Endings And Beginnings

Endings and beginnings are themes that permeate dealing with the death of a spouse. It starts, pretty obviously, with the endings. It doesn't matter if you knew it was coming or not, if there was the chance to say goodbye or not. Death is the big ending, at least in this life. (Oh, Lord, help me avoid anything else so cheesy this post!!). Sure, there's the idea that the spirit or soul goes on, that we'll be reunited with our loved ones after it's our turn to go. But, at least in this life, we will not get to see them face-to-face, to hear them, to hold them close again. Add to that, our lives as married people have come to an end, too. If we had kids or grandchildren, then there's the shift of no longer being part of that unit, either. And the person we had been sharing a bed with is gone and so we're no longer a companion for falling asleep or a lover for sharing intimacy. A lot of things are no longer going to be what they were, if they're even going to ever be again.

And then, on the flip side of things, there are a whole lot of things that are beginning. We're getting to do things we either have never done before or haven't done in a long time. For me, it's meant having to remember how to keep track of the bills and make sure they're all paid. Ariel was much better at that than I was, and she did it flawlessly. Given how much else I did, I was good with her taking care of that part of our lives. Not any more. We get to learn what it is to be single, and maybe a single parent or grandparent. Maybe we get to learn how to cry or how to be angry or how to be afraid...perhaps in ways we never knew or even dreamed of before. Maybe we get to go back to work. We get to get used to saying we're single or widowed, depending on which we can deal with right off. We get to deal with noticing people who are attractive and having to learn to not automatically squelch or dismiss such thoughts because we're married. Maybe we're not ready to get into anything yet, but there's no longer that commitment holding us back from anything with someone else.

Endings and beginnings, both are scary. With endings, we have to face letting go of things we've loved and treasured. With a spouse, a lot of our lives and likely at least a decent chunk of our identities have been tied up with them. It hurts to think that any chance for the good times is now gone. For me, it was hard admitting that, even though the good times had been getting fewer and farther between as her depression escalated and her mental health deteriorated. The new beginnings bring....God only knows what. It could be good stuff. After the pain of the loss, though, the idea of dealing with more hurt or confusion is very often overwhelming. It gets very tempting at times to just curl up under the covers and wait for the bad things to pass us by. Even if it means missing out on good stuff, there are times when that option seems awfully tempting. Sometimes we need awhile hiding from those scary new experiences before we're ready to face them, and it has to be with little ones at a time. Sometimes we surprise ourselves with what we're ready to deal with. Regardless, it's always a challenge.

In our calendar year, the one day that most symbolizes endings and beginnings is New Year's Eve / New Year's Day. It's the end of a year. All of the opportunities and events and possibilities of the year are coming to a close. At the same time, we're also facing the opening of a whole new year that could be bringing almost anything with it: New fears. New hurts. New losses  Resurgence of forgotten/repressed anguish.. Chances to do better. Blessings of love and friendship. Unexpected gifts of grace of all kinds. Unknown possibilities and potentials. See, it's easy to write those out in nicely separated categories, good and bad. In dealing with it from the perspective of this kind of loss, though, they almost always show up more like this:

New fears. Chances to do better. New hurts. Blessings of love and friendship. New losses. Unexpected gifts of grace of all kinds. Resurgence of forgotten/repressed anguish. Unknown possibilities and potentials.

What's really hard is that, from an evolutionary standpoint, we're wired up to be more aware of threats and dangers than good things. As a survival trait, that's a good one. If we're not aware of threats, or at least not aware in time, then we're either hurting or dead. For those who're parents, I'd betcha just about anything that you'll wake up more quickly if you hear your kid crying than you will if you hear your kid laughing. When we're already hurting and reeling, even fairly minor things can seem like threats. As for more major issues...forget it. The prospect of driving to a new grocery store can take on the proportions of seeing the Death Star cresting over the horizon. That's where we are for awhile. It makes it more than a little difficult to really celebrate New Year's. It's not that we intentionally go looking for the threats or more depressing ends of things. That's our neurology doing what millennia of evolution's designed it to do, keep us aware of potential threats so we can stay alive.

The funny thing I'm noticing, though, is that the longer I survive, the less it seems like my neurology freaks out and makes things into massive threats. It's a slow change. I think it took me six months before doing the same drive in to work on the freeway every morning didn't make my guts clench and my hands shake. And it's not like it's a particularly bad drive, especially driving away from downtown in the morning and not really having nasty rush hour traffic. This year, the holidays hurt more than they did last year. However, even with that, they don't feel quite like the threat they did last year.

It seems like there's only so long we can sit with endings, not trying to suppress or stuff them, before their urgency and perceived possibility for more harm start to fade. Maybe as that happens, it gets less scary to look at what else there might be to come. 

 I hope so.

