Maybe, quite possibly, I do need to see someone. The tests indicate that my heart is basically sound, I was reassured. Yet I puzzled over the issue of her referral.
All my life, when I have been struggling with problems, significant problems, I have looked outside myself for answers. I have read books. I have talked with my friends. I have googled what could be googled before there was a google.
But this time, I don’t think this is what I need to do. I believe that I need to turn my search inward.
The truth is there cannot be anything much more devastating to me than to have lost my husband so suddenly, while we were both still quite in the fullness of our lives.
I see now how everything about me was so fastened to him and it was from our connection that I experienced meaning in my life.
We observed our friends, our children, the political process, the beauty of each day, even the despair that comes from defeat or tragedy, from the aperture of our relationship. There was a unity of perspective and experience.
But now I am one again. A lot of who I became in the relationship was unconsciously driven–what we ate, what we accumulated, the way we spent our money, the friends we made, the cultural pleasures we shared–and Lewis, more than I, was much more aware of his choosing and the need to simplify and separate the wheat from the chaff in our lives.
Now that he is gone, the choices are mine alone. The friends I make and keep. The books I will keep and the ones I will throw away. His belongings: where will they go, to whom will they be given? Do I keep the house or sell it? The boat?
Do I try to see more of the world or stay here near my sons, their families, the grandchildren? Some of both?
One thing is for certain. I am more conscious and grateful in my work with my clients. To have the opportunity to share in the depth, struggles and triumphs of their lives is a rare privilege. And without their understanding and support these weeks I cannot imagine how I could have kept going…
And my friends: how fortunate I am to have them. Lewis and I were so fortunate to have made such good friends. My awareness of their kindness, goodness and generosity grows with each passing day.
Meanwhile, everything in my life is re-examined. I am on trial, sitting in the witness stand, pondering in the jury box, standing in judicial robes pronouncing myself verdicts, and then watching from the seats in the court room and writing and reading my daily news, sometimes just a twitter. I am given more days to live but what am I to do with myself?
I remember once being moved so much by a sermon of a chaplain in Huntington, West Virginia. The chaplain worked with young students at the university and observed that when each student came there it was as if they had to sort through every value they had accepted in their childhood and examine each one and then decide for themselves what they wanted to keep and what they wanted to modify or discard. He compared it to a cloak one would wear and there would be symbols or badges covering the cloak and each student wearer decides which figures would continue to worn and kept in their emerging identity. One at a time.
I have to do something similar while I am at the same time losing what has been my comfort zone and I know all too well that I cannot be sure at all what number of days may lie ahead.
To turn inward at this time is challenging. It is easy to glide, to let time pass and pretend or imagine that little has really changed. Some part of me wants this bargain with reality. And as a therapist I know that I help create my own reality and that often in life the best answer to any dilemma is to do nothing. To let things be. So I weigh these paths and choices in my mind. A kind of to be or not to be sort of thing.
Often my loss breaks through and I find myself feeling as if I am broken and beyond repair. I ache in every possible way. Everything I touch, see, smell, or hear reminds me of what is gone, of him. I rebel, moan and lament. I mourn and mourn some more. I am in a blind and altered state and I have missed the fullness that is left, the love that surrounds me. The happiness of my grandchildren. The morning air. The delight and mess of my pets.
I readjust myself and just as quickly, almost, the experience is reversed and everything I touch, see, smell, or hear seems all the more significant, precious and irreplaceable.
My awareness softens and I can see more easily the whole of my life again.
One thing is for certain. I must simplify and redraw the lines of my identity so that I am ME and not what WE were.
And while I am doing that I must deal with the task of reducing the stuff that was his and ours determining what to keep, what to sell or give away, and what I can discard forever not just put in a box somewhere.
I am just getting started. I have a ways to go and a certain zest for the journey, tears and all.
Yesterday I talked with my office manager, Betty, about my decision. I told her I thought I would continue without professional advice or medication.
I asked her opinion. She says she thinks that I am OK and that she would be worried if I weren’t struggling like this. She has assured me that if she sees that I am really faltering she will let me know. She reassured me.
Her reassurance helped. So do the words of others. And so do writers and poets.
