Emotions and DGI's

One of the favorite terms I've learned from some of the other widows and widowers I've gotten to know is the DGI. This refers to the rather clueless group of people who say really thoughtless, insensitive, unhelpful things....and have no idea how what they're saying is actually coming across or affecting people. I tend to believe that most of the time, DGI's are well-meaning and truly just living up to their name: Don't Get It's.

One of the main areas where this seems to manifest is in dealing with issues revolving around emotions. These are people who will end up saying things like, “Well, it could always be worse,” or “I'm sure you'll end up feeling better,” or “At least you still have__________.” One of the worst is “I know how you're feeling.” And it really doesn't help when they say things like, “Oh, just cheer up” or “You shouldn't dwell on that so much” or “Look on the bright side.” As I said before, I think they're generally meaning well, and very often don't understand why what they say instead seems to make us worse...more angry, more withdrawn, more depressed.

A good parallel came to mind recently that helps make sense out of these folks a little further. Oddly enough, it came from physics. See, the DGI's are just like folks who only learned Newtonian physics. You know Sir Isaac Newton, right? The one who kids are taught discovered gravity 'cause he sat under a tree and got hit in the head by an apple? He codified most of the basic physics that we deal with in our day-to-day lives. Things that are matter are solid objects. They sit still unless something makes them move, and then it takes something to slow them down or change direction again. Space and time are consistent, constant aspects of the universe. Things are either matter or energy. Things can't occupy the same space at the same time. All of those basic, humdrum rules that define what our “normal” lives are generally like.

For those of us dealing with a major loss—in my case the suicide of my wife—we're not running on just those laws anymore. We're now governed by the laws of quantum physics/mechanics as well. We get to deal with all those additional fun things like things not being only matter or only energy....but instead pretty much everything being “Mattergy.” Space and time can be bent and folded, like by the massive gravity field of a black hole. Things are connected in ways that aren't immediately apparent, like paired electrons matching each other's spins, even when they're separated by quite a distance. With some things not being able to know BOTH where it is AND where & how fast it's going (Heisenberg's uncertainty principle).

Those laws affect how we function, how we feel, what we remember, what we feel we can and cannot do. Things that seem utterly peripheral can evoke very intense emotions. Things that ordinarily would be the type to evoke happiness also bring up sadness or fear or resentment. Being around some of those reminders warp what we're capable of feeling, pulling and twisting it down into depths of sadness that are really hard to climb out of. And it sometimes doesn't seem to take much to get a strong mood going, or to make one suddenly shift in an entirely different direction.

When we've had to live with it for awhile, we kind of understand what's going on. I know I can't always predict what's going to set things off or how they'll go, but I've got a better sense for it. I've gotten a better sense for what things actually do get better by just focusing on something else for awhile, and what things I need to focus on and go deeper into in order to get through. I've at least gotten used to having intense memories and emotions sparked off by things that seemed utterly inconsequential and, at least on first glance, unrelated to much of anything else. And I can at least relate to the other widows and widowers I've gotten to know when they have the same kinds of things going on, too.

For the DGI's, it suddenly seems like we're talking about the world having turned upside-down and inside-out. Imagine, if you would, suddenly finding out that the world is really run by the kinds of rules you'd get if you crossed Alice in Wonderland with the Twilight Zone. Most of the time, when we hear people talk about that kind of stuff, the first thought is to wonder if they've taken their meds....or if they should be on some. Or if, perhaps, the boys with the butterfly nets and the nifty jackets with the extra-long sleeves with a plethora of buckles shouldn't be called in.

In our cases, that's the reality in which we have to function. And someone who's never had to walk it isn't likely to understand, at least not without a really open mind and a fair amount of help. And, instead, they mistake the journey down through Hell as running from reality or self-flagellation.

And not the way through to get out.

Choice

I'd been thinking about this topic off and on and, up until now, there were two things that hadn't come together. One was knowing what I'd want to say about it. I've seen a lot of opinions out there, and it seems like it's a question a lot of people feel very strongly about. I also wasn't sure where I cane down on it, and I'd at least need to be clear on that. The other thing was the willingness to potentially upset some folks with my opinion. Well, as recently I seem to have been struck with hoof-'n'-mouth disease, it seems like as good a time as any. So, here we go. The topic for today is choice and how it relates to suicide.