Dual Core Processor

One thing that dealing with grief has been teaching me is that we have two processes that go on with us all the time. I get to see it show up fairly often, and it's not all that comfortable. I'm doing OK and then the next moment I'm overwhelmed in a swamp of sadness. Or instead I'm sometimes suddenly shaking and jittery and wanting to run or hide. Or sometimes it's finding myself having to fight off being blinded by a consuming rage. It catches me by surprise, and often I'm not sure at first what it was that set it off. Even if I can point to something that might make sense of it, it seems way out of proportion to what it should be.

Yup, there's two things going on. On one level, I'm thinking. On the other level, I'm dealing with feelings. And, to be honest, they both have about equal power to hit me as strongly as each other.

Lots of people I know seem to be of the opinion that thinking is the primary internal function for us. It fits. That's what we're taught. We hear things like “Keep your head” or “Think it over.” We get told that getting an education is the key to success, and education means going to school and learning new ideas and information. Sometimes that learning is assessed by how well we can regurgitate those new bits of information. Give the right definition, connect the date with the event, put the concepts in order. Sometimes it's about applying them, like with math problems. When there's a problem we're supposed to think it over and figure out the right answer. Oh, and be ready to explain it to someone else, which often relies on being able to demonstrate clear, logical thought processes.

Feelings don't get that kind of value or respect. At the same time, they're still used just as strongly in some ways. Just about all advertising is about evoking the feeling that the product or service they're displaying will bring happiness. There's the implication with it that, if we don't have it, we will end up unhappy. Heck, if you think about how much sex is used in advertising, that fits, too. Sex certainly isn't about a rational process. Some feelings are seen to be OK, and others are indications of something being wrong, the person being “less than.” Real men aren't supposed to be afraid. When something bad happens, it's OK, though, for men to get mad and attack the problem. However, a lady isn't supposed to get angry. If someone else is openly sad, people often stand around and don't quite know what to do or how to deal with it. Tongues are either tied or end up tripping as people don't really know what to say, but don't feel comfortable saying nothing. Movies and TV shows repeatedly go back to the idea that falling in love is important and good. For all the good stuff in some of the New Age thinking, there's a lot of it that says that the “bad” feelings (read: “uncomfortable”) are things that should be avoided or shut away...or are signs of a lack of spiritual development.

Guess what, folks. Feelings are just as much a part of who we are as thinking. Just because we're brought up to put more emphasis on thinking doesn't change that. Sometimes strong feelings will end up dragging thinking behind them in their wake. To me, it makes sense to think of them like waves. A small one doesn't really do much to the ability to think, and to choose what to think about. However, a big one—like a sonic boom or a tsunami—will yank whatever's there into its wake. If it's too strong, thinking doesn't really happen until the energy of the wave starts to dissipate. Even if it's only medium strong, sometimes it just pulls the thinking along behind it. And often the assumption is that that's a bad thing.

Don't get me wrong, those experiences are certainly uncomfortable. The times I found myself having to lean against the side of the shower or crumpled up at the bottom of the stairs crying because the sadness roared through me were not fun. The times at work when my frustration erupted like a fireball from an explosion and led to me snapping at people who really didn't deserve it weren't fun. Heh, neither was having to go and apologize afterward. The times where I would be getting ready for a trip and suddenly find myself almost paralyzed with anxiety about the most miniscule or ridiculous things was definitely not fun.

However, there have also been times where going with those emotions have led me to and through things that I don't know I would've looked at or gone to otherwise. She had never told me what she'd want done with her body if she died. I had to go off a best guess based off conversations that only lightly touched on the topic. The place that just felt right to go is hard to get to, with some decent risks of getting hurt if one isn't careful. It wasn't easy, but it's been a decision—based mainly off how it felt—that I haven't experienced any regret about. Plenty of people thought I was horribly mistaken for wanting to read through some of her journal files, that it was just pointless self-torture. It kept feeling like something I needed to do. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have found out how long she'd been depressed and suicidal, or that it had been going on long before we ever met. If I hadn't been willing to go with the nagging feelings of guilt that had come up about whether I'd had anything to do with her suicide, I wouldn't have looked at everything as deeply as I had and come to know that it wasn't about me. Hell, if I hadn't gone with the feeling that I needed to see her body before it was cremated, I probably would've had a lot longer time of having the thoughts come up that maybe it was a mistake, maybe she was still alive....maybe she would come back. Seeing her body, and the shape it was in, was hard, but since then I haven't had those kinds of thoughts come up.

We have both, thinking and feeling. We end up having to learn to deal with both. That doesn't mean trying to figure out how to make one run roughshod over the other at will. It means learning what each one does, how each one works. What each has to offer and where its limits are.

There's just not another way to really get all the way down and out, to find the path that will lead us through the abyss and ready to go on to better times.

