For years after Lynn passed, I never shied away from “hard feelings” ie: sadness, anger, exhaustion, confusion, etc. If a feeling came along, I gave it a place to stay as long as it needed to. I had no filter with people either. If people asked “how was I doing,” I matter of factly told them how I was feeling. I did not say it with resentment, but more to accept my current state, and to acknowledge that the “hard feelings” were perfectly normal feelings to have, considering my partner had passed. There was no way, back then, that I could have smiled, and said, “I’m fine,” for the sake of someone not feeling uncomfortable. I also told myself often, “Go through the hard feelings now if they come up, because I do NOT want to go through them down the road, after they have festered and evolved.” It was rather a sacred chapter, to be so present with my feelings all the time. And I talked to Lynn constantly during this time – I was intent on maintaining and evolving our relationship.
Since my Mom passed almost two years ago, I have had a bit of a different way to cope… I’m not sure why. While I talked to her constantly, I let myself “pretend” that she was physically around, which I did not do with Lynn. She was almost always in the car with me, and it is weird still to not have her in the passenger seat. Even now, I will pass a store or restaurant and think, oh, Mom might want to stop by here. Or, I will pretend that I will be seeing her later, and wondering if I should pick something up for her. This reminded me of the book “The Year of Magical Thinking,” which I have NEVER finished. It was one of the books I tried reading after Lynn died, but it was way too hard to get through. From talking with others, and reading reviews, it sounds like Joan Didion somewhat pretended her husband was “away.” I remember Lynn’s brother, who lived in a different state than us, pretended Lynn was still here in California, and they just hadn’t seen each other for awhile.
While I did not pretend Lynn was away, I did envision her on the other side, and knew that she was just as busy and task oriented as ever. I grieved hard for her all consuming absence though, even as I kept (for many, many years) some drinks she had left in the refrigerator and clothing on the same chair she had left them. I was intent on being a “very good widow.” I realized on the eve of her first Angelversary, that one of my reasons for being a “very good widow,” was because I had subconsciously, a million percent believed that Lynn would come back on her Angelversary. Was this magical thinking? Seems like it. I have said this many times to widows, and the majority of widows I have told respond with an identical or similar expectation.
When Lynn passed, I was mercifully off work for a month, which gave me space and time to cry whenever I needed to, scream, yell, go through hours of videos and hundreds of photos, all of which greatly helped in that first month. And, then there’s my first two years grieving for my Mom. I gave myself permission to not hurl myself headfirst into all the pain, all at once. It’s too much… too much change, too much shock, too much absence of my own life. Also, I had to take care of “practical matters,” that required more mental and physical energy than I needed when Lynn passed… well, maybe just “different” energy. I am also focused on supporting other people grieving my Mom, while I focused solely on myself when Lynn passed. I find my grieving process to be maybe a slower untangling of my future with my past, since my Mom held almost all the ties to my past. (I had lived within 8 blocks of my childhood / parents’ home for 43+ of my 50 years). While I talk with her constantly, I do not have the expectation of my Mom returning. I do not steer my thinking or feelings one way or another, my grief takes its own path. As I come on the 2 year Angelversary of my Mom, I sense that I will look at the days that pass less as, “these are how many days she has been gone,” and more to “this is how many days I have survived without her here.” This shift happened for me as well, as I honored and marked each year after Lynn passed.