Before I get into it, I want to start with a disclaimer. I know that some people who get really caught up in this question are the ones who're dealing with losing a loved one to suicide. In that case, they've got a total pass on it in my opinion, at least for however long they're dealing with the loss & grief. They're not the ones who I have a harder time dealing with. I get how those questions don't leave folks alone, how there's that burning need to know, one way or other, if choice is the deciding factor. It's other folks who I have a harder time dealing with around this issue.

Some people say that it's certainly a matter of choice. People choose what they do (or don't do), what they say, where they go. Our legal system is based on that, that people are responsible for what they choose and do. That's why, at least technically, suicide is the one crime for which someone simply CANNOT be charged if they pull it off, but theoretically could be charged if they tried and failed. That idea of choice is why it takes going through a rather intense process to get someone involuntarily committed to a mental institution, at least for any length of time, or to be force-medicated. There's some evidence to back up the idea that choice is certainly involved in suicide, like the following:

• People decide how they're going to kill themselves (or at least try), and they choose different means. Some of it depends on what they can get access to. However, almost everyone has access to a sharp knife/blade, a length of wire or rope, and chemicals or drugs that are highly toxic, especially if taken internally. People in similar circumstances don't always take the same approach. Ergo, there's an element of choice.
  
  
• Maybe the strongest piece of evidence has to do with how long folks who attempt or commit suicide were depressed and hurting beforehand. While with some it's an impulsive, spur-of-the-moment act, with most there's some degree of consideration and deliberation. Despite feeling hopeless, they hang in there for awhile before acting, sometimes for a long time. The reasons they do so vary, but regardless it points to the choice to act or not act.

Other people say that it's not a matter of choice; it's a matter of mental illness. Research over the last several decades has shown substantially higher rates of suicide in those with major mental illnesses, such as major depressive disorder, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, and some of the personality disorders. There's a reason those are called “major mental illnesses.” People say and do things they wouldn't ordinarily when they suffer from those conditions. There is a legal defense of insanity that points to the idea of someone who's suffering from severe enough mental illness not knowing what they did. There's also evidence for the idea that it's about mental illness:

• As mentioned above, the suicide rates are dramatically higher for those who're diagnosed with serious mental illness. In some cases, going back and reading over journals or correspondence suggests that people who hadn't been diagnosed with major mental illness likely would have been. For example, there's been some studies suggesting people with borderline personality disorder have suicide rates roughly 400% that of the “average” people.
  
  
• One of the symptoms of depression is a sense of pessimism and hopelessness, the idea things just won't get better. That goes along very well with the concept of suicide, where it's taking a permanent exit from one's circumstances or life. People usually value at least some things in their lives enough to stay around for, even in hard circumstances. Getting to the point of not valuing anything enough to keep trying is pretty outside of what's considered “normal.” And that's part of how mental illness is defined.
  
  
• When treatment for major mental illness is provided and followed through with, the rates of suicides and suicide attempts go down significantly. That's been seen enough times to be able to say that it's not just a fluke or accident. There's something to it.

So, there's evidence on both sides of this debate. Which one wins? How hard do people press their points, either reinforcing their evidence and position or undermining that of the “other side”?? Some people get pretty...intense about this. I think a lot of that's because people either have personal investment in it, or see the money tied up in it....or both. Regardless, the arguments/discussions get pretty heated at times, and on both sides there are people who are insisting they have The Right Answer!

The problem is, I've been coming to believe that they're asking the wrong question.

I don't think it's a black-and-white, yes-or-no kind of issue. Is suicide chosen or not? I think that's the wrong question. I think that it's more an issue of how much of choice and how much of mental illness play in...and how they interact. Is it possible to choose to not act toward ending one's life? I think so. However, that doesn't say anything at all about HOW HARD THAT CHOICE CAN BECOME. I think that's where the mental illness comes in. It makes it harder and harder to see the options that might be there, or to believe they'll help/work. For anyone who's experienced significant pain over an extended period of time, they'll also get it how that just wears a person down, saps energy and resolve, slowly takes the color out of the world. It's one of the reason why prescription pain medications are some of the most widely abused drugs; people get to the point where they're willing to do damn near anything to make the hurting stop. In that case, it's a continuum of things people might do to get it to stop, with the ultimate end being suicide. 'Cause there's no coming back or other options after death. At least not in this life.

