Love and Grief in Real Life

My goodness! Thank you all who have visited and shared Widowsill this past week. I am overwhelmed by the response of love and good juju. It is an incredible blessing to share this with you, and I am so thankful that we are connecting together!

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This week I have been thinking about an article I wrote a few years entitled “Grief & Glory,” which describes the process of discovering resilience after devastating loss. The first line is “Grief can hijack you” and the gist is that grief, though excruciating, can turn into wisdom and ultimately give way to a stronger sense of purpose and self. You can read the original article here, graciously published in 2013 by Lipstick & Politics https://www.lipstickandpolitics.com/mind-body/grief-and-glory (under my former married name).

While the intent of the article was to offer an alternative to the seemingly endless depths of despair that come with widowhood or other loss, it lacked a longer view. At that point, my lost beloved had been gone less than a year. My way of staving off the chaos swarming inside me was to visualize how I might feel one day when I had found the peace I was craving so desperately. What I lacked in perspective, I more than made up for in my relentless pursuit of regeneration.

Here’s what I can tell you now: we can definitely learn to live with strength, passion, and even joy after grief, but that loss will always remain a part of us. And that is ok.

Recently I attended a three-day conference for work at an exquisite resort. While I enjoyed intense work sessions interspersed with glorious scenery, gourmet dining, and (my favorite part) a luxurious soaking tub all my own, my darling husband stayed home to care for the kiddos, feed and love our