Widowhood in Year 2

     Distraction is a useful tool.  During the months of November and December, which are the times of the year when my wife first was diagnosed with cancer and ultimately succumbed, I tried very hard to make the most of every family event, road trip and social event that was presented to me.  I was surrounded by my incredible family and friends for much of the time during those horrible 'anniversaries'.  I was distracted.  And during that time I started to feel better.  I started to see ways to move forward.  I have become less hopeless.  My life began to appear as though it might inherently have some value to myself (more about this idea in a moment).  For me family and friends have provided a metaphorical 'hyperbaric chamber' in which my wounds can start to heal while being distracted.  And by and large it has worked.

     Through much of the first year of my grieving, I could not really see much if any value to myself of continuing to exist.  This sounds harsh and depressing I know, but that is how I felt.  My main purpose in life, as well as a massive chunk of my identity vanished when Susan died.  It takes a massive amount of work to juggle grieving and trying to discern and rebuild an identity.  It requires a great deal of introspection, self awareness and honesty.  Who am I? Who am I outside of my now ended relationship?   I am starting to see some outlines of answers to these questions, some based on what I experienced throughout my relationship with Susan.  If indeed I was a wonderful husband and stepfather, then perhaps I am a decent human being. A good person.  I certainly hope so.  And that would constitute for me, a pretty good start.

     We also must be mindful that healing of any kind (physical, emotional, etc) never proceeds in a straight line.  And yesterday, having returned to my mostly solitary life, the roof came crashing down.  Weeping, loneliness, self-doubt and harsh self criticism, all came roaring through, leaving me feeling run over.  As I write this, it still hurts.  But part of me, the part that has moved somewhat forward, the part that has some understanding of who I really am, knows that this will pass, and that the healing process will continue. It will continue in its slow and circuitous process.  We are the sum of our experiences after all, or as songwriter Lori McKenna puts it, "I am the things inside me".

01-12-2016