One of the things it helped me to do, when I accepted both are involved, was have more compassion for her pain and more respect for her strength. I'd gotten to read some of her journal files, the ones that weren't massively encrypted, and found out how long she'd been depressed and hurting. How long that had been weighing on her, dragging her down. And I also got to see how long she had gone on and chosen to keep going. She was thorough and thoughtful enough about killing herself, that there had to have been a good stretch of time where she was thinking about it AND DECIDING NOT TO DO IT, at least not then. And that kept getting more difficult. And she kept choosing to stay around, as long as she could. And when it finally hurt too bad to keep choosing to stay, it was because of the depression and anxiety and anger and everything else that robbed her world and her life of comfort, of color, of worth. Of hope.

Like I said in the beginning, I get how those who're still hurting and grieving focus on the one or the other. When you're hurting and empty and confused and scared and angry like that, it's too hard to look at bigger, more complicated questions. But it's ultimately not as simple as a yes-or-no, this-or-that kind of issue. Both play into it. And until we figure out how to deal with both, it's going to continue to be a problem that isn't going to change.

For me, being able to accept that I'd been asking the wrong question was another leg of the journey. A little farther down. A little closer to the way out.

Rules Break Down

One of the things I've felt and heard from other widows and widowers is feeling like we're falling apart, like we're going crazy. It comes up in regard to a lot of different things: paying bills, going to work, talking to friends, trying to have fun, watching movies or TV, trying to (and often having a hard time with) sleep, listening to music. Things we used to be able to handle just fine are suddenly...different. We can't handle them the same. We have reactions to things that, at least at the time, don't seem to make sense. Intellectually, we know we're grieving and dealing with a catastrophic loss, but on a more visceral level, we wonder just what the Hell is wrong with us.

One thing has been coming to mind lately for part of why that is. See, growing up we all learned certain rules. They're the rules we use to get along in the world, to negotiate dealing with others, to take care of our responsibilities. They tend to be pretty universal, though the extent to which we buy into them can vary. They're often so simple we hardly ever think about them. Take your turn. Say “please” and “thank you” and “excuse me.” Work hard and you'll do well at your job. Treat people nicely, with at least respect if not kindness, and you'll be able to get along. Be a good boy/girl, with the usually unspoken implication that if you do things will go well. Do a good job. Don't hit people, even if you really want to or it seems like they really deserve it. Things we generally haven't had to consciously think about since they were first taught to and impressed upon us. With all of them, there's an implicit expectation that if we follow them, things will be well and we'll get to be happy. At first, we probably learned to follow them to avoid getting punished. Over time, most people move beyond just following them to avoid punishment to see the reasons why they're good rules. They generally do lead to good outcomes for us, which is what pretty much everyone wants (though the ideas of what “good outcomes” might be do vary).

When someone you love dies, whether it's suddenly or not, then it suddenly seems that at least some of those rules are suspect. They didn't work. Even when the death is natural causes there's suddenly a not-so-good outcome. When it's the result of an accident, it's a little worse. When it's the result of someone else's choices and actions, worse yet. In the case of suicide, when it's the actions of the person who died that brought it about, it's even worse. The rules seem to have broken, because they didn't result in what we'd come to believe they should do.

For me, one thing I've come to realize is I'd had a rule I'd been following that I hadn't even consciously realized or been aware of. It was another one that, on the surface of it, seems to make a lot of sense. If you love someone and commit to them, in my case through marriage, then you take care of them. The implicit piece of it was the expectation that they'd take care of you and you'd both get to be happy. Sounds good, doesn't it? And, in truth, it worked for quite awhile. That made it hard to deal with how things changed, when her depression and anxiety and anger had her withdrawing and being more sullen and less able (yeah, I know, some think that should probably read “willing,” but that's a post for another time) to do things for me. The rule had worked before, dammit, so if I kept following it, it should pay off again. Right? At a level below my conscious awareness, at least at the time, that was how I saw things.

