Emotions come in waves. Waves that push me back gently to the shore, exhausted and waterlogged after going so far out with Vernon. If I make the mistake of stopping to think, I feel the sadness and confusion and start crying or else if I go go go, I’ll get tired and in a moment of weakness, feel angry and confused….and start crying. It only happens here and there. The champaign bubbles, as Sandy calls them, are released a little at a time so that bottle doesn’t break. The bottle is feeling a little brittle, and when my anxiety rises over little triggers here and there (mostly the planning for memorials and the creaky return to the land of the living), I can almost hear/feel the sound of shattering glass. The realization of what we just went through occurs to me, and my heart starts pounding. And then I might cry, talk it out with someone safe, and when I’m ready, I get back to my responsibilities, leaving a trail of tumbling sea glass behind me.
These sketches I made of Fornasetti plates this summer kind of sum my head up right now. It’s all over the place.
I have a wonderful therapist-friend that takes emergency calls from me. We had a talk about my sudden range of feelings. One thing she said was: “Everything you say and do right now doesn’t sound or look as bad as it sounds and looks in your head.” She told me that everything might feel a little off for a while. I lash out sometimes, I have to be careful not to be alone with chatty strangers when I go out in public. I recognize the crazy that comes out in me when suddenly my expectations are not met on the smallest details—this is what I felt often through the hospice experience, and it hasn’t left me entirely yet. I have spent the first days home, trying to reestablish a sense of security. I feel like a cat that goes around smelling the corners for her own scent, re-marking the territory. We have had our closest tribe around us these days, people who endured the last two or three weeks together with us. We are taken care of well. We don’t feel lonely yet.
I told her: “I thought the worse was over. Why do I feel so anxious and unsettled?”
“It’s just a different kind of worse,” she told me. We laughed and laughed over that phrase, it truly tickled me.
I took Justine to school and then picked her up again for the first time this school year. Here we are walking on the bridge home. I briefly met her teacher. All the important people at the kid’s schools know. Justine has started telling other people the news as she feels like it: “I told all the kids that sit near my desk,” she told me. She’s also been playing with the butterfly net quite a lot. They will move into the routines in their own way and in their own time, I expect. I must be careful not to micro-manage them as I return to Mom-role after being gone for awhile. Everything does feel different and slightly off.
Yesterday, I went on a walk with my friend Adrena. She lost her 13-year old shining son two months ago in an RV accident. She also lost a 13 year old nephew at the same time. I won’t go into all the details now, but it was good to connect with someone I already know pretty well who is going through something similar at the exact same time. I called her a week ago, while still tending to Vernon, just to cry together. She doesn’t live here but happened to be in town this week. We planned to walk, as we do each time she comes to town. It was pretty brutal, our conversation. I can imagine that if others were listening in, they would be shocked by the descriptions we were throwing around. But it felt good not to be alone in the extremes of our raw experiences, even though hers was quick and sudden with no preparation, and mine went on for what felt like too long. “It’s all brutal,” she said. “Just different kinds of brutal.” A different kind of worse.
Here are some words she had tattooed on her arm just this past week…a love note in her son’s handwriting.
And a Winston Churchill quote which she had found on a list of her nephew’s favorites. What an honor to us that she chose one of Vernon’s fonts.
“If you are going through hell, keep going.” (Nope, don’t want to stop there.)
But then…look how much beach glass we found. There are are clearly others who have come before.
I’m glad I wrote down so much of the magic of the past couple of weeks…it’s so good to remember those amazing, beautiful things. But right now, the shock is just beginning to wear off…and with it come new feels. Fortunately, so far, they only come in waves.
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I remember the “crazies” that came out in me in 2000……I jumped in the car, drove down to the pier, and around (didn’t get out) and Vivian happened to jump in the passengers side….and I yelled and screamed on and on and on til we came back to driveway…….then I walked in the house & was in control again…..!!!! So glad you have your “tribe”….. love & hugs.
did it feel good though? 🙂
Time for more of that supernatural grace to surround you in the days, weeks, months ahead. Praying for that and the comfort only HE can give.
