Monday, February 27, 2012

Still

At my massage the other day, I was talking to my therapist (who is also a close friend), and we were gabbing about doctors, and how they chalk things up to middle/old/whatever age, essentially recusing themselves from having to do anything to try to help you. "Useless doctors" is a favorite rant of mine, for sure. I shared an anecdote about A, and how he was a jogger, and when he went to the doctor about his knees that were bothering him on his runs, he basically got a "Whaddayawant? You're 40" kind of response. I commented that what he wanted was knees that were going to work for another 40 years, which actually turned out to be just 15 in his case.

The conversation moved on, as did the massage, and at the end, she wrapped various bits of me in hot towels and left me to relax on the table for a bit. In the solitude, I found myself staring up at the ceiling and suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere (but obviously triggered by the earlier conversational topic), my mind was shouting:

You died! How can you be dead? People don't generally die at 55; it's an abnormally young age to die.

It was a visceral reaction, felt more than thought, and stunning for its unexpected intensity, and it's unexpectedness, period. Sometimes it's like living in a dream. Well, not my dreams, which are always bizarre in the extreme, but maybe someone else's, where the oddest things are accepted and taken for granted in the dreamscape when they would make no sense at all in waking life. Time, habit, and a lot of hard work have acclimated me to the bizarre occurrence (in my life, if not in the world) that was A's death. But sometimes...sometimes I wake up in the middle of it like this and realize the shock never really went away; it was just dampened for a long time. Not that I'm complaining; you can't keep going if the edge of that knife is not dulled over time. But it's always, always there.

5 years, 7 months, 12 days later, and this has not changed: I understand that this is; I will never understand why it is. It still surprises me that it's true.

10 comments:

  1. It's crazy-making, it really is.

    7 years, 6 months, 20 days later, I still find myself gasping for breath, fighting back the tears -- or just letting them fall onto my pillow.

    I really thought I'd have gotten over it by now. **snork**

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    1. I suppose the real miracle is that we have the other days at all, where our awareness is just fuzzy enough to allow us to function in the world. I get frustrated, I guess, that we have to carry this lifelong pain through no fault of our own, in addition to the initial overwhelming pain of fresh grief.

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    2. I get overwhelmed with the thought of how long we will carry it. Will I still sob like this...feeling the pain so deep in my heart that I want to cease to exist...when I'm 70?? 80?? And God, what loss on top of this will I have (I know I will have more) that I have to carry along with it. Life is just unexplainably miserable at times. I don't know how people bare it, honestly...without going insane.

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    3. Some go insane. Some of us accept the little bit of insanity that is grief that remains with us. Some deny it all, altogether. We cope because giving up isn't an option. People who love us need us to be here. People we love make us need to be here. I used to think another loss would destroy me, after this one. Now I suspect that it would not; but it might break me, or numb me, to the point where apathy is my only recourse. I hope I don't have to find out, but I hoped that before. You just keep breathing, keep doing, and that's it.

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  2. Ditto, at 6 years, 7 months, 26 days…and as you both well know, I'm barely hitting "functioning" levels lately.

    While I don't "miss" that first year of grief and never want to experience anything like it again, it was easier in *some* ways--namely that I knew it broke all previous rules of normal and what I could reasonably expect. Everything was more black and white, and I perennially had to live in survival mode, taking-it-one-hour/day/moment-at-a-time mode, and with endless sensitivity to my limits. Now that things are back to "normal" (whatever the hell THAT means!), it's harder to still give allowances for the grief, my limits, etc.

    And yes, it STILL hits me at random times that he's really and truly DEAD; the shock hits anew…although it definitely does fade faster now.

    Chalk me up under the frustrated category…and the easily overwhelmed one, too. I'd like the old me back, please…and while you're at it, bring Charley back and give me some glitter and a unicorn, too. ;o)

    Love ya both!!

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    1. I can help you with the glitter, anyway. :)

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    2. What, no unicorns, Phoenix? Really?

      Dang it.

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    3. I am already a mythical creature; how many friends do you think I have on hand???

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  3. Yup. 11 days from now is the three year anniversary...and so my spiral begins. My husband I began a few weeks ago rewatching the series Six Feet Under (HIGHLY recommended if you have the emotional fortitude). Painfully, the last, hardest episodes were today. I sobbed and sobbed...brings up all the pain and missing bubbling to the surface like a overflowing pot.

    When I first watched the series several years ago I wrote Greg about how it was really impacting me. I can't believe that was so long ago now. And that now he's dead. And here I am relating to this show in such a different fucking place...four signifcant deaths...his death...since I saw it that first time. Oh what I didn't know then. Scares the absolute fucking hell out of me! What will I experience in terms of loss in pain in the years after I got done watching it this time!!

    I know that inside screaming feeling all too well. It will hit me driving. Tonight it hit me as I turned around to see Greg's aunt standing next to me at my daughter's family math night at school...her finally meeting my husband and him telling her how he knew her nephew...her reminding me of the anniversary and getting tears in her eyes as she spoke of how much is mother still hurts over his death.

    I'm soooo mad...and yes, still in absolute shock.

    Amy J.

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    1. There was so much I couldn't watch without bawling for so long; some things I knew I should just avoid, and did, but even now, the tears come easily. It's weird--people will say, "Oh, I'm sorry it made you cry," as if I could've just not watched it and been fine. In some ways, that's true; but the tears only mean that what's resonating with what I see or hear about is already inside me. What they don't get is that being widowed has made me extrasensitive; it's not a bad thing, really. I'm used to crying; I became a pro at it in the early days. Now, it's no big deal. It comes and goes quickly.

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