And then she killed herself. The rule hadn't worked. I'd cared for and taken care of her, and she hadn't done the same for me.  Not at the end.

All of a sudden, a fundamental part of the world didn't make sense anymore. It'd be something like suddenly waking up to find out that what's defined as “left” and “right” would change at random intervals throughout the day. Think that doesn't sound like much? Imagine trying to drive, with the laws and rules we have set up about what kind of turn you can do when and who has the right of way, and suddenly not being able to know which is which for sure. If you're really paying attention, you'll get some scares and close calls. Odds are, you're likely to end up in some fender-benders, and be shocked to find out that it was your fault.

And when one of those fundamental rules breaks down, it brings with it some fear that maybe the others aren't as solid as they'd previously seemed. It suddenly makes the world seem like a scarier place. It'd make anyone question how well they're able to be in touch with reality, to deal with even normal, day-to-day stuff, much less bigger things. Suddenly there's a lot more conscious attention and energy being focused on rules that previously operated at pretty much a reflex level, and that's exhausting. Think it isn't? Try tying your shoes while paying conscious attention to EVERY MOVEMENT OF THE LACES AS YOU DO SO. Not just what you're doing at the moment but what it's setting up to do. Doing something that you've done on autopilot for years (or more) with that kind of conscious effort and attention isn't so easy, and it's tiring. Want another example? Think about shaving, but with your OTHER hand (I'm not recommending this, mind you; I put it out there as a mental exercise). What'd previously been automatic and required only slightly more focus and concentration than standing up or putting on pants becomes something much harder and more involved.  And, if you make a mistake (which is more likely), it's gonna hurt.  Now think about having to function the same way almost all the time. Think that might wear someone down, make them wonder about and doubt themselves, make them feel broken?

In time, we get settled with the rules again. It's likely we eventually get to where a fair number of the old rules still apply and go back to reflex level. Others, however, end up having to change. And we get to go through the process of having to pay that conscious attention and put in that focused effort to get them down to that level again. And it's not a linear process. When we're stressed or tired or distracted, we sometimes go back to old habits, even if on a conscious level we know they don't work or apply anymore. That doesn't do much good for the ol' self-confidence, either. It's not a short or easy process. It requires patience and perseverance, even if sometimes that means making time to sit down and cry and feel hopeless or overwhelmed for awhile....and then getting back up and getting going again. Sometimes, that's all we can do, and it's good enough. It fits with an old Chinese proverb: Be not afraid of moving slowly, only of standing still.”

The "Oh, SHIT!!" Response

I hope y'all will bear with me in this entry. I'm starting with some of the stuff I've been reading about that's made some more sense of things for me. I'll get to the more personal, applicable-to-real-life stuff in a little bit. Hang in there, OK?

As human beings, we've essentially got three brains crammed into our skulls. The first one I'd call the “Amoeba Brain.” This is the oldest part, the one that's responsible for keeping us alive. It does things like make sure that our hearts keep beating, we keep breathing, we absorb nutrition and get rid of waste, etc. Any living thing that has anything like a nervous system has this part. If this part breaks down, well, we're done. Pretty immediately, too. The next part that evolved is what I've heard called the “Puppy Brain.” This is the part of the brain that focuses on things like knowing to be afraid of dangerous things, getting angry to deal with threats we don't need to run away from to survive (or can't run away from), and to want to have connection and interaction with others of our kind, and dealing with more than just making copies of ourselves. Among other things, this is where emotions live and do their things. This kind of brain is present most obviously in mammals, though some of those functions can also be seen in some other animals. The newest part of the brain is the “Person Brain.” This is where we actually think about things, we compare memories of how things were to what's going on now, to consider the possible outcomes and consequences of potential courses of action. When people say that you should “use your head,” this is the part of the brain they mean.

The piece I've been thinking most about lately is the “Puppy Brain.” We developed those functions and parts because they'd give us an edge with regard to survival. If we hang out together, we tend to have better odds of surviving. Groups can handle bigger threats better than single individuals. It's also more likely that our young will survive and grow. It also means that we don't have to have everything hardwired into our DNA. See, that emotional stuff lets us learn things from others. When we're young, we pay attention to others around us. If they get scared by something, we learn to be scared of it, too. It makes us more flexible and adaptable than, say, plants, which have to have all of that stuff coded into the genetics. Incidentally, it makes sense out of why plants in general have so many more genes than we do. And that part of the brain keeps on learning throughout our lives. That way, we can continue to adapt to and deal with novel circumstances and situations.