Surprise, Surprise

One of the hardest things about working through the suicide of a spouse is how many things don't seem to play out the way that we'd usually expect them to do. Sure, there's plenty of things in life that seem like they don't go the way they should. A movie doesn't turn out to be as good as the previews would've suggested. A recommended restaurant turns out to be not such a great place to eat after all. The date that the friend who set us up raved so much about is someone that...well...we're happy to wish a good life. Somewhere else. Heh....the prize in the box of cereal was nothing but a disappointment.

In general, though, life goes about the way we figure it's going to. We can tell when the car's running low on gas. We know that getting taxes ready is going to be a headache. The grocery store usually has everything we're going to buy. Going to a favorite place usually turns out to be something that we can and do enjoy. Looking at a box of pictures brings up the memories we figure they're going to bring up. Life usually goes the way we figure. The times when it doesn't are times that are much more the exception than the rule. It's one of the reasons why they stand out so much. When things go strange, we're not real sure how to handle them, which is why it's such a shock.

And then there's dealing with this kind of grief. All of a sudden, there are a LOT of things that aren't going the way we're used to or would expect. Driving down a street that we'd been on literally hundreds of times before brings up an unexpected pain so sharp it's suddenly almost impossible to breathe. Opening a drawer in the kitchen looking for a slotted spoon to serve up the food we cooked brings into sight the stainless steel measuring cups we didn't figure that we needed....and it turned out we're glad they anted to buy. All of a sudden, we're crying and missing the things they knew and did well. Looking at a box of pictures of a favorite vacation brings up all kinds of things. Maybe it brings up the good memories along with enough pain to drop us to our knees. Or maybe it's fear of not having anything good like that again. Perhaps it's fear that we might have some good times again...and lose them just as badly. It could be an aching emptiness and sadness over what had been in our lives before and no longer is. Maybe it's rage at the spouse who abandoned us in such a catastrophic, disastrous way.

No wonder exhaustion and lack of energy tend to follow us around. Think about how draining it is when the usual, unexpected stuff happens in life. Even if it's good stuff, it still takes more energy to deal with than the usual, run-of-the-mill events. When the excitement and the high wear off, we crash. When it's things that have gone badly, the effect tends to be even stronger. When it happens more often, then it's a consistent draining effect. They keep coming for quite a while, too. Sometimes they only hit once. Sometimes, the same thing can hit couple of times when we don't expect it or when we'd thought we'd already worked things through. Sadly, the impulse to avoid them just prolongs the misery.

The only thing there really is to do is to ride the ride until it's done. As Winston Churchill once said, “When you're going through Hell...

“...keep going.”

Diving In Again

Loneliness seems to be something that always comes with the death of someone close. Even if we've still got lots of people around us, there's still that sense of something important missing. Someone we've built up habits and beliefs and defaults around aren't there anymore. We can't just call them or wander over to visit and catch up. We won't see them at all the times we're used to seeing them. We won't see them at work or at the game or at the regular get-togethers. With people who're important to us, we get used to things that we talk with them about and how we talk to them. The closer they are to us, the more special that is. Even if we've got other close people in our lives, no-one is quite the same to talk to. They don't quite understand things in the same way. They don't have quite the same perspective. They don't have the same way of putting things. They don't make us laugh in the same way. No-one can quite fill that space.

One of the things that gets hard about that when you lose a spouse is the idea that people can move on and get married again. There's the chance to have another relationship again. That's about the only kind of family relationship where that's the case. People don't talk about having a parent die and looking for a replacement to take over. If someone were to suggest that after having a child die they should just make another to replace the loss, I doubt anyone would think that a response involving a tire iron or baseball bat would be out of proportion. Anyone who'd have a sibling die and approach their parents about getting another one would likely be judged to be in need of some substantial psychiatric medication.

That's not the case with marriage. If a marriage ends, there's often the idea that one or both people will go on and find someone else. Becoming a widower in my early 40's, I've had a fair number of people express the belief that I'm still a young man and can find someone down the line. I know—OK, I assume—they mean well by it.

The other thing that makes it hard is starting to date again. See, at that point, there's a difference. We'd gotten to know what it can be like to be married. Hopefully we had a decent chunk of good years in there. We've gotten to know just how good it can be. That makes it hard to start dating. The question comes up with anyone new that we might be getting involved with of whether it might ever get to be that good with them. Will it ever bring the happiness and peace and comfort and contentment and fulfillment we got to know before? Could it ever measure up? Or are we facing the possibility that it's been as good as it's ever going to get, that anything with anyone else from here out is going to be settling?

