A Smiling Young Widow

I live in a windy spot, so when we start talking about the wind around here that means it is really gusting. Last week as I was woken up by the wind howling, I thought it was time to write this post.

Pre-Tom dying I was lucky to be a good sleeper. It was odd for me to toss and turn, or to not fall asleep right away. When I was out, I was out. Not big on sleeping in – that was for Tom and Frank, snuggled in together on weekend mornings – but I was a really solid sleeper. Sometimes to Tom’s chagrin.

I remember one morning waking up and saying “good morning” to Tom. He grumbled something out like, “oh yeah I bet it is for you”. He was so grouchy. Apparently the night before, I’d slept through quite the wind storm. There had been a shovel blowing around on the back deck, downspouts rattling, and just general house shaking. Tom and Frank had both been woken up throughout the night by all this. At one point Tom had gone out the back door that is right in our bedroom, with a barking Frank, to put the shovel away in the garage. He came back inside through the front door and then into our room. He was like seriously, how could you have slept through that?! Oops. 

Or there was the time we were out tenting by this beautiful lake we had all to ourselves. I was sleeping blissfully unaware of the world outside the tent. Tom woke me up at one point like, “Les, Les do you hear that? Something is eating right outside our tent. Frank woke up too. What should I do?” My reply was, “Just put in your ear plugs and go back to sleep”, as I was basically already asleep again and what can we do when we are in a tent in the middle of nowhere. Maybe 15 minutes later, Tom woke me up again as he’d now unzipped the tent and discovered the scary animal outside our tent was a deer. “Hey Les, do you think I should go bear spray that deer to get it out of here?” My reply, “Uhh no I definitely do not think you should do that! Just put in your earplugs and go to sleep!” The next morning over coffee, Tom did agree that yeahhh he also could see that it wouldn’t have been the best idea to go bear spray a deer.

Similar story on airplanes – Tom would read away on the plane for hours while I slept, nice enough to get my snacks or meals so I didn’t miss out. Tom would make fun of me pulling out my sleep mask and earplugs, but I was determined to get as much rest as possible en route. Anyone I’ve travelled with has seen that too. I was a great sleeper. 

Then Tom died. This kind of grief is a whole body experience, and sleep was definitely a part of that. The first flight I took after Tom died, I was like what am I supposed to do? I think I half fell asleep for a bit with Gilmore Girls playing in my headphones (still my go-to for help falling asleep), but I had never before found myself with so much time to kill on a plane. 

GRIEF AND SLEEP

The elusiveness of sleep is a big part of widowhood. I know I’ve actually been pretty fortunate with how I’ve been able to sleep compared to other people’s stories after becoming a widow. Some people will struggle for years and years. There are nights now I do get a solid sleep. Other times I wake up feeling like I got hit by a bus and wonder did I actually sleep at all? It is so up and down. Any big reminder dates that loom seem to siphon sleep potential. It’s another piece of grief where I think the outside world would say like, oh that’s still bothering you? We don’t expect these things to last. But they do. They last for what, even to me living through it, seems like a ridiculously long time. 

Early on in this grief journey it felt like I was prepping for a battle each night when going off to bed. I never knew what I was going to get. Sometimes I’d sleep for a few hours and then I’d open my eyes wide awake as my brain started going again. Sometimes I’d make it through to the morning and that would be a celebration. I could be woken up by some horrible dream or a really nice dream where Tom came back, both sending me right back into full stress mode.

I would put on some mindless Netflix show to try to distract my brain (I discovered the “stop playing” timer on my phone, game changer). This is definitely not proper sleep hygiene advice when you’re struggling with sleep. I listened to a podcast on sleep and grief a few months in. While there was some general sleep advice that I was already familiar with, I was super cynical about the whole episode. As the “expert” talked, I doubted that she’d ever had a big loss in her life. The kind of big, shake your whole world up level of loss. I’m sure her tips have helped a lot of people, but I think trying to sleep after becoming a widow is a whole other thing. 

The Grieving Brain book (have I talked enough about how much I loved this book?!) explains a bit about grief and sleep, referencing the German term “zeitgebers”. This translates to “time givers” and refers to environmental cues that regulate sleep and circadian rhythms – essentially what we sync up with to help our body understand it’s time for sleep. Zeitgebers can be external or internal. Things like regular timing of meals, light and darkness levels, social interactions or a period of quiet time at the end of the evening, the warmth and regular smells of going to bed. 