Where it can get problematic is when the “Puppy Brain” creates what I call the “Oh, SHIT!!” association with something. See, that response makes sense in regard to real threats to our survival, like suddenly walking up on a tiger. When a threat's that strong, that emotional coloring gets stamped hard onto those cues and memories. The problem for us is twofold. One is that a lot of stuff we deal with in day-to-day life isn't really that serious of a threat. There's actually relatively few things we run into as we go along that's likely to kill us quickly. Not like when we were still hanging out in the trees or living in caves, anyway. So having that permanent stamp on there isn't as adaptive as it used to be. It's especially problematic when it's not just that specific set of circumstances that evoke that response, but things that we see as similar enough to remind us of them. The second part of the problem is strongly related to that. No other animal really thinks about what's going on the way we do. So those “Puppy Brain” responses are only based on what it's got going on around it at the time. Our ability to think and remember, though, means that it's more likely a wider range of things can spark off that “Oh, SHIT!!” response. Seeing or hearing something that reminds you of a particularly intense crisis can be enough. For me, one time it was seeing someone in an airplane who, at least at first glance, looked just like my late wife. Suddenly my heart was pounding, I was sweating, my muscles were shaking and my guts tied themselves in knots...all the same things that physically get the body ready to either run from or fight off a real danger. She was about two-thirds my size and didn't even know I was there. She was no danger to my continued life. But the “Puppy Brain” reacted anyway.

That leads to two points. One of them is that trying to be rational and reasonable doesn't work in dealing with those responses. Look on the Internet and it's easy to find videos of puppies and kittens freaking out over their reflections. Now imagine trying to intellectually explain to a small animal about the principles of reflection to get them to calm down. Yeah....good luck with that. Well, guess what? We've got that part of us, too. And, when it sparks off the “Oh, SHIT!!” response, trying to intellectually explain things is just as useful. To me, that makes a lot more sense out of some of the reactions I've had that have made me wonder sometimes if I've been losing my mind. Walking through a grocery store she and I had gone to twice suddenly sets off panic. Well, my “Puppy Brain” got reminded of losing a critical connection, which it interpreted as a threat to survival, and suddenly I'm caught halfway between a panic attack and a psychotic episode. And much though people around me care and want to help & be there, it's not always easy to get it that the usual, rational way we talk about and deal with stuff just isn't going to make a difference.

The other point is that it's made a lot more sense out of some of the things I'd found myself doing over and over again. It seems we all have them, even though they vary from person to person. The common ground in them all is they bring a sense of safety and comfort. There's good reason why some things are called “comfort foods.” They're the ones that have associations of safety and good times for us. Just the taste and texture is enough to evoke that feeling that things are OK. Not the thought that things are OK, but the feeling. The “Puppy Brain” doesn't get thoughts, but it does get feelings. Same with sitting on the couch watching TV or staying in bed under the covers and reading. For some folks it's shopping. For others it's going to the gym and working out. Yet others find it in getting to talk to people, especially those who'll listen and validate what we feel. That's why sometimes we just need someone to hear us out; no advice or fix-it required. Depending on the severity of the crisis, it can take a long time to get the “Puppy Brain” calmed down again. Making the time and space for those things can be critical.

In walking through Hell, we don't just face challenges and barriers that come from outside of ourselves. Some of the torments are driven by parts of who and what we are. To the extent we don't know and understand and accept ourselves, those parts can be turned against us. “Accept” doesn't mean “like.” It just means acknowledge what's there so we can know what it is and how to deal with it. So it's one less thing in the way as we walk down to get out.

Shift Happens

Two days ago, things shifted rather intensely and radically for me. For the first at least year after she died, it was serious work to try to pull up recollections and memories of the good times. The best I could get were like the equivalent of faded black and white photographs. You know the events they captured and commemorate, but they really don't let you see or feel much of it. That's what it was like. Slowly, a bit more of the detail started to come back, but the color still stayed horribly faded and achromatic. I'd said for quite awhile that my hope is to eventually get to where, when I do think about her, it mostly brings up the good memories about what we had and got to share. I know the other stuff will always be there, and there's good reason for it. If nothing else, I've gotten to learn some things I NEVER want to do again. But that's been the hope.