I know, I know...that's also true with folks who've been divorced. However, when there's been the death of a spouse, especially one related to suicide, we've also gotten to know the worst of what it can be. There may or may not have been a lot of conflict and problems and strife before the suicide was completed. Regardless, the horror of knowing your spouse would rather die and having to ask the question of how much of it was about you (and all the other questions that come along with it), is about as bad as it gets. We get to know just how BAD it can be, too. The question also comes up there of whether we're going to have to deal with anything that bad or that hard again. Is it worth taking that chance? Are we able to pick any better than we did last time?

There's no easy answers to those questions. There's no way to know for sure rather than to make a decision and go ahead with it...and run the risks.

Or don't.

Healing with Class

I got an unexpected opportunity a few days ago. One of the people I've talked to is the person from NAMI who sponsors the monthly suicide survivor's support group that I've been attending. She's been great. I've said for awhile that one of the few things worse than what I've had to deal with, the suicide of a spouse, would be the suicide of one's child. Her son took his life several years ago. I've consistently been impressed with how open she's been to talking about all of this stuff, anything that might come up. She's one of the people that I look up to and gives me hope about where I might be able to get someday.

She got ahold of me a little while ago and let me know that there's a class up at the local university on death and dying. The teacher was looking for someone to come in and talk about suicide for the one class they'd have on the topic. She'd done it before, but had the feeling that they might be more interested in hearing from someone who'd had a spouse commit suicide. She asked if I'd be interested in speaking to the class. To say my initial reaction was mixed would be an understatement. It was flattering to hear that she thinks I'm doing well enough to handle that, and that I'd have some to offer to the class. My guts also tied themselves in knots wondering what might go wrong, how bad it might be if I started crying in front of the class, what might happen if someone asked an insensitive question and I might want to flip out on them.

One thing kept coming up, though. I'd been saying for some time that there's nothing I can do about what I've been through. Ariel's dead, and nothing can change that. Much though I'd like to make the deal with God that if I suffered enough then no-one else would have to go through anything like this. However, if there's nothing I can do to change it, I can at least be open to the idea that maybe there's some good I can do with it. If I can pass something on that helps someone else, then I'd be good with that. Admittedly, I'd thought that it would be more one-on-one with someone else who's working through this. However, that never precluded getting to talk to folks who are maybe looking at going into working with folks who've gone through major grief and loss. But it's still a way to try to make some good out of it.

So I decided to do it.

I appreciated the suggestion I got that I could think of some different ways to approach the topic and then ask the class what they'd want to hear about. I'd thought of a couple to start with. I said I could talk about some of the research and literature I'd read about suicide and what tends to be associated with it, what tends to aggravate the risk for reoffense. I could talk about some of what I've learned about how the grief process with suicide differs from other kinds of loss due to death. I could also talk some about what I've gone through and what I've found to be helpful. All three of them seemed to be of interest to them. Then again, at the start of the class they weren't all that energetic or responsive. I guess that's one of the hazards of having a class that starts at 6:00 PM.

To be honest, I don't remember a whole lot of what happened, or at least not very clearly. I ended up going through those three areas in that order, which I think worked out well. It made it easier to not start with the stuff that would be more likely to push my own buttons. It also seemed to get the class more interested and involved. They had some good questions, and it's also when a couple of them first started talking about their own experiences with suicide. It seemed like that lead nicely into what's different about the grief that comes with suicide. It was a good chance to work in Bowlby's model of grief, which they hadn't heard about yet. That works, especially as they'd heard of the Kubler-Ross stages and seemed to have some of the same reactions about it. At the end, I did talk about some of what I'd been through. That included reading off a couple pieces I'd written up that got posted on the state's NAMI website.

When I was done, I looked down at my watch and said something about how I was surprised to have been talking for an hour. I asked if there were any other questions; there were none. Then the teacher said thanks and that the class was over. I was a little surprised by that and looked down at my watch again. At that point, I realized that I'd made a math mistake. I hadn't been talking for an hour. I'd talked for two hours. Non-stop. The class was very kind, with several thanking me for coming in. The teacher also thanked me, too, and said that it was very good and he'd invite me back up again next year if he gets to teach the class again.

I hadn't realized it at the time, but it really took a lot out of me. I didn't really notice it 'til Friday, when all of a sudden in the early afternoon it was hard to focus. I had a hard time with even stupid things at work, like typing. It's rather disconcerting when I mean to type one word but, when I look at the screen, something else is there. Saturday I was pretty much useless. It also brought up how much I've tended to run on having one thing that I HAVE to deal with to another. I'm not real good at just sitting quietly and peacefully anymore.

There is something, though, that is satisfying about having been able to do something like that...a couple things, really. One is realizing that I can handle something like that. It wasn't easy, far from it. There were several times I choked up while I was talking. However, I was able to pull it together and keep talking. I wasn't so trashed afterward that I had to sit in the parking lot smoking multiple cigarettes until I could safely drive home (which was one of the things I was afraid might happen). I was also glad to be able to pass on some of what I've been through. It seemed like one of the students who had some questions was also struggling with some of her own experiences. She was crying for part of the class, but it also seemed like it helped for her to hear that, yeah, it usually is that rough and that long to work through all of what comes up with a suicide.