Dr. O’Connor describes how after losing a partner, a lot of these zeitgebers that are a part of our evening actually cue grief instead of sleep – possibly leading us into this wide-awake web of rumination instead. Sleeping pills can mask what we actually need in grief – time to figure out the process of going to bed in a terrible new reality. She gave the example of say you always sat in a particular chair until your spouse and you went off to bed together, well your brain is still looking for that same rhythm and it needs to relearn that routine actually can’t happen anymore. It needs to figure out how something else can trigger the wind-down nighttime routine. How it can be ok to go to sleep without the quiet time in your chairs together. There are so many things linking your partner to sleep. And a heck of a lot of loneliness left behind. 

This idea of zeitgebers made a lot of sense to me. One little example – I would always say goodnight to Tom before I went off to bed. It was rare it wouldn’t happen. Even if Tom was on the road for work I would have talked to him or at least there’d have been a quick text if one of us was still out doing something (I have lots of pictures Tom sent me of him falling asleep on a hotel pillow!). It was a way to finish off the day. I miss those real tuned-in conversations that happened just before falling asleep (or I’ll be honest, as I know this is what Tom would chirp in with, sometimesI would fall asleep during some of these talks too!) It was a chance to tie up loose ends or talk through anything left on each of our minds before heading off to sleep. It was a sense of safety. My brain learnt to expect that, and then it really missed it when Tom died. 

I know this is the total opposite of sleep hygiene advice, but it was like I physically could not go to sleep without scrolling through my phone for a while after Tom died. My brain was searching for that end of the day closure, expecting a good night from Tom. I would scroll through photos or old text messages or Tom’s funny old Instagram posts. On some level I knew I was looking for something I could no longer find, but it seemed even something connected to Tom was what I needed before I could possibly have my brain turn-off. Scrolling, then turning on a mindless show was my new routine.

THE EXHAUSTION OF GRIEF 

Ok, so the battle for sleep is one thing, but it’s not just that it is hard to sleep.
Grief is also utterly exhausting. 

This is not the typical tiredness that our world seems to value, like the, “you keeping busy?” or “lots on the go?” I wrote a journal entry for myself pretty early on venting about this. Umm nope I am not keeping busy and it actually is quite the opposite. I’m sitting in this and have some very quiet days, but I still feel constantly exhausted. “Oh from not sleeping well.” Yeah kind of. But also I’m still navigating what is thought of as the most stressful experience someone could go through? Yeah that’s draining.

So much processing after loss happens at the subconscious level. I read someone else’s reflection awhile ago describing how perplexing it is for the brain. It is work to believe that the amazing life we had together was real and then to also believe that Tom is now dead. How can both be true? It is so disorienting, and exhausting.

The constant mapping of this new reality takes a lot of energy. When I’m in a more self-compassionate state, I can acknowledge how say every time I drive home and want to call Tom – well that’s another moment of learning nope he is gone forced on poor tired out me. Sure there’s a lot that I’ve learnt to navigate better, conversations I’ve had many times now or places I’ve had to go solo. I’m still hit with so much newness though, and there will forever be things I find myself doing or going through where I just know Tom should be there next to me. 

There are still times where it feels like something is missing or I’m thinking hmm what am I forgetting? Yes at bedtime, but it reaches throughout the day too. Like I’m packing up the vehicle or I’m about to pull out of the driveway and feel like there’s something I must have forgotten to do. Sure sometimes there is actually a missed errand or a wrapped gift next to the door that didn’t make it to the birthday party (because grief brain fog is a very real thing), but often what is missing is still Tom. His bag in the trunk, Tom in the driver’s seat (because he couldn’t sleep in the car and I could, of course), a phone call to tell him I’m leaving or arrived. Tom holding my hand at a wedding or funeral. Tom weighing in on choices of what comes next for my career or where to live.

I’m not sure if there’s another catchy word for all the other cues linked to our people that become part of our days, but it’s a concept I’ve been thinking about more. There’s no going back to regular ol life here for me, so that means a lot of learning how to exist in this new reality. Reflecting on that opens up a bit more love for myself doing whatever is needed to get through this. Like the permission to do the opposite of what sleep experts recommend – I needed to give myself the kindness of hey sorry brain, this is so hard but we’re having to learn a new rhythm of how our day wraps up. 

If you’re grieving, be sure to give yourself credit for what your entire self is having to go through. And maybe go take a nap…