In the last six months or so, a change started coming up. With some of the more intensely positive memories, I started having some of that neurological crap hitting along with them. See, one of the lovely things I've gotten to deal with in the last couple of years is what seems like some neurological dysfunction. It's not constant, so thankfully it doesn't look like it's Parkinson's or anything like that. However, when emotionally overloaded, I'll start shaking like I've got a moderately-bad case of Parkinson's chewing on me like a hyena on a downed monkey. I've also gotten to deal with these brief, intense jerks and twitches. They're almost like mini-seizures except they only last for a fraction of a second and only hit one area or muscle group at a time. It really sucks when they hit my back and shoulders, as that jerks and tosses everything around. Believe me, neither of those are fun while driving! It also sucked in that I haven't been able to find anything I can take that'll do anything about them. Once they hit, I get to just wait it out. I'd mentioned this to my doc, and his take has only been to say that he'd like to see me get to sleeping regularly and then see what happens. Asshole. Added to that, nothing he's offered has helped with sleep, but that's another rant for another time...

Anyway, the stronger the positive emotions associated with those events, the faster and more intense neurological crap I'd get hit with. The ones that would instantly kick off those mini-seizures, ECT-wannabe reactions were the memories of us making love. To make matters even worse, in the last three months or so, while more of those memories have been coming up, they've also been feeling almost alien, like they're not even mine. Like I'm remembering things that someone else lived. How's that something to mess with one's head? You can remember the bad stuff plenty clearly, and your biology won't react much at all, but the memories of the good times feel alien and get your nervous system shorting out like the Xbox some jackass just accidentally inundated in Diet Coke.

And then Friday night....it was different. I got home from work feeling like something was trying to change, to move, but I couldn't for the life of me pin down what. When I just sat with the feeling for a bit, the idea came to mind to go outside by the garage and sit. My outdoor chair's been coming apart for awhile, but hers is still solid. I went out there to see what'd happen, and pretty quickly started having memories of good times we'd shared coming up. One of the first things that struck me was that I could recall them a lot more clearly, and with more of the emotion from the time present. Color had come back to them, even if it's still kind of faded. And, as worried as I was about the neurological crap getting kicked off, there was none of that. Not with ANY of the memories that came up. I'd originally gone out there with the idea of sitting for maybe 15-20 minutes.

When I got back inside, I realized I'd been out there for about an hour and a half.

I was exhausted. It was a helluvan intense experience. Not all of the emotion was fun/positive/up. Some of it was still uncomfortable, like some of the sadness over realizing there won't be those times with her again. But at the same time, it feels like a significant part of me has come back on-line. It's going to take a bit before that feels normal again. I reckon that's a lot of what it's like when a bone's popped out of joint and needs to be re-seated. There's a sense of relief and things being right when it finally gets put back in place, but depending on how long it's been out, it might take awhile for that to feel totally normal and comfortable again.

I can't say for sure what made that happen. I'm pretty sure part of it is just time. There's a lot that the brain and nervous system need to readjust when a spouse is lost suddenly, regardless of why. There's also a lot of emotion there to have to deal with: anger, fear, sadness, guilt, shame, resentment, etc. Those answers don't come quick. At least for me, I've also learned that I can either deal with them now or I can stuff them back. If I do avoid them, though, then the price they demand still comes due...and it's given the chance to build interest. I think some of it's also come from some of the things I've been able to do, like contacting her family, getting ahold of the folks who adopted her daughter, scattering her ashes, and even taking some time on days like our anniversaries or her birthday to honor her. I'd be quite surprised if there's not a lot more to it. Those are just the pieces I see.

Then again, Dante didn't get to see all of Hell. He just got to see what he needed to. And, like him, this seems like one of those rare moments when I can look up at where I started and see how far I've come. I've had my own versions of the desert of raining fire and the river of boiling blood to deal with. Those are done; they hold no terrors for me now. I may have to deal with them again, unlike Dante on his journey, but I know what they are and that I can make it across/through them again if I need to. They don't hold me back anymore.