I'm still sorting it through, but I think it was worthwhile. It's not something that everyone might want to do. Still, it also does help make things a bit brighter with the idea that maybe I can do something worthwhile after all.

Sex After Death, Part I

OK, as promised, here's the first post having to deal with sex.  If you were hoping that this would be something titillating, that it would give you something to use as spank-material hearing about the wild adventures of a (fairly) newly-no-longer-married-guy, you're going to be sorely disappointed.  On the other hand, if you're able to hand some grown-up ideas, then this might have something to offer for you after all.

The typical stereotype that comes up when someone has a spouse die is that generally women go frigid and lose interest in sex while men suddenly run around trying to get into anyone they can find. After all, isn't it the case that men are the ones who women have to manipulate into fidelity? That they'd rather be able to run around and jump into bed with any and every woman (or whoever else) that they can get to let them? That once their spouse, their partner is gone, that their true nature starts coming back out again? Either that or they're just looking for someone else to take the place of their spouse...or maybe looking for a new mommy to eventually take care of them.

By contrast, women do it for love. When the love's gone, there's no reason for them to be interested in sex and they just shut down. Or if you go with the evolutionary perspective, they only do it to have kids and once they do, there's no reason to have more sex anymore. And, of course, there's the perspective that women start thinking that men are just out to get into their pants, at putting on a good facade to make them seem like they're good guys just to have a chance to get laid. That they're just lying, manipulative, untrustworthy beasts who, once they get what they want, will disappear at the soonest sign of responsibility. Given that, why should they bother?

That's how they are, right? That's what people tend to think.

It's not really the case. It's not that simple.

Just like a lot of other things having to do with death and grief, there's a huge range of individual differences for how people react and respond. I've gotten to know some men who sexually just shut down after their wives die, at least for a decent-sized chunk of time. They're not interested anymore. The thought of being that open and vulnerable and potentially getting hurt that bad again is just too much. And there are some women who just want to know that they're still attractive, that they can still be desired....that they can still feel something other than the terrible, crushing pain and loneliness and emptiness.

In this case, the stereotype is a shorthand for trying to understand people. The reality of it, though, is far more complex. Maybe the stereotype works if you're looking at overall statistics, of general trends across large groups of people. For understanding any one person, what they're feeling, what they're going through and what they're going to do....it's pretty useless.

People are just that. And each has to find his or her own way through, with whatever it is that gets them through.

Routines

One of the things that we tend to hold on to is the habits and patterns we've developed. My social psychology teacher from college had a good way to sum it up: Robots Are Good. He said that most of what we do during any given day is on autopilot. A really good example is thinking about tying your shoes. How long has it been since you've had to stop and pay conscious attention to what goes on with tying shoes? For almost everyone who'd be reading this, it's something we can do while half asleep or thinking about something else entirely. It pretty much seems to happen on its own. Given how many things we have to deal with in any given day, if we had to pay conscious attention to even half of them, we'd wear out far before we'd get any significant part of it done.

Routines also provide us with a sense of security and comfort. Knowing that we know how to do things and deal with them is a big boost to confidence and self-esteem. After all, think about what it's been like when you've been sick. All of a sudden, you're having to focus really hard to try to figure out how to deal with the basic, simple, day-to-day kinds of things. I know for me that it ends up making me feel like I've dropped 90 IQ points, utterly stupid. It's always such a relief when it feels like I can get back to doing what I've known to do and am able to do it.

When a spouse dies, all the routines that built up around that person are suddenly shattered. We no longer have the person around that we'd done things with, even day-to-day things like going grocery shopping or doing laundry or eating meals. Coming home is hard, especially if we're used to either greeting them or being greeted. The habit pokes and prods at us to find that person and talk to them...and they're not there anymore. Going to sleep is another rough one. Usually the night ends with your spouse there and, when they're not, it doesn't feel right. It's a reminder of the absence, and the reason(s) for it. I can't say from personal experience, but I'm guessing it's much the same that happens when people divorce, even if they're overall glad for the separation. Those habits and patterns still try to run, and now they can't because the person they're built to revolve around and involve are no longer there. I know for me it left me feeling at loose ends, like I couldn't handle anything all that well anymore. I was lucky that work hadn't had much to do with her, and so there wasn't the same kind of thing there. However, just about anything outside of work pushed at those same buttons.

