This chart is crap.
Wanna know why? Because it looks so simple. Like learning to live without my husband should be this nice easy flow and that once I hit rock bottom of guilt, loneliness, and isolation, I can only go up!
Lies.
NOTHING about me losing my husband and the boys losing their dad flows in an easy pattern.
Sometimes we feel hopeful for the future. Like maybe some day in the very distant future there could possibly be someone new in our lives to love. Sometimes we feel hopeful that doing this whole farm thing on our own is actually feasible. Sometimes we feel hope in that we need to make life exciting and fun and good so that when we get to see Mike again we have great stories to tell him.
And then sometimes we are right back to square one. The shock and disbelief is in a constant ebb and flow. Constant. I kid you not. It's actually unreal how often it comes washing back over and knocks us to the ground.
For instance, yesterday took its toll on us both.
I worked and the day was insanely busy, as all of my days have been lately with moving into administration (and so far it's been a GOOD busy to help give me focus other than focusing on how bad my life sucks sometimes). Conner stayed with my mother-in-law yesterday and they had a good day too.
When I arrived home at 6:00 yesterday, I rested a bit while my little boy played outside. By himself with his matchbox cars and I thought to myself, and even began crying, wow...that's my little boy out there. He is sitting in the grass playing with matchbox and I can see him talking to himself and he's smiling and he's having fun and he is the most amazing and resilient little boy I know. Conner has essentially been raised as an only child most days because Tristan didn't live with us and only came to stay during some weekends. I stood there looking at Conner through the sliding glass door and I cried.
He misses his dad just as much as I miss my husband. He misses his brother just as much as I miss my stepson. We both miss how easy life used to be. My little boy who has never been one of the popular athletes is so strong and so smart and so imaginative and SO much like his dad. And that makes me proud beyond any measure of the word!
So, I opened the sliding glass door after wiping my tears and told my son how proud I am of him and how much I love him. I decided since we haven't been able to spend a ton of time together just doing fun stuff lately, that we would run into town for an ice cream.
We did but ended up not enjoying ourselves and neither of us finished our ice creams. We were both desperately missing Mike at that point and the wave was starting to build its momentum to come washing over. So Conner said he wanted to go see his dad.
Conner hadn't seen his dad's stone yet; he had wanted no part of choosing it or seeing it in the process. I didn't either but I knew it was my job to choose perfectly to honor my husband not just for me and the boys, but for Mike's family too. I had to choose well.
So I was nervous about taking Conner to see it for the first time. I knew he would feel like I felt when I first saw it in person-- undefinable shock and pain at seeing the reality in stone.
We arrived and did what we always do: Conner and I walk over together, then I walk away for Conner to have time alone and then we switch and I finish the visit alone with my husband.
Conner straightened some of the flags and flowers that Mike has been given and then he sat on the camouflage blanket we always bring. I told him I loved him and took my place under a big shade tree to wait for my turn.
When Conner began his walk back to me I lost it. I hugged him so close and began sobbing and telling him how sorry I am that we have to come to a cemetery to see his dad. It shouldn't be this way.
But that same amazing little boy who was sitting in the grass playing with matchbox just an hour before looked up at me, removed his hat, kissed his mom, and said, "it's gonna be ok, Mom. I love you."
After I finally let Conner go, it was my turn to walk to the stone and sit. But last night it was more like I fell to the blanket, on my knees. I was completely back at the bottom of the wave: helpless, hopeless, in complete shock and disbelief, and completely broken. I reached my hand out to touch my husband's name and I just couldn't breathe for a minute.
I cried so hard and told him how much I love and miss him and don't understand and don't want to or think I can do this on my own, and it's not fair that Conner and I have to come here to be with him, and that I am still so in love with him that I don't know if I'll ever be able to accept someone new in my life, and that I have so much to tell him about my new job.
So this ridiculous looking simple chart of the "stages of grief" is crap. There is NO smooth sailing through this process and I actually wonder if it just goes on and on forever. I think yes.
It's not simple.
It's not easy.
It's not black and white that you will go through this emotion then move to that emotion then on to the next in some perfect healing order.
You will fall after you've climbed partway up the mountain. You will be toppled over in the blink of an eye after you've ridden the surf board to new heights. Grief is an up and down battle that you will fight for the rest of your life, so I've been told. I get it.
It's true. I imagine that years will pass by and I will still have a hard time breathing some days. I imagine that I'll be doing fine and all of a sudden something will trigger a memory and I'll come crashing down.
And that's because I love my husband like I have never loved before and the great thing was that he loved me back the same. But that's also what makes it the worst thing. We were happy and in love and life was GOOD. Now every bit of that is gone. It's not fair. It sucks. It makes me angry and sad and lonely and hopeless and scared most days.
We love you and miss you, Babe.
NFAxI...
#stillhis
Love,
Veronica
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