Early after Mark died when I was talking to my therapist, I asked how I could possibly fill the enormous hole in my life when so much of it revolved around the husband who was dead and what he did for a living. Many times over she told me that I would eventually build a new life and it would have meaning. It was all I could do not to roll my eyes and sigh at such nonsense.
She also told me that over time grief would loosen its grip and each morning after that I woke up expecting to feel a little bit sad instead of devastated. It did not work like that. Instead, I held a new grandson, joined a writing community explicitly for grief, expanded a garden, lost one job to Covid and got another, painted a bedroom and moved all the furniture into it because the one we had always slept in was too much every night. It took me so long time to find my widow legs that I didn’t notice that incrementally I was building a new life and planning ahead.
Along the way, though, I fought my circumstances at every turn. I hated being around married couples with their cute banter, hated seeing family vacation photos on social media, hated hearing about the success of Mark’s coworkers, resented having to be happy for anyone for any reason. Behind the smile and “I’m doing okay,”rage simmered inside of me.
I don’t know when that changed. Most of the people I was mad at were always on the periphery of our lives and not worth the effort. Mark was never one to go out of his way to be nice to people he didn’t like and couldn’t understand why you would waste the energy trying. One night while laying in bed, I replayed a conversation where an acquaintance suggested I look into volunteering at a dog shelter to augment my sadness. “On your days off you,” she said, “you could go there and walk the dogs. I’m sure it would help.” I got defensive and over explained myself (as usual) instead of asking, “Can you image a bunch of stray dogs taking the place of your husband?” And in the darkness I took a stroll down the road of all the dumb stuff that had been said to me that drove me nuts until I reached a dead end where the sign said Surrender. You have to surrender the life you no longer have, you have to surrender to a future that looks vastly different than the one you thought you were promised, you have to surrender the people in your life who don’t serve this new version of you, you have to surrender to what it can be and not what it was.
I’d say it was an overnight success but I’m not that fast of a learner. I had to repeat that word to myself a thousand times over. I still do. I still get jealous of long married couples, I still look back at what was, I still hate that Mark isn’t in the thick of scientific research. But in the surrender I found a new version of me, a new relationship, and a future I could not see for a very long time.
Last month a friend lost her father suddenly. As if that’s not hard enough, her mom has dementia and cannot be left alone so in one phone call her entire life got turned upside down. Everybody not in her shoes seems to know what she should do which is unhelpful in every way. We also started working together a few years ago so I checked in with her several times before she came back to the office because, holy shit, that’s a lot to deal with. Figuring out next steps will be a long process and after a glass of wine with her the other day I said what I’ve said to others in the throws of unrelenting grief, “You’re going to be okay. I don’t know how or when but I promise you will be.”
When you can’t see it you have to believe your way to it. For me it was, and continues to be, the hardest work I’ve ever done so if it helps to show up for someone else with some street cred and a flashlight I’ll be your girl.
