Dagnabit. That word
is specifically chosen in lieu of other, possibly offensive choices that
probably would have more accurately reflected how the last week or so has
gone. But I am peeking around the
corner, hoping to garner the courage to step around it. It appears to be brighter there, and it leads
to other sidewalks and streets never before explored.
I started early on in this grief journey determined to rise
above it. I was determined to behave so
as to make my husband and son proud of how I could manage. It’s what every Marine wife and mother should
be able to do, right? And for the most
part, I was able to do just that. It lasted
until about the first of this year – just past having Dave gone for a year and
approaching that same anniversary for Adam.
It hit me HARD that I didn’t want to go forward into a year that neither
one of them had lived to enjoy. And then
the death spiral began, pun very much intended.
Let me preface what comes next by saying I know much of what
I have felt in the last several months is not even rational. Intellectually I can tell a far different
story than I can emotionally. The heart
pumps so that the brain can work. When
the heart is broken, your thought processes are bound to be off as well. I am able to still know what Dave and Adam
would expect of me, what others would hope for me, what I ultimately want for
myself. However my heart has been
damaged so badly that while I understand that there is a new plan, I haven’t
found the energy or motivation to really review the plan, let alone to
implement new strategies.
I also believe that due to my seemingly wonderful coping
mechanisms within the first year, I have thrown people off by falling off the
cliff at this point. There is an anger
evident that was nowhere to be found a year ago. I lose patience with well-intentioned urging
and suggestions. The anger is not
directed anywhere but at the situation I find myself in. My frustration with others wanting to help is
that there is nothing they can say to me that hasn’t already crossed my mind, something
I’ve read in a book, or heard in some form of formal grief support. And I know my irritation is misplaced. Yet it remains. I think because some of the time you just
want to scream “you live in my shoes for a month and then tell me how all that’s
working for you!?!?!” Yep, there’s a
little anger. And I apologize if I've offended anyone with it. It's not at all personal. It's all meant for the Grim Reaper.
Initially, for at least a year, I did my level best to be
positive – “Yes, it’s a lot, but there are people who have had to cope with way
more than this.” “It can always be
worse.” I denied some of my own grief
because watching that of my daughter-in-law and grandchildren broke my heart
even more. They had so much more ahead
of them that they were denied and I wanted them to have the rest of their lives
with their husband and daddy. It just
wasn’t to be. And that hurt me deeply on
several levels. I wanted to be strong
for them as they found their way. I don’t
know if I succeeded there or not, but I knew for sure the last thing they
needed was a blubbering Nana in the midst of all they had going on. Nor will they need that ever!
Any good engineer will tell you that you can only shore up a
faulty dam for a while before it breaks.
Suffice it to say, it’s been flood season this spring in my corner of
the world. I’m tired of going home to an
empty house. I’m tired of wanting my
husband to help me make decisions and hold me when I miss Adam. And when I was worried about Dave, who had I
talked to but Adam, who also offered so much comfort and encouragement. My primary emotional support system
disappeared in a blink within 3 months.
And silly me thought I could manage this without a hiccup. Dave had promised me 30 years of
marriage. (He was 60 when we married,
and though I knew that 30 years was unlikely, he made so much magic in my life, I began
to believe it might be possible. Adam
had always promised that he would be there for me, no matter what. And until he couldn’t be, he was.) How in the world did I think I had the
ability to compensate for what they brought to my life?
And now I come to the meat of this entire rant. The realization that I need to “move on”. My daughter-in-law is braver and/or smarter
than me. She is finding a way to do just
that. And I say Bravo! It’s absolutely right. I see smiles from her and the kiddos that I
haven’t seen in a long time and it warms my heart. I can't know what that has cost her, but I do see that it is bringing good things to her life. And again, bravo to her. Others, as time pass, I think are surprised
at how much worse I am now than I was initially. On the surface it doesn’t make sense. I presented a pretty brave image
in the beginning. And I wasn’t acting. I was coping.
But suddenly there was nothing left for me to do but look to the future.
This feels much like I would guess it would be to take your
first steps onto the yellow brick road.
Looking back and seeing lots of happy people, wonderful times, singing,
dancing, laughing and safety. Looking
forward the road twisted and turned giving no clue as to where you might end
up. Everyone promises it will lead me to
the proverbial Oz. But going there was
never on my bucket list. To go
there, I had to leave some very dear people behind. And it’s a bit paralyzing for a while. The further you go toward the promise of
something unknown and unseen, the further behind you leave your beloveds. And the damning part of it all is that you
can’t do both, you can’t have both.
So there it is. I am
having the hardest time in the world letting go. I know it's semantics but
I hate “letting go, moving forward, and
finding a new normal”. People do let go
of husbands, but not if you found “THE ONE” as I did. I know my life led me to him and God meant
for us to be together. All the more reason
I should trust the future. But ten years
out of 59 was not nearly enough, although his impact will last many
lifetimes. And leave a child behind? It’s unheard of, criminal in fact, if they’re
living. And who would want to? All you do from the time you welcome them into the world is love them, comfort them, care for them and protect them. And you do it still in your heart from afar when they grow up to be big, bad Marines and act like they don't need you anymore. And there’s the rub. I need them both to continue to live in my
heart and I’m just not able to take those steps forward yet. The more others do, the more firmly rooted I
find myself. (That’s part of what is
irrational, for I know those who loved him best will never forget him and will
take him along with them in the way that is right for them.) But I promised to always be there, no matter
what. And my heart can’t tell my brain
that it’s okay to signal me to move ahead.
I find myself holding on to
heartache. And if I tell the truth, it’s
no longer heartache for them, for they are experiencing what we all desire –
the glory of an eternity with our God.
The heartache is for me. Pure and
simple, in my head I’m left behind with not a clue how to fit in anywhere. Again, irrational, because I know how well I
am loved and where I am welcome.
The good news is that I am afraid if I don’t do something
soon, this dark, scary, swampy place will claim me permanently. It’s a limbo for sure, and it’s not a fun
place to be. Going backwards means I
live embracing what I lost, who I miss and what I can’t have. Dr. Phil would ask me how that’s working for
me. Ha!
There really is only one choice.
I just need to repair my heart to get some forward traction. I
decided yesterday that I would take baby steps, beginning anew each
morning. I’m not even worried where I’m
going. I’m just doing my best to put
some positivity back into my life and achieve a few things a day that I haven’t
been able to manage in a while. It’s
scary, terrifying actually. But as a
very wise younger sister once told me, a storm can only last for so long, and
remember how fresh it
smells and how beautiful and clean everything looks in its wake.
It’s time to venture out of my storm cellar, look around and take a deep breath. Maybe my heart can reconnect to my brain and
I’ll find some courage. It’s time I
enjoy a rainbow and get some fresh air.
One. Step. At.
A. Time.
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