Mourning Sickness
One month and nine days since my husband's official death. During that time, I have lived through Thanksgiving and his birthday. Christmas is approaching, but we were never big into that, so it's just a matter of not getting sucked into the Hallmarkiness of everything. I'm looking forward to the new year, if only because I'll be able to say, "My husband died last year", instead of last month. More distance. People like distance from grief.
Now that I'm halfway through December, I'm able to panic less and see more future ahead. The first month, from what I remember, consisted primarily of crying, screaming, vomiting and shaking. I lost 14 pounds. I have a wonderful therapist whom I see once a week, or twice a week if things are awful. She is helping me calm down and see a time when there will be more good days than bad.
She is reassuring and calm. She wears jeans. My last therapist (some years back) had a number of suits cut identically but in different shades of dark. She completed the look with dark hose and blocky heeled shoes. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but her outfit screamed therapist. My new therapist looks like a kind, wise friend who just happens to know how to help handle unbearable agony and allow a little light in.
I don't know what to do about my wedding ring. I tried moving it to my right hand, but it feels odd there. I don't want to stop wearing it, because it's so beautiful. It's a simple rose gold band, which we chose before rose gold was fashionable. My husband thought it looked pretty against my skin. I don't know if there is a Widow's Handbook to clarify these things, but there should be. Not that I would follow it, but at least I'd know.
I also hate the word widow. That is one loaded word. We infer so much when we hear it. Sad, lonely, bitter old woman with a dried out vagina, or a gold digging young woman who married a rich old man in the fervent hope he would drop dead as soon as possible. I'm even thinking of telling new people I'm divorced, just to not have to go through the aggravation.
I'm a weird age to be a widow, too. We weren't tragically young, but I'm not elderly, either. Other widows seem to be older or younger. I don't know the proper procedure for tween widows. Again, I need that handbook.
Aside from being scared and lonely, the worst thing is that I can't remember my husband's normal voice. I can only remember his voice calling for help after the stroke. I can't remember him playing with the dogs or walking or working at the computer. I just remember him lying on the floor of his home office, in an unnatural position, speaking in a garbled voice telling me he just needed me to help him up; he was fine.
I hope the Widow's Handbook would say that this awful memory will fade, and the happy memories will return. I hope it would say the days won't always seem as long and overwhelming as they do now. I will be able to follow conversations again, and have discussions like a normal person; not like someone who has had half of herself blown away.
I sleep so much better at night. Part of it is exhaustion from getting through the day, but it's also that there's no snoring, no thrashing, no sitting up and popping of necks while loudly sighing with relief. I feel as if that should be something I miss, and I feel horribly guilty for enjoying a good night's sleep, which I hadn't had since before we were married. I wish I could just enjoy it, but it seems wrong somehow. I should miss the snoring, but I don't. Does that make me a bad widow?
Now that I'm halfway through December, I'm able to panic less and see more future ahead. The first month, from what I remember, consisted primarily of crying, screaming, vomiting and shaking. I lost 14 pounds. I have a wonderful therapist whom I see once a week, or twice a week if things are awful. She is helping me calm down and see a time when there will be more good days than bad.
She is reassuring and calm. She wears jeans. My last therapist (some years back) had a number of suits cut identically but in different shades of dark. She completed the look with dark hose and blocky heeled shoes. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but her outfit screamed therapist. My new therapist looks like a kind, wise friend who just happens to know how to help handle unbearable agony and allow a little light in.
I don't know what to do about my wedding ring. I tried moving it to my right hand, but it feels odd there. I don't want to stop wearing it, because it's so beautiful. It's a simple rose gold band, which we chose before rose gold was fashionable. My husband thought it looked pretty against my skin. I don't know if there is a Widow's Handbook to clarify these things, but there should be. Not that I would follow it, but at least I'd know.
I also hate the word widow. That is one loaded word. We infer so much when we hear it. Sad, lonely, bitter old woman with a dried out vagina, or a gold digging young woman who married a rich old man in the fervent hope he would drop dead as soon as possible. I'm even thinking of telling new people I'm divorced, just to not have to go through the aggravation.
I'm a weird age to be a widow, too. We weren't tragically young, but I'm not elderly, either. Other widows seem to be older or younger. I don't know the proper procedure for tween widows. Again, I need that handbook.
Aside from being scared and lonely, the worst thing is that I can't remember my husband's normal voice. I can only remember his voice calling for help after the stroke. I can't remember him playing with the dogs or walking or working at the computer. I just remember him lying on the floor of his home office, in an unnatural position, speaking in a garbled voice telling me he just needed me to help him up; he was fine.
I hope the Widow's Handbook would say that this awful memory will fade, and the happy memories will return. I hope it would say the days won't always seem as long and overwhelming as they do now. I will be able to follow conversations again, and have discussions like a normal person; not like someone who has had half of herself blown away.
I sleep so much better at night. Part of it is exhaustion from getting through the day, but it's also that there's no snoring, no thrashing, no sitting up and popping of necks while loudly sighing with relief. I feel as if that should be something I miss, and I feel horribly guilty for enjoying a good night's sleep, which I hadn't had since before we were married. I wish I could just enjoy it, but it seems wrong somehow. I should miss the snoring, but I don't. Does that make me a bad widow?
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