To get a sense of normalcy, we look for developing new routines again. It's a sense of confidence, a sense of comfort, a sense of being able to handle a life over time. For me and several of the people I've talked to, the routines get built up around whatever it is we can find to hold on to and manage. Sometimes it's good ones, like starting to go to the gym and work out again, or maybe calling and talking to people every evening. At other times, those routines build up around things that aren't so good for us. One of the ones that I started up again was smoking. Yeah, I know, it's not good for me, it's expensive, it's got lots of health risks, yadda yadda yadda. At the same time, it also turned down the emotional intensity enough to let me deal with it. On mornings when things were going rough on an emotional basis, it gave me something to do that not only turned down the emotional intensity but gave me a sense of what I could do.

The hard thing that comes up in time is having to look at the routines that initially helped us get through the loss...and let some of them go. That initial sense of comfort and control they provide can be scary to let go. Life had been a confusing, painful, frightening, depressing, overwhelming mess before. The new routines came along and took at least some of that away. When the price they demand becomes too high, though, then there's the experience of looking at letting them go. Along with that comes the fear of things going back to the way they had been before, when the routines weren't there to help things make more sense.

And again we get another chance to find out just how strong we really are.

Rat's Head, Ox's Neck

I like to read.  I've read a lot of different things over the years, physics, philosophy, Chinese medicine, spiritual books...all kinds of things.  One area I'd read up on awhile ago was strategy, especially some of the classics.  The title for this post came from The Book of Five Rings by Miyamoto Musashi.  One of the sections in there has that title.  It talks about the idea that sometimes you can get caught up in the little details and need to be able to remember to look at the big picture.  It seems to me like the reverse is true, too.  You can get too caught up in looking at the overall picture of things and lose track of the details.  It makes sense either way.

It reminded me of yet another detail of working through grief.  I've noticed a pattern in the last 19 months or so.  See, some things have hit me really hard and some haven't.  I can't say it's a hard-and-fast rule, but it's pretty common that it works out this way.  The big things often hit pretty hard, like birthdays and anniversaries and all.  I just went through our wedding anniversary recently, and it did a number on me.  The same hit with the anniversary of her death.  Heh, we had two anniversaries that we celebrated, one for when we got married and one for when we got together as a couple.  Both of those can hit pretty hard.

The other things that have tended to hit hard have been lots of little things.  Most recently, it's been looking for shaving cream and deodorant.  She'd had pretty intense sensitivities to chemicals and synthetic scents.  As a result, I had to be a lot more careful about what I'd pick up and use.  If I picked up something with synthetic scent, it'd give her nasty migraines, chest pains, and other unpleasant stuff.  I was in the grocery store for probably 30 minutes trying to figure out what to buy.  The habit of avoiding the synthetic scents is still there.  Then again, looking at the ones that were OK for me to use was sad, too.  I found myself bouncing between them, each sparking of memories that just ramped up the confusion and distress. And, at the same time, there was part of me thinking it was just ridiculous to be having that hard of a time with picking up such pointless little things like deodorant and shaving cream.  What a mess.

Those little things are the ones that I haven't thought would hit me like that.  There was no expectation of it, no preparation for it.  They aren't like getting hit by a train.  That's what the big days are like.  Instead, those little things are like a sucker punch that comes from out of nowhere while you're standing in line waiting to pay for gasoline and a coke at a convenience store.  And because there's no preparation for when they hit, those things can really hurt.  They don't mess me up for as long as the big ones do, but it doesn't feel much different in those moments.

It's like there's an upside-down bell curve for how they affect me.  The big ones I can see coming, but they hit anyway.  The small things come out of nowhere and hurt, too.  Oddly, it's the medium-sized things that overall aren't so bad.  I can see them coming and prepare some for them, and the preparation makes at least some degree of difference.

The hope is that over time the big things just don't hit as hard.  They run out of momentum; they run out of steam.  Hopefully they go from a train blaring down on me at full speed to a hard storm wind.  Maybe they push me around some, but they don't cause me pain or damage.  I'd also hope something similar happens with the little things.  There's only so long that it's fun to sucker punch someone, only so many times before they see them coming.  Heck, if you get hit enough times in the same place, it does make you tougher.  You just can't be hurt as easy in that place, in that way.

It's just a matter of hanging in there until that time comes.  I hope.

Hard, Simple Questions

One thing hit me this evening as I was leaving work. A question popped into my mind and wouldn't let me alone. It was one I thought I had kicked around before, but the way that it insistently kept coming up suggested I hadn't. Whatever it was that brought it to mind wouldn't let me hedge...or consider other factors....or bring up other perspectives. It was a simple question and wouldn't let me go until I would give it a yes or no answer.

"Do I regret having married Ariel?"

I reacted at first by bringing up all kinds of stuff. Yeah, it still hurts that it ended the way it did. Well, I don't know if I regret it as I didn't know how things were going to end. How do you know if something was good or not, pushing you to regret it? And so on and so on and so on. Whatever it was in my head wouldn't let me avoid the question like that. It kept coming up. I probably could've distracted myself with other stuff if I'd really put my mind to it. Loud, angry music's worked well for that in the past. Somehow, though, it seemed important enough that I should see it through.

