Passive suicide and other ramblings
Every single night when I go to sleep at night, I ask and I hope that I will not wake up tomorrow, when I wake up each morning, I curse the fact that I have woken up. I am not suicidal, I just wish I was dead. I wish I could escape the pain. I wish I could escape the reality of my life. I wish I did not have to learn how to live without him.
This scares people, but speaking to other widows, it is not an uncommon feeling, a lot of us seem to wish that every headache was an annurism, constipation a very advanced stage of cancer that is going to take us overnight and an anxiety attack a fatal heart attack. But somehow, we all know that tomorrow we will still be alive, no matter how we wish it to be different.
This week has been a particularly difficult week as I plan a memorial dinner for what would have been Brian's 50th birthday. Somehow, it is making me face the reality of my loss, not that I ever thought it was not real, but "the widow fog" somehow protects us from truly understanding the reality all at once. The reality and the enormity of our loss, becomes more real in different ways each day.
In those first days and weeks after Brian died, I was intensly sad and I had a clear understanding of how this was going to be. I was going to grieve and I was going to miss him forever, but I would eventually see the light and I would be finished grieving, and of course I could do this. I have lived alone before, how hard can it be. How wrong I was. I had no idea how hard, and I had no idea that grief is not a linear path and I had NO idea what was in store for me. And each day brings new challenges, new revelations and a new understanding of grief.
This scares people, but speaking to other widows, it is not an uncommon feeling, a lot of us seem to wish that every headache was an annurism, constipation a very advanced stage of cancer that is going to take us overnight and an anxiety attack a fatal heart attack. But somehow, we all know that tomorrow we will still be alive, no matter how we wish it to be different.
This week has been a particularly difficult week as I plan a memorial dinner for what would have been Brian's 50th birthday. Somehow, it is making me face the reality of my loss, not that I ever thought it was not real, but "the widow fog" somehow protects us from truly understanding the reality all at once. The reality and the enormity of our loss, becomes more real in different ways each day.
In those first days and weeks after Brian died, I was intensly sad and I had a clear understanding of how this was going to be. I was going to grieve and I was going to miss him forever, but I would eventually see the light and I would be finished grieving, and of course I could do this. I have lived alone before, how hard can it be. How wrong I was. I had no idea how hard, and I had no idea that grief is not a linear path and I had NO idea what was in store for me. And each day brings new challenges, new revelations and a new understanding of grief.
Wendy,
ReplyDeleteI was just going over some of my old posts and you were one of the first people to comment on my blog. And now I've found yours. I can relate to so many of the things you've posted. Good luck with Brian's Memorial Dinner. We just had a send off for Austin where we spread his ashes and I can relate to feeling the enormity of our loss in a whole new way, now that the fog has lifted.
Looking forward to reading more and being in touch.
Debbie
Hi Debbie,
ReplyDeleteI just went and found my comment on your blog. It won't come as a surprise to you that I hardly remember writing it. These last months have been a blur. I think these first months we give new meaning to "going through the motions".
Thank you for checking in on my blog.
I wish us courage for our continued journey.