Yes, I’m sure he will deliver yet again when i need it. He always does. 🙂
I got really angry at someone at Walgreen’s today. This man was being rude to a little old lady counting change to buy her things, and because the waiting was an inconvenience on this lovely Sunday morning- he let everyone in line know of his discontent. I couldn’t let it stand- so I said something, but I really wanted to punch him (I didn’t). In the car heading home, I wondered if I was out of line. Feeling the crazies because I made a snap judgement that this man was acting entitled and this woman seemed like the underdog we needed to defend. Who knows the real story! I usually don’t get involved- but why today?
All of this to say that you feel what you feel- right or wrong. Your feelings are yours. No judgement needed. While you are so blessed in many ways, don’t stop in hell- keep going. I’ll see you in a few weeks to compare notes and drink good vino. Love to you
I just need to share with you that your experiences and emotions are all normal. Fortunately I took advantage of a counselor that was readily available at work. She was very knowledgeable and helped me along my journey. I was also fortunate to have some close friends that I could reach out to to talk, cry or get together for dinner when I couldn’t stand to be alone. It does get better, and you will laugh and smile, and enjoy life, but you will never forget. If you need a backup to your support group, I am here.
Allison,
Dear, whatever you feel like now is okay. Have never lost a husband but my sister did and it was real hard for her for a long time.
Love,
Becky
Bless you, Allison. I hear you.
LOVE YOU ALLISON …CRY /SCREAM ..DO WHAT EVER YOU NEED TO DO ……
THE TATTOO SEEMS LIKE A WONDERFUL IDEA .. (LIKE VERN HAD THE SPIDER)
HUNDREDS OF HUGS
VANESSA XX
ps see you soon for those hugs xx
yes, soon! hope we can get some beach walks in too!
Ahh. Is what I it is called – crazies? Still there. I tried to step around grief. And it flew back in my face. Your words help remind me we all grieve differently.
I hope you are doing well, my friend. I heard a wonderful podcast on grief last year. I’ll try to find it for you…actually, I should find it for myself.
http://robbell.podbean.com/e/episode-45-grief-loss-and-joy-with-david-kessler/
Thinking of you and family often and lifting you up in prayer.
Years ago when dealing with some very painful childhood issues, I went thru time of such extreme anger I didn’t know what to do with myself. I would drive around in my car at night and scream and cry and swear. I had a friend w/a punching bag in his garage, I would take my son’s metal baseball bat and go into the garage and turn up the radio really loud and whack that bag until I couldn’t hold up my arms. I had to get the anger out. I didn’t feel better for a long time but it felt good to give physical expression to the rage I felt inside. Jumping on a trampoline was another thing I did and lots of crazy writing/drawing w/my non-dominant hand was another way to get the rage out.
that all sounds great, actually. I went to a concert last night and screamed and danced (though it felt positive and fun) I felt much better today. I expect this is how we go…we learn what works to get it out…and then do it again…or something else. I like your ideas. I never even thought of writing or drawing with the other hand. I do pilates, which helps the mind by confusing it…one side of the body is always easier to handle than the other, but we push through. And in it, we teach ourselves, we learn, we adapt, we get stronger…
After David died and the memorial came and went, all I could do was walk, walk, walk … Every day for days. After sleeping in as late as I could bear, I could just about brush my teeth and throw my unruly hair into a bun and then off I went, from one side of town to the other, often twice. And I admit there were occasional Prosecco stops along the way. But other than that I kept going. Brisk walking, silent praying and crying. Music, sometimes. I did this every day for a week at least. Reading the Churchill quote about walking through hell … Exactly. It worked.
that’s exactly what my friend Adrena went through…goes through. she walk, walk, walks! I have kids so its harder for me to take the time…and also I don’t have the habit. I bet you do. I have been meaning to reach out to you more since David died. Nicole has filled me in some. But you are often in my thoughts, dear girl. We’ll walk (and have prosecco together) sometime soon. I’m in Norway next summer for a bit… almost your neighborhood. Love you.
Thank you so much for posting! You are making me think, I recognize those feelings. And the confusion. You wonder is it real? Lots of love to you all. X
well, you encouraged me to keep writing. It does help create more space in my head. I did enjoy today: no anger, no confusion. A lot more freedom. I exercised too…that helps the body like writing/art helps the mind. I know you know what I mean. 🙂 Love you.