into my body and less in my head … but of course these are what I’ll explore after I’ve made it through the exam … <insert face palm + self-compassion>

Book names if you want ’em:

• 365 Days of Grief (Dr. Alan Wolfelt)
• It’s Ok That You’re Not Ok: Meeting Grief and Loss in a Culture That Doesn’t Understand (Megan Devine)
• Hope & Healing for Transcending Loss: Daily Meditations for Those Who Are Grieving (Ashley Davis Bush)