When Does the Pain Go Away?

Next month will mark the 3^rd anniversary of the death of my beloved wife, Susan. She left us early on the morning after Thanksgiving, after suffering with cancer for nearly three years. The world lost an incredible person: artist, healer, mother, wife, teacher and overall source of light. I lost my closest friend, lover and life partner.

People deal with loss in different ways. Some avoid and deny. Some try to duck the process by drinking or other self-medicating tricks. Some try to replace the person they lost. Some fall apart. Some deal with it stoically.  There is no ‘best way’, no silver bullet, and it is best that we try not to judge someone going through this process.  Until you have felt this pain, endured the loss of someone dearly beloved, you have no idea whatsoever how it feels, and for every person who has lost a spouse, a parent, a child, or a dear friend, bereavement is a unique process.

For me, there was first a period of numbness, lasting probably 4-6 months, where I really did not feel anything. There followed then a period of fairly intense pain. During all this time, I sought the help of a grief group, finding others whose situation mirrored mine. It was extremely helpful, because in my case I met 5 other wonderful people whose losses were deeply and intensely felt. We bonded. We are still friends. But even within this august group, we each deal with our pain somewhat differently.

Now, nearly three years out, I still miss Susan deeply and constantly. It has been said that the pain of loss is in direct proportion to the depth of love one has felt for the person no longer here. If that is the case, I can well understand why I feel the way I do. It does not go away. You don’t get over it. The loss is always there, staring you in the face, and your job is to cope with it as best you can. I deal every day with the notion that my best day in this life will never be 10% as good as my WORST DAY when Susan was here.

That all said, there is joy to be had. There is fulfillment to be had. There is altruism to be given. Do not isolate yourself. Try to limit the time you spend feeling sorry for yourself. Let the tears come when they do. Eventually the good memories of your time with your loved one will be more frequent than the sad ones. And most importantly, try not to identify yourself by the loss. It is something that has happened, not something that should define you.

For me the loss will always be there. But so will the incredible memories of companionship, laughter, tears, closeness and shared experience. 

MPC/10-29-2017  

Anniversary

Today would have been Susan and my 19^th wedding anniversary and our 23^rd anniversary of being sweethearts. I am right in the middle of my ‘season of bad anniversaries’, a time of sadness and remembrance for me.

And while there is now some distance between myself and the pain of losing Susan, I still struggle mightily with the whole concept of the value of my life, specifically its value to myself.

I struggle with the idea that my best day in this current life will NEVER be anywhere near as good as my worst day when Susan was alive, and it is difficult for me to believe, even after nearly three years, that this will ever change.

Of the 46 years or thereabouts of my adult life, I was in committed relationships for 38 of those years. Not all those situations were ideal, but at least I had a sense in those situations of what my purpose was. I was a ‘husband’. In my relationship with Susan I was also a stepdad. I identified myself as those things. To me there was no higher calling. I can still identify, of course, as ‘stepdad’, which is an incredible honor. But the kids are mature and wise adults, with families of their own, having built wonderful lives for themselves, and their need for my input and/or support is by no means a daily necessity.

While the grieving part of my life has more or less settled down to periodic episodes, the ‘reinvention’ part is a complex and bewildering process, for which I have not a clue. Each day can often feel like a futile exercise in pacing the cage, waiting for the end. And to be truthful, there are moments when the end is an awfully enticing concept.

In spite of the fact that I have many wonderful friends and family members without whose friendship and support, life would be pretty intolerable, there is still a massive hole in my life created by the loss of my partner, my beloved Susan, and that is a hole unlikely to ever be healed. Life with her was uniformly fun, full of love, laughter, kindness and the occasional adventure. And it was not just me who lost when she died, the world lost a brilliantly talented artist, therapist, punster, mom and source of light. And while it is true to some extent that some distance has grown up between me and the pain of losing Susan, there are moments, (writing this being one of them) that the pain takes on a palpable, physical dimension, very difficult to bear.

So, as you can see, the process of self-reinvention seems daunting almost to the point of impossibility at this point in time.

That all said, I know my beloved would want to keep at trying to figure it all out, she would not expect me to fold up like a cheap suit.  I have really never yielded to fear, or to despair, and I am not about to start now. So, I will keep marching along, and trying to figure out the ‘reinvention’.

To my dear beloved, wherever she may be: be at peace my love, know on this special day that you are loved, know that you made a tremendous difference to so many.  You never got a chance to hear this wonderful song that sort of sums up my feelings: Paper Aeroplane by Kasey Chambers

I’m just an old man,

My hair is thinning,

My head is spinning,

I cry myself to sleep at night.

And Lordy, lordy, though no one hears me

I know you’re near me

You will always be my wife.

Some days make me

Feel weak and shaky,

Some days fly by me,

Like a paper aeroplane.

I hardly notice

That the world’s gone crazy,

But nothing’s clearer

Than the way you said my name.

I shouldda let go by now,

I shouldda let go by now,

But I kept your brownies,

And your golden honey,

I smelled your flowers,

And I saved your money

I held your blanket

Close for hours,

And I painted my heart blue

But I did it all for you.

I’m just an old man,

My hair is thinning,

My head is spinning,

I cry myself to sleep at night.

And Lordy, lordy, though no one hears me

I know you’re near me

You will always be my wife.

Paper Aeroplane by Kasey Chambers.

MPC 09-24-17

You've survived all sorts of horrible stuff, so what now?

        It's been a while since I wrote a blog post. It has been an adventure-filled several months, mostly devoted to downsizing and moving out of the 'family home', into an apartment.  As part of the process, I had over 40 cubic yards of personal possessions hauled away to be donated and/or recycled to some good use.

        So all of that craziness is over, what now? I must admit that I am struggling a bit with that. I still have my work, but these days that is pretty part time. When companies have been using your software for 30 years, they don't need much support, except when the printer stops working or Windows does one of those wonderful updates that crashes everyone's systems.

        After my beloved Susan passed away, I went through a long period of basically writing off the rest of my life. "Pacing the Cage" as so beautifully put in a song by Bruce Cockburn. I think many who are grieving the loss of a life partner go through something similar. And I must say that the current political climate and all it's theatrical excess does not do much to add to the joys of life.

        Politics and its vicissitudes aside, I have learned a thing or two that now I think I need to put to better use. I have learned the value of humility, gratitude and kindness.  We humans are wired to take note of the negative things that happen to us, but in general we notice the positive things less. We notice the red lights, but not the green ones. And it is surprising to experience what happens when we start to notice the green lights, lock them in and feel grateful for them.

        I have had people say "How is it that someone who's had so much happen to them has such a good attitude?". It's a fair question. I've lost my whole immediate family, including my beloved wife, mother, father and sibs. My heart has turned on me no less than 3 separate times. But I have also had the very best kind of true love for 20 years of this life, helped in the upbringing of 3 incredible step-kids, have wonderful friends, incredible customers, and some pretty good fortune.  I am grateful for the blessings I have had throughout this life, and looking back, would not change a thing.

        So what's next? I think the best strategy is to meet all people with a welcoming attitude, never judge people by anything other than their behavior; be grateful for something each day, be kind at every possible opportunity, and be open to what may come my way.

        Yes, I miss my sweetheart.  Yes, there are moments when it hurts, and hurts badly. But every moment of doubt and depression passes, and is ultimately replaced by a moment of something else, most often better.

        So I will keep sharing my observations with you from time to time, in the hope that something I say may be of use to someone else. All we have in life is our story and the connections we have with others.  All else is "stuff" that can be hauled away...

08-22-2017
MPC