This post won’t contain pictures – it’s not because I don’t want it too but because I’m simply trying to keep up with our lives.
June 13, 2016 marked 1 1/2 year of me being a widow – you can read some of my thoughts on that here, I wrote it before the mark. A friend of my husband’s passed away this week – he was 44 and he left behind three children and a wife. There are times the scabs get ripped off and start oozing again. I could not bring myself to go to his visitation, I’ll send a card to his widow and children.
There are times I want to quit everything – church, school, activities, all. of. it! I just want to stay inside, cuddle in my bed and have my children with me and just, BE. There are times that I put on my smiling face because no one wants to really hear about our troubles, my worries for the future and so on. I’m just weary of everything – it’s not so much depression as it is self-preservation.
I want to stop but then I know if I do – even for a moment – things will come crashing down, emotions I don’t want to feel, tears I don’t want to fall, raw pain that I don’t want to deal with. So I stay busy, so busy that by 7 or 8 p.m. I fall into bed exhausted so I can fall to sleep and not let thoughts plague me – of course the nightmares come. So I guess it’s counter-productive.
I’m realizing I haven’t grieved fully.
I’m realizing that I’ve gone through the motions and it seems the more I go through the motions the more numb I become.
I’ve realized what family and what friends I can count on and there are those I can’t, and it hurts. Those that have helped and continue to do so, thank you, that isn’t what hurts. The hurt comes from those who think I should be the one to call, to reach out if I need something. If someone lost a parent, we wouldn’t require them to be the ones to reach out, would we? So why should a widow? There is family who wonders why we don’t come around much – it goes both ways and I can’t be the one to make the effort all the time.
My son recently confided to me that he gets scared when I’m asleep. I guess apparently I sleep so soundly that you can’t see my chest rise and fall. Being the child that found his dad, you can imagine how scary it is for him. So I’ve had to give him permission at any time he gets scared and doesn’t see my breathing, to wake me up. This isn’t an easy feat, my husband hated waking me up too, I’m a heavy sleeper for the most part. I’ve assured him and all of them they can wake me.
That is our lives. I even check on the children more now than I did when they were babes. If I get up to use the restroom in the middle of the night I’ll check on them – and hold my breath until they either move or I see their chest move.
We take for granted we’ll be there in the morning – our lives no longer allow us to do that – sad for me to learn and even more sad for such young children to learn.
We’ve gone through our 2nd Father’s Day and we’re going into our 2nd Fourth of July – my mom is thinking of buying me a grill so we’ll probably do something low key at home. My son doesn’t want to see fireworks, I’m okay with that. My oldest had her 2nd set of ear tubes put in this week and so she’s sensitive to sound. We’ve got smoke bombs and sparklers we’ll do.
We’ve also passed my brother’s 1st birthday, the first one without him here.
One would think that as a social worker and having taken many psych classes I’d know what to do, follow the stages of grief and be healthy. Like nurses making the worst patients, social workers don’t follow their own education either – oh we can tell others the way I’ve dealt with things probably isn’t the healthiest, it will come to bite me in the end, etc, etc. Then again I guess we’re all just trying to make it through whether healthy or not, whether it’s following the grief guidelines or not.
So all this to say is that I’m still here, blogging is still a way for me to express myself, just checking in. Please keep us in your prayers.