Does It Ever Get Better???

Being part of several widows & widowers groups, I think I can say honestly & accurately that this is the question I've heard come up the most often: does it ever get better? It comes up in different forms, sometimes worded just like that, sometimes asking if it keeps going like this forever, sometimes hidden in questioning what we did to deserve this. It's even often implied underneath statements of not feeling like life's worth living now or not being sure how much more we can take. There's that question that follows and haunts and taunts us. Does it ever get better?

I don't know that I can answer that with solid authority. I'm coming up on 4.5 years out, not as long as some other folks I've gotten to meet have made it. But I have lasted this long. And I've seen others who've come along, too. So, while I can't answer this question with regard to what can happen over the span of decades, I can speak for a period of almost five years.

The simple answer to that question of whether it ever gets better is: Yes. The problem with that, as with almost all simple answers to complex questions, is that while it's true it's also very inaccurate in its limitation. “Better” is a relative thing. It implies a comparison to some other thing or state of being. And it doesn't specify in what way or ways things are better. What's important to me might be relatively meaningless to someone else...and vice versa. And how much of a change does it have to be to qualify as “better?” Sure, from a purely mathematical standpoint, ANY improvement qualifies for “better.” However, when it comes down to how things feel, then it takes more than that. There's a minimum threshold (again, varying for each of us) that has to be met to notice the difference, for it to be meaningful. And, when we're still reeling from the loss, there's yet another complicating factor. At that point, about all we can compare is how life felt before the death/loss, usually focusing on the good aspects, to what life's become. We don't have the capacity at that point to see what it could become, and so usually the idea of “better” is framed in terms of closer to what it used to be.

So what do I mean by “better?” It's hard to come up with a specific definition for it. The easiest place to start is to give some examples, and then go from there. There came a day when I drove past the hotel where she'd gone to end her life and I didn't feel the urge to scream and claw my face off while driving off a cliff. And then, after that, there was the first time I drove by there and didn't realize I was doing so 'til I was past it. There was the first time I had a good memory of her come up and for the first 10 or 15 seconds it didn't hurt or make me want to howl. Later, there was the first time one of those good memories was only tinged with sadness, where that didn't become the overwhelming emotion that came along with it. There was the first night when I fell asleep and didn't realize 'til the next morning that I hadn't been thinking about how much I missed her being there. The first time I felt like I could make it through a whole day. Or the first time I felt like I could probably make it through one of the Big Days (birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, etc).

You might've noticed a theme here, of being somewhat surprised by changes. Well, that's the way it's seemed to go, for me and others I know. See, I think what happens is that we grow and heal in tiny increments every day. The problem is, when they're so small, we don't pick up on them. It's not 'til we've suddenly got a new capacity back or a notable improvement that it suddenly seems like we've healed. I think the truth is that we've been healing all along, it was just happening below the level of our awareness.

However, there's another piece to it, too. I know in the first year, it was more than just things hurting. There was a sense of being not only empty but also shattered. It came up with feeling like something should've been hitting me harder or meaning more, but it wasn't. That there was supposed to be an associated additional memory or experience, but it's just not there. Like trying to put together a puzzle and realizing that there are pieces missing. And at least one of the ones that's missing is the one that's responsible for how upset we end up feeling over things being missing. Part of what I saw only much later that meant things were getting better was that, in the second year, things hurt and were a lot more upsetting. I thought I was going backward, that I was going crazy, that I was falling apart. I understand now that it was the capacity to have things connect, to feel, that was coming back on-line. It didn't feel better, but it was a sign of things getting better. And this was only one thing that I didn't understand at the time, that I didn't see until later. There've been a LOT of those.

I remember being only a few months out from me darlin' wife's suicide and hearing the same from other folks. At the time, I didn't see how it was possible. I didn't think they were lying to me, but I couldn't fathom how it'd relate to me, to my situation. Sure, that was what'd happened for THEM, but that didn't mean it'd happen for me, too. And besides, how much was it maybe that they'd just learned to bury and hide it really well? That it felt better 'cause they weren't looking at it anymore, but it was still there? Or maybe I was just too broken to be able to do and have what they'd done and gotten. I didn't know. I just knew that I couldn't see it. And yet I could relate about so many other things they talked about. While I couldn't understand or believe, they gave me a critical element: hope. Maybe I could someday get somewhere near where they were, too.

So, does it get better? Yes, it does. When you're lost in the middle of it, no one can tell you how or when it'll happen. No one can give you an understanding of that journey. A large piece of it is just going through until you see it for yourself. When people tell you it can get better, there'll be plenty of times when it'll be hard to believe that. That's OK. If you can take it as something to give even a glimmer of hope, that can be enough.