And each step farther down brings me that much closer to finally getting to the way out.

A Stupid Hose Cart

The weather's finally gotten good enough, and I've gotten tired enough of looking at the wild growth in the lawn, that I got off my ass and did something about it. Thankfully the lawnmower's hanging in there. It was a gift from one of my best friends when we bought this house. He had his wife had flown out for my graduation, and we were able to get the keys to show them where we were going to live. His response was to think for a bit and then buy what's turned out to be a kickass lawn mower for us. I know it was said before, but thank you, boyo.

Anyway, I also figured it'd be a good time to get around to spraying the lawn for dandelions and other weeds. They haven't come up too much yet, and I think I can thank the colder-longer-than-usual winter for that. At the same time, I don't want to push my luck. This isn't a great lawn, and if it's not sprayed soon, there'll be an ongoing, uphill battle to keep the weeds out. So, I clomped out into the yard with my old boots and the stained jeans I keep for working around the house or on the car and got to work. Mowing grass is always more of a pain when it's wet, so that was where I started. Somehow, I wasn't too surprised when I got kind of distractable toward the end. The upside to that, though, was getting to see that the one little rosebush in the back that I'd thought was dead is still hanging in there. She'd been the one to find it years ago, half buried under the tall grass and ivy that seems to replicate about as quickly as cockroaches or pennies. I felt a fierce surge of pride at the little thing for hanging in there and spent about 15 or 20 minutes rather violently clearing out a good space around it. Dammit, I can at least help keep a ROSEBUSH alive!!

Then it was time to spray. Any more, I'm a fan of the ones that you just screw onto the end of your hose, turn on the water, and hose down the lawn. Yeah, it's maybe not the cheapest option. And it's maybe not the most effective. It works, though, and it's something I can handle doing. Good enough. So I went to set the hose up for it, unscrewing the nozzle that's been on there for years 'n' years and pulling it out to its full length off the little cart around which it can wind.

And then I got knocked on my ass.

See, in the last month or two, I've noticed something. There's an online group of widows and widowers (mainly widows) that I've been involved with. One thing I'd noticed is that it seems I pretty frequently see things posted by them that are about the husbands or ex's that are now deceased...and make it very, almost painfully clear that they still love those men. Even with the frustration and pain that also comes through, there's consistently that sense of love there, too. And I haven't felt that as much for her. I've had more good memories come up lately (which has been a whole different struggle), but when I've thought of her aside from that I've felt pretty flat, almost numb. I'm not angry or resentful at her anymore, thank God. But it's bothered me some that it doesn't seem like I love her the way the other widows I know and have read seem to. And, before you ask, yes a fair number of them became widows because of suicide.

I know, I know; everyone grieves in their own way. I'm also not stupid enough to think that what's posted for this group is everything that they're thinking or feeling. I don't put everything up there myself; why in the world should I think they do? Sometimes, though, it's hard to not compare myself to how others seem to be doing, and it's easy to look at the things I think they're doing well and where I fall short.

This does tie into the hose cart. The cart's a pretty simple deal. The base has four wheels lined up. Two supports come up the sides, and they hold a cylinder between them. On the inside of that is a nozzle that one end of the hose can screw into. It's also got another short piece of hose that'll screw into the spigot coming out of the wall. That way, you can use it to store the hose easily. It was something she'd wanted to get when we bought the house. Having to re-coil a hose by hand was more than she was able to do without some real strain, especially when it was full of water. She didn't mind doing yard work; back in those days she loved having a yard and garden area and doing stuff to take care of it all. But the hose needed the little cart for her to be able to work with it and not have it turn into something that felt like drudgery.