Take these poems for instance:
Poems by Rainer Maria Rilke
Ich liebe meines Wesens DunkelstundenI love the dark hours of my being. My mind deepens into them. There I can find, as in old letters, the days of my life, already lived, and held like a legend, and understood. Then the knowing comes: I can open to another life that’s wide and timeless. So I am sometimes like a tree rustling over a gravesite and making real the dream of the one its living roots embrace:a dream once lost among sorrows and songs. |
Dich wundert nicht des Sturmes WuchtYou are not surprised at the force of the storm— you have seen it growing. The trees flee. Their flight sets the boulevards streaming. And you know: he whom they flee is the one you move toward. All your senses sing him, as you stand at the window. The weeks stood still in summer. The trees’ blood rose. Now you feel it wants to sink back into the source of everything. You thought you could trust that power when you plucked the fruit; now it becomes a riddle again, and you again a stranger. Summer was like your house: you knew where each thing stood. Now you must go out into your heart as onto a vast plain. Now the immense loneliness begins. The days go numb, the wind sucks the world from your senses like withered leaves.Through the empty branches the sky remains. It is what you have. Be earth now, and evensong. Be the ground lying under that sky. Be modest now, like a thing ripened until it is real, so that he who began it all can feel you when he reaches for you. |
5 comments
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October 17, 2009 at 2:43 pm
Violet Reynolds
We are always by OURSELVES! Believe me, I know! Being an only child, I’ve always been by myself. And I think it is a good thing. I’m never lonely. I never have to share with someone else. I’m me. And not we. That makes me solid. And God wants ‘solid’ people. One’s that can make decisions by themselves. Not ‘we’. Just ‘me’.
October 18, 2009 at 5:26 pm
Meredith
I think anger, fear, unsuredness, mood swings, strength to move mountains, weakness to bring you to your knees and many more feelings that run constantly with the loss of a loved one either through divorce or death are normal and should not be medicated as they require examination when the time is right. Keep trucking, gal. Stay connected with good friends as you move along. That old Girl Scout song runs through my head from time to time — “Make New Frieinds, But Keep the Old, One is Silver and the Other Gold. New Made Friends, Like New Made Wine, Age Will Mellow and Refine.” Last night’s foyer group meeting was fun – glad you brought Marilyn along. Another feather appeared today in my birding area, today.
Meredith
October 19, 2009 at 1:09 pm
Grace
Dear Sharon,
How brave you are to share this part of your journey! Though I would have been one to suggest a therapist, what you have said makes sense. I will say that many people find great fomfort and help in bereavement groups, where they can share their feelings and experiences with others who are in some leg of the same journey, but without its being a therapy group. Your local Hospice probably offers those services to anyone free of charge.
I haven’t experienced that kind of loss in my own life–a divorce is definitely not the same as a death–but with the kind of relationship you and Lewis had, I can only imagine how devastating it must be. And I know you know the “rule of thumb” about not making any major changes for at least two years. Keeping or discarding clothing or possessions, selling a major possession–i.e, your boat–all those can wait. A good friend of mine lost her husband about fifteen years ago, and recently, when I went to her hall closet to get some copy paper, I was startled to see that she still had a couple of jackets and hats of his in that closet. But why not?
I will continue to pray for you as you make your way through what must surely seem at times like the Slough of Despond. Blessings, Grace.
October 20, 2009 at 1:52 pm
Beth
As a Neuomuscular therapist, I humbly recommend getting some bodywork.
The arrhythmias are often neuromuscular trigger points – particularly since you have been checked out medically. It (bodywork) really helps when you are going through things. It helps you to process stuff OUT of the body, not drive the stress and tension deeper in. It helps you be clearer in terms of your energy and your thinking. Just my 2 cents. May God grant you wisdom and peace. I think you’ve made a thoughtful and sound decision.
October 20, 2009 at 10:29 pm
George P. Farris
My dearest Sharon: You are are so courageous to share your feelings with all. Of course, there is little we can do, or say, which will negate the feeling of loss you are experiencing. Still, I don’t think your friends and family will stop trying. Your love was strong and to ignore that would be an abrogation of your relationship with Lewis, and I don’t think that is destined to happen. Death spells the end of life, but it doesn’t have to signal the end of a relationship. Does that mean that Lewis would you want you to be morose? I rather doubt it. You have your children, grandchildren and friends. Reorganize your life as it suits you. Don’t feel that you have to be alone, but don’t feel that you have to keep company of someone else, particularly if you are able to draw from the memories you made together. While we aren’t just around the corner, if you feel the need for company please know that Ginny and I remain available to you 24/7! Just give us a ring and we can chat until the cows come home.
Fond regards,
George, et al