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[gikmb-blog]

Grieve Your Way

Don’t eat yellow snow. Don’t loan money to friends unless you’re prepared to lose both. Don’t seek shelter under a tree during a thunderstorm. Turn into the skid. Measure twice, cut once. There isn’t really a Nigerian Prince who wants to transfer money to you. All good suggestions for avoiding life’s pitfalls. Here’s another one to add to your list-- Never, EVER tell someone who is deep in grief to “get over it,” “it’s time to move on,” “go out and find your passion,” “you're not moving forward quickly enough,” “you need to get out and meet people,”  or “you really should be farther along than you are.” Unless you are the person going through said grief, you simply have no way of knowing the severity of the pain felt by the loss and should refrain from trying to impart what another person should do, which quite frankly is based on what you yourself think you would do if you were in this position. The fact is, until it happens to you—You. Have. No. Idea.

Paul, my husband of 37 years, the man whom I credit for my becoming the person I am, encouraging me toward all of my successes, the man who put up with my neurosis, my fears, my fumbles, and my loudness, the man whom I love with my entire being, and with whom I lived out all the ups and downs of adult life passed away six months ago. As a result I’m living in a waking nightmare. I went to sleep on Dec 7th after receiving what would be our last kiss, our last hug, and our last “I love you.” I awakened on Dec the 8th to find Paul sitting in his office chair, one hand reaching for his guitar, head flung back, eyes and mouth open wide apparently from his last breath. He’d suffered a massive coronary while I slept.  

Now six months later, an entire half year has passed and I find myself still breathing. I wake every morning, I shower, I get dressed, I go out among the living; but I feel exposed. Paul is no longer by my side. Paul is no longer here to protect me from the big bad world and the things I fear.  Paul is no longer here to hold me, kiss me, and push me forward. Paul is no longer here for me to hug, to laugh with, to argue with, to discuss all the things that happen day to to day.  The worst part...Paul is no longer here. I shared everything with Paul. We became adults together marrying one month after my turning 18 and two weeks before his 21st birthday.

My entire adult life has been spent with Paul and now at the age of 55 I’m having to learn how to live alone, and make decisions that always consisted the two of us discussing and agreeing, or at least coming to a compromise. Now it’s all on me. I have to go to bed every night by myself, and wake up every morning knowing that he won’t be in the kitchen making breakfast as I walk in for our morning embrace and kiss.

In order to navigate this new world I live in I’m in therapy, I have a widow pen pal, and I’m reading everything I can on the subject of sudden loss of a spouse. The one constant across the board in every book, every online forum, and therapy session,is that grief is unique and personal. No two people are the same and there is no timeline. It’s not a competition. Some people move out of their grief in a few months, others it make take a year, for some it may take a lifetime. For me, the grief will not be quick. You don’t just snap into place after losing the love of you life and especially not after spending four decades together, and it certainly isn’t going to happen in six months.

Trying to rush through grief will backfire! You can’t outrun it, and it will catch up to you if you try to skip ahead. There is no cheating, no passing go and collecting $200, no moving to the head of the line. And  you should’t have to just because the people around you are uncomfortable. 


Be kind to yourself. Allow you to mourn the person you’ve lost. And don’t let anyone take that away from you. When approached about why I’m crying and I finally get the courage to answer that my husband passed away, inevitably I will hear, “oh I know how you feel, I just lost my mother, father, brother, sister, uncle;  and just recently I even got a, “yes I’m there with you because my golden retriever just died.” While I empathize with these losses, it’s not the same. Loss of a sibling is sad, especially if you shared a close relationship, but they most probably are not your partner in life. Losing a parent is hard, that’s for sure. As adults you can expect that your parents will die ahead of you. Sad, yes, but this is not the person that you’ve built a life with. The person that was a part of all your future plans. Losing a pet is horrible, and I’ve felt that pain myself, but once again, it’s not the same.

Tracy, my best friend from high school, lost her only child to a car accident. Jeremiah was a wonderfully funny and incredibly smart 28 year old man . I can’t imagine the pain she has endured. Losing a child is devastating. I will never experience this since I don’t have children, and I would never presume to tell her I know how she feels, or that she needs to move on. Parents (good ones at least), want the best for their children. For them to be happy, find a mate, and create their own families. For Tracy this is no longer an option. She won’t get to see Jeremiah marry, she doesn’t get to be a grandmother. She will always be Jeremiah’s mother, and will forever carry Jeremiah in her heart and soul. It took Tracy three years to learn to be happy again. She took her time and allowed in only those people who were ready to make the journey with her. No pressure, no judgement, just love. Someone she could talk to about Jeremiah, and cry her eyes out without comment. That’s all anyone who is grieving really needs to feel supported.

I lost both my parents to murder/suicide when I was 13. That was traumatic and certainly made an impression on the person I am today. I loved my parents, and grieved for them. Having said that, the pain and grief of losing Paul is tenfold and I hurt more I ever thought possible. My heart aches, my body aches, my brain is exhausted from trying to comprehend that I will never again while I am alive see or hold Paul.  Against my will, I continue living on this earth without him. I am strong, and have been all my life (I’ve really not been given a choice), but I’m broken at this moment, and need time to heal. I hear Paul in my head telling me as he did often “slow down, pay attention to what you’re doing, don’t let  people get to you.” Well, I’m going to continue to listen to that voice, because Paul knew me better than anyone. Paul will eternally be a part of me. He’s my soul. I will continue to love him, miss him and talk about him for the rest of my life.

I will eventually find a way to live beyond the pain, but I’m doing in my time, and on my terms. For that I will not apologize.