At the time, I wasn't real hot on the idea. The cart didn't seem all that solid, as it's made out of plastic. I pretty quickly found out that the nozzle on the inside of the cylinder that the hose screws into leaks. Also, if I pull too hard on the hose to get it to unwind, it can drag the cart across the cement, meaning I need to take it easier and more careful/thoughtful in working with it than I'd really care to. And, to be perfectly honest, it didn't really occur to me at the time what a pain it could be to deal with a hose filled with water for her. I can yank and fling it around with ease, so what's the big deal, right? Yeah, I still had some growing up to do. At the same time, I could tell it was something that was somehow important to her, and I gave in. I'm not sure that I ever thought it was a good idea. It was just one of those compromises I'd made at the time because it wasn't important enough to get into an argument, or even an extended discussion, over.  Even after we'd brought it home and realized that the connection between cart and hose tended to leak, it stayed in the yard.  It wasn't worth arguing over, and it seemed important to her so....OK, it stays.

Looking at it today, though, hit me like a kick from a horse to the sternum. For the first time, I saw it more like she had back then, as something that'd make it easier for her to get to do some of the yard work. It meant she wouldn't have to ask me to come take care of something for her. It was something that gave her some freedom, it helped empower her in her own home. Even if she didn't use it a whole lot, or even at all in the last few years, it was something that made it possible that she could do some things. And, at least at first, that had made her happy.

And it hit me that, if I had to do it all over again, I'd still buy her a stupid hose cart. Just because it made her happy. And that thought & feeling makes me want to cry. Maybe I don't always feel the same sense of love for her that I see in the things a fair number of others write about their lost loved ones. But it doesn't mean that they're entirely gone, either. Maybe just needing to rest for a while more.

It's moments like that, the brief flashes of hope or comfort, that make it possible to keep trekking down through all the layers of this Hell, to eventually confront and walk past my own Devil...and find the way out.

Motion Sickness

One thing came up recently in talking with a friend of mine and trying to explain what some of this grief process is like. I found myself comparing it to the phenomenon of motion sickness, especially when people get it in things like movie theaters. As I understand it, what happens is the brain ends up getting conflicting messages. The eyes say that there's motion going on, that we're moving (especially if you sit close to the big screen and it takes up most of your field of view). However, the inner ear (among other things) says to the brain that we're actually sitting still; no motion is taking place. The brain gets those conflicting sources of data, doesn't know how to reconcile them, starts freaking out and expresses its displeasure through the stomach. Thus, for some people, sitting too far toward the front of a movie theater means that, along with the show on the screen, they get to deal with gastrointestinal pyrotechnics as well.

I've recently been finding something similar going on for myself. In the last few weeks, I've had a lot more of the positive memories from our marriage coming up. They're not big things. They're not major events, like anniversaries or birthdays or her graduation. They're the little, day-to-day things that added up and meant so much. Things like going out for breakfast almost every Saturday morning for the better part of a decade. It was time we set aside to just hang out with each other, no talk of bills or chores or errands allowed. Things like walking in the park together, and sometimes feeding the ducks. Yesterday it was remembering doing yardwork together, especially pruning back the rosebushes, and how well we worked as a team and made it enjoyable for each other. A huge one was how it felt to fall asleep next to her, just enjoying knowing that she was there.

One of the biggest shifts with that is being able to feel some of what those times were like again. I'd had a few memories like that come up in the last couple years, but most of the time I couldn't feel what'd made them good. I could recall it intellectually, but the emotion was just grayed out, at best. Now I can remember how just sitting at a table and holding hands and talking made me smile. I can remember how walking in the park and talking, usually about nothing big or heavy or serious, brought a sense of contentment with it. How I would drift off to sleep with a smile in my heart because I was there next to this woman I'd fallen in love, that I'd tied my life to. It's not the full intensity of those feelings, but there's at least some of it there now.

What's making that so hard is that it's not just the good feelings that come up. There is almost always a sense of sadness and loss that comes with them, too. I'm pretty sure it comes from the recognition that those good times are over, that they're GONE. There is no chance left of getting to have those again. Oh, sure, there can be other good times. I'm not just shut off to the possibility I may fall in love again, or maybe even get married again. But as good as those might be, they will never be the same as they were with her.

And so I get hit with both, maybe not quite at the same time but in close proximity. And it's hard to know how to sort those out, to shake the pieces so they fall together into a coherent whole. Instead, I end up feeling pulled between both, recalling the good that had been and deeply saddened by the good that can never be again. Torn between the future and the past.

About all I can figure to do is believe that it means I am still moving, and that an escape from this Hell lies at the end of the journey.