I feel like I have been living on a deserted island….The isle of Grief.
This weekend marked 11 months since my life drastically changed. The first few days are a blur. There were so many things that had to be done immediately. I didn’t even realize the adrenaline that was cursing through my body to be able to make the decisions and get things done.
Friends were there along the way holding my hand and helping any way they could.
Then the funeral came. The numbness from the shock (and inability to sleep) helped me get through the funeral and the reception. So many people offering condolences and holding me up (some quite literally). It was an exhausting day.
Over the next few weeks friends called and texted me just to check in. Some just sending a heart to let me know they were thinking about me (a sweet friend who had gone through a loss of her own suggested that idea to close friends).
So much change was happening in my life I hardly had time to let the grief sink in. Less than a month after my dad and my husband passed away (four days apart), my youngest daughter started her freshman year in college. I also began house hunting and signed a contract to build a new house before a month had passed (yes, people tell you to wait, but believe me when I tell you I had a lot of friends telling me that my situation was different, and it was).
In September another shock when one of my husband’s pall bearers passed away unexpectedly. We had planned to celebrate my husband’s birthday by spreading some of his ashes with some close friends and family. Instead, I was attending another funeral.
The first six months went felt like I was on a merry-go-round. Life was spinning and it was all such a blur. But just as the merry-go-round would start to slow down, and I would think I was about to get off, someone or something started pushing it again and I was hanging on, sometimes just by my fingertips.
I knew the holidays would be hard. Since I was in the middle of packing to move I chose not to decorate, which made me a little more sad since Christmas is one of my favorite times. Christmas had always been at our house, but this year I wanted a change. My brother graciously agreed when I asked if we could share Christmas at his house. And since my dad (a retired three star general) was being buried at Arlington National Cemetery between Christmas and New Year’s it was the perfect escape. The blur from the merry-go-round carried me through the entire holiday season.
The new year came and the blurriness started to fade, but as I was trying to find my sense of balance, instead I found a sense of isolation. It felt like I had been dropped on an island (not a nice island with a cabana boy and an all-inclusive resort). As I looked around I could see people in the distance, but no matter how hard I tried I was not getting any closer to where they were.
My island seemed to have a forest on one side with many overgrown bushes that made getting through it nearly impossible. On the other side was nothing but water, no pier or boat dock anywhere in sight. It looked like there were boats in the distance and even another piece of land and I could see people but had no way to get to them.
I was/am stuck on this island. There are days when I beat the brush back in the forest and hear the sound of someone doing the same thing from the other side. For a brief time the path is clear and I can reach the other person, but then night-time comes and the brush seems to regrow almost before my eyes and the path closes.
On the side of the island with the water I try to build a pier or a boat dock. As the pier gets longer and tries to reach the other land mass, I discover there are naval mines in the water, just sitting there waiting to explode. The naval mines are triggered by memories or anniversaries. When the triggers happen (i.e. Father’s Day a week ago), the mine explodes and the pier/dock is destroyed again.
Based on my readings about grief and the grief stages, I know this island represents the Depression stage.
After all of the activity of the last year, the depression stage has finally taken hold. I know that in order to process the grief fully, I must experience the depression. The first step in getting through the stage (even though it may come back again) is recognition. So here I am, acknowledging the stage. I hope by acknowledging it and giving it a name I will be able to find a way off the island.
Life has handed me more than my share of heartache, but it has also given me more than my share of blessings. Those people who I see out on the water, or that I hear cutting down the brush to get through the forest – They are my blessings and I’m thankful they continue to try to clear the path to reach me.
Beautifully written. My deepest condolences on your losses. Stay close to the ones you love and take it a day at a time. All the best to you.