So I thought about it. Putting aside how much it hurt that it ended with her deceiving me and then ending her own life. Putting aside how much I hate having my life turned upside down. Putting aside how much I sometimes hate being alone. Putting aside what we both did that I wish we hadn't. Putting aside how desperately I sometimes miss the life we'd had together. All of that stuff had to get stripped away, so I could answer that simple question. It had to get pared down to just that one piece: Do I regret having married Ariel?

Then the answer came: No. No, I don't regret it.

Suddenly that voice asking the question over and over was silent. Something inside clicked and locked into place. It doesn't change that I still hurt. It doesn't change that I didn't want it to end that way. Hell, it doesn't change that at the moment I'm still feeling sick and sore. But it does change that I can deal with tomorrow being our anniversary. Even if it ended badly, it's not a decision I regret. And it also came clear to me that it's not fair to ask if I'd do it over again. See, the point is I didn't know how it was going to end. I just knew that I loved and respected her, I enjoyed her company, and I wanted to have the chance to spend the rest of my life with her. If I'd have known differently, how it was going to end, then, yeah, I might have decided differently. The point is, I didn't know and I did decide to marry her.

And, no, I don't regret it.

Those simple questions are often worth looking at.  They can bring us to a depth that more complex questions might not.  Sometimes looking at too many things at the same time can allow for confusion and avoidance.  The simple question doesn't.  That's one of the things that makes them scary, that makes them hard to face at times.  I can't think of a time, though, that I've looked at one of those questions and regretted doing so.

So tomorrow I can deal with our anniversary. I can honor what we did have, what we shared, what we brought into each other's lives. And I'm feeling like I can move on with closing up the life we had together so I can move on.

The Energy Game

One of the hardest things for me to wrap my head around has been just how long this kind of stuff can mess with me.  See, with just about everything else I've had to deal with, I've been able to get it back together again a lot sooner than this.  For example, getting my back sprained when I was 19 laid me up for a few weeks and then had me working to get strength and flexibility back for a few months.  The ugliest relationsihp breakup I went through messed with me for about a year, but that was about it.  It's been a little over 18 months, and I still don't feel like I'm even close to being back to "normal."

The first parallel that I'd come up with came from talking with my aunt who's a doctor.  The effect of Ariel's death on me got compared to what it's like to have a stroke.  You're fine and then the next moment....BLAM!!  Some things still work, others only kind of work, and the rest are just....gone.  And there's no way to know when they'll come back on-line.  The best you can do is just try to keep working on it and trust that, in time, functioning will come back.

Lately, though, I've come to see it a little differently.  It's seeming more like an energy game to me.  The parallel that I've been kicking around is that of being a general manager of a mid-sized company.  The company has been working pretty well.  Like most companies it's always got its trials and tribulations, but for the most part it's doing pretty well.  All of a sudden, one day there's a catastrophe and about half of the employees are just...gone.  They get replaced by completely new people.  Fresh-faced, motivated people with decent work ethics....but no experience.  And it's not just the newer or more unskilled folks.  It's not evenly distributed, either.  Some departments are fairly intact.  Others are just about cleared out.  Sometimes it's the folks who used to supervise, and in other cases its those who just did the work for the company itself.

Imagine what it would be like.  The general manager usually can just rely on supervisors and other subordinates making sure that things get done.  He doesn't have to go down and watch the custodial staff to make sure everythings getting cleaned up well.  He doesn't have to go down to the warehouse and make sure that things are organized well and that supplies and products are inventoried and tracked well.  He doesn't have to make sure that the accounting is taking place consistently, credits and debits all accounted for.

Instead, the general manager's now got to go through and check in with each of those different areas.  He's got to go train the different supervisors.  He's got to help train some of the front-line workers with how to do their jobs.  And this is all on top of trying to keep the company moving along as it was.  How exhausting would that be?  How distracting?  How hard would it be at first trying to keep everything going and train up so many different people for so many different functions?  It's not like just training up one person to supervise everyone else.  The warehouse can't just stop while that happens.  Customer service can't just come to a screeching halt to allow for getting other areas up and running, not if business is supposed to continue at least fairly well.  How long does it take to just train one employee?  How about five?  How about half of the company?

Welcome to the Energy Game.  There's only so much time and energy our general manager's going to have to throw into trying to keep the company running and getting people trained up to do their jobs.  The same is true in dealing with the death of a spouse, or any other major loss.  There are so many habits that we build up over the years we spend living with someone else.  All of those habits are shortcuts for the Energy Game.  They take less time and effort...and energy...than having to stop and take care of everything intentionally.  Especially if it's sudden.  There's no time to prepare for the shift.  There's no advanced notice.  It just shakes almost everything to its foundation and leaves a long, LONG road to getting things back up and running even somewhat smoothly again.

