I’ve been anxious about this fall season marking the one year anniversary when life as I’d known it for nearly 30 years profoundly changed with the swift and unexpected passing of my husband, Rich.
I fully anticipated and understood that the period between early October and the 28th of this month would be a very difficult time. For protective measures, I’d spent lots of time on-line communicating with other widows and widowers seeking strategies to prevent the prolonging of grief which is said to often worsen after this one year milestone.
An inoculation so to speak.
At a time when some friends and family members may mistakenly think I should be “over it by now”, those lovely chemicals that created a numbing effect known as “Widowed Brain” have worn off or are beginning to. Widowed Brain, for those unfamiliar, is defined as an extreme emotional response when the brain attempts to shield itself from the shock of one’s invisible amputation.
Once those brain chemicals evaporate, one’s memories become sharper as their newly de-fogged brain tries to piece together the events leading up to the day that changed everything.
I recall a year ago distracting myself by working in our backyard. I derived a measure of hope as I went about maintaining the lovely large lanai which had become my sanctuary during Covid and during Rich’s hospitalization and beyond. A beautiful spot where I still read, write and just relax in the most peaceful setting – my haven.
That first Sunday Rich was away from our home, I went out and purchased fall plantings and updated the flower beds in that lanai. I remember thinking how happy he’d be to see everything had been maintained and looking good despite his absence, something that was important to him.
But on that particular day I remember just sitting still and listening to the extreme quiet that surrounded me. It was overwhelming. “This is what it will be like if Rich doesn’t make it home,” I thought.
I realize now that I was inoculating myself from a possible unwelcome outcome.
This past week has had its challenges. I’m a high-functioning griever. Many who are also widowed are inspired by my apparent ability to have just kept going at a time when many shut down or isolate. I think everyone has a different degree of resilience and I’ve been able to handle my situation in a way that is unique to me. As “they” say, everyone’s journey is different.
But it doesn’t mean I don’t struggle each day to carry on “normally” in a world where many can’t fully understand what it’s like to lose half of yourself. I understand – once upon a time I didn’t have the ability to truly comprehend.
Each day brings new “triggers” – Being in the presence of others talking about the annoying habits of their spouses, or the sharing of special anniversary plans. I’ve learned to accept that this is my new reality and to recognize and celebrate their happy milestones just as they did our’s and wish them many more. If it gets to be too much, I can just quietly retreat.
The last evening Rich and I spent in our home together often comes to mind. Conjuring up the last of his energy, he valiantly prepared a special shrimp dish for us. He’d always been an excellent cook and wanted to try a new recipe he’d seen on TV. After, he lit all the candles in the lanai and just asked to sit and talk. I can’t recall what we talked about, but after a time he said, “Let’s go in.” As he put out the candles, I accepted the fact that this could be our last time spent together in that haven.
I understand now these “Lasts” are really just inoculations that will help us to later get through “The Firsts”.
I also realize that I’m a reminder to others that life can turn on a dime. Hopefully, my story and experiences can foster resilience and help to inoculate others against the inevitable hardships that may seep in to the lives of everyone at some point.