A Smiling Young Widow

I haven’t posted for a bit, despite having pages upon pages of half-written posts. Sometimes I wonder if my writing should just be for myself, not wanting to share anything too depressing or offend anyone. A little while ago I listened to a webinar with David Kessler and Andrea Cagan on writing through loss and trauma. One of their nuggets of advice I have jotted down was to not write what you think other people need to hear, but rather to write what you need to say. And I do know my honest writing can be helpful to others.

Other times this bit of writer’s block comes from me thinking I’m no success story. I don’t feel like I’m in a position to be sharing much for advice when I’m struggling away in the thick of it. At least a couple times a month I could come back and write another blog post about how much I just want to be over it. The inner debate of, “ok everyone else is doing fine so just get it together,” crashing into the, “yeah actually this is even worse than you’re giving yourself credit for”. 

I’m still doing it though and I know, I know that is where the success hides. That messiness deserves to be shared too. Growing while grieving, even if reluctantly so. It’s a mess of figuring out how to actually and truly continue to live despite this all, but I have this determination to do just that. Anxiety has been visiting me often in this phase of my grief journey, but I’m not letting it take over. I need to give myself credit for not curling into a ball or becoming cynical and closed-off. To be willing to go deep in the mess, yet hold onto hope. 

As I reflected more on what I’m calling a mess, I realized I am in fact quite “successfully” oscillating back and forth in the dual process model of grief. This model offers the idea that we move between two different coping mechanisms:
(1) loss-oriented responses where we confront the pain and the reality of what has been lost, and,
(2) restoration-oriented responses where we bravely step out into the world and try to figure out what that life looks like without our person.

Both sides of the model are stressful and painful to spend time in. Trust me, you don’t just move onto the restoration-orientated side with great optimism looking ahead to oh gee what could my life look like instead?! 

I started out by spending time on the “restoration side” strictly for distraction. You can’t sit fully in the pain of losing your young husband suddenly or it would literally destroy you. You go do something outside with a friend, you watch a mindless TV show, you do some ridiculous deep cleaning chore, you dance, you drink, you book another trip. The grief never leaves. It’s always there and always changing, but you oscillate. That’s the not getting stuck part.

I have opened up to more of the restoration-orientated side now, looking ahead and oof is it ever painful. Of course it is. I desperately want to hold onto the old life I can’t have. It was amazing. Any future options I consider still beg to have Tom be a part of it.

Awhile ago I read the book Resilient Grieving, where the author shared her life outlook that if option A was no longer on the table then she was determined to kick the shit out of option B. I’d like to think like that. I’m still very much grieving my option A – the wonderful life Tom and I had together and what I thought that would look like into the future – and coming to terms with the fact that I even have to consider what option B might look like in my life.

The dual process model of grief isn’t my favourite grief model … probably because I am still busy crashing into my own frustration that a grief journey can’t be a nice linear process with a finish line to cross! But it sure is helpful to reflect on when I catch my critical thoughts racing. Like somehow it is coming up to two years without Tom and I wish I could confidently know what’s next for me. What purpose is hidden in this happening to me? What’s my big life altering lesson here? What changes do I have to make?

When I can take a step back, it makes perfect sense that I’m still oscillating in this. There’s never a full recovery from a loss this big. We learn to carry it differently, sure, but it’s tagging along for the rest of this life. I’ve had another quote running through my mind lately – “This hole in your universe won’t just close itself back up”. 

I’ll finish off with a mantra a wonderful yoga teacher and friend shared with me, if anyone else is spending time in the anxious messy web of grief:

Everything will fall into place in time.
I make space and time to listen to my heart.
Everything will fall into place.