Macho

Most of the guys I know grew up having, at one point or another, the idea that they were indestructible.  Sure, not all of them were athletic or strong or muscular.  However, across the board, there was the belief on some level that nothing bad could touch them.  It seems like that's a belief that stays with most guys for much of their lives.

Until something bad happens.

It can't be just any bad thing.  Those minor things that people recover from easily don't break through that.  Break a bone?  Eh, no big deal.  People heal up.  Crash a car?  As long as you can walk away, it's no big deal.  Besides, it's a chance to either fix or replace the car.  There are a lot of things where we guys can just "man up," pull ourselves up by our bootstraps (or jockstraps, in some cases) and soldier on.

Have your spouse commit suicide and die (yes, I know it's redundant)?  Unless you didn't give a damn about her, there's no way to macho through that.  Don't get me wrong.  Plenty try to do it.  Some can hold it together for awhile.  It never lasts, though.  Sooner or later, the shattered person falls apart.

Sooner or later, the emotions overwhelm both personality and defenses.  Sadness comes up.  Rage comes up.  Fear comes up.  Guilt and doubt come up.  Maybe they can be held off for awhile, especially during the day at work.  Or at night in pursuing the latest fling.  In time, though, the energy to hold it all together just isn't there.  Maybe in the middle of the night, maybe first thing on waking up, maybe while in the shower.  The shell fails.

At that point, the invulnerable, indestructible man is....just a person.  He's vulnerable.  Thoughts come up whether they're wanted or not.  Emotions come up, also whether wanted or not.  He'll hurt.  Things won't be in his control anymore.  Life is suddenly seen as something that can hit him, and hit him hard.  It's like the first time a dainty foot crashes into his testicles and reduces him to a heap of whimpering, whining, nearly inert biology.

And there's no more believing that he's somehow invulnerable and safe.

The only way through now is to come to accept that fact.  He's no longer ten feet tall and the earth doesn't shake to his footsteps.  He's no longer able to slip unnoticed by the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.  He's just a....a....

Just like everyone else.

Through The Gates

I created this blog to give me someplace to write about loss and the process of working through grief.  A little over 18 months ago, me darlin' wife took her life.  It was the single most shattering experience of my life.  All of a sudden I went from having achieved pretty much everything I'd set out to do to feeling like the earth beneath my feet had split, cracked, and spun away in a hail of pieces and dust.

This isn't a blog that will be all happy and cheerful and upbeat.  I won't just be focusing on the tremendous growth I've done and how I've come to appreciate life and love and the people (and other beings) around me.  I'm creating this blog to be a place where I can be honest about this journey.  Sure, there will be some positive things in it.  There are also going to be posts that are bleak, posts that are angry, posts that are despairing, and posts that are downright sad.  Some of the posts here will deal with adult topics that, yes, include sex.  And before you start getting all worked up, no, this is not going to be material you can turn to for happy spankin' times.  If you want that, either go search somewhere else or, better yet, grow up!  So far, trying to create a bullshit, happy impression of how I'm doing or seeing things hasn't worked, and it's been one that I've rejected.  The only thing I reckon that will get me through all of this is, above all else, to be honest.

In the journey through Hell described by Dante, and later in two other books by Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle, the only way out is to go down and through all the layers of Hell.  Sometimes that means suffering.  Sometimes it means pain.  Sometimes it means questioning everything that's been believed before.  So far, it seems like that is true with this grief journey as well.  I have no way to know for sure what lies ahead.  There are no roadmaps that tell anyone what this journey will hold.  Everyone's walk will be unique to themselves.  I don't have Virgil to guide and protect me on the way through.  However, I also firmly believe that the only thing that will keep me from going through it is my choice to stop moving.

I'm putting this up in part for myself.  I've got a private journal that I keep offline where I record what I'm not willing to share with anyone else.  However, I'm also feeling that it's gotten to be time to put some things out there for others.  I wish I was the last person to have to deal with this kind of tragedy.  Sadly, I've gotten to see that I'm not.  If I can't spare anyone else that kind of agony, then I'll take it as the next best thing to be able to offer some of what I've learned and come to see to help them through, too.  And if it ends up being of benefit to someone who has a friend or family member or loved one dealing with a similar loss....I'm good with that.

Dante wrote, toward the beginning of The Inferno:

"Through me the way is to the city dolent;
  Through me the way is to eternal dole;
  Through me the way among the people lost.

Justice incited my sublime Creator;
  Created me divine Omnipotence,
  The highest Wisdom and the primal Love.

Before me there were no created things,
  Only eterne, and I eternal last.
  All hope abandon, ye who enter in!"

Well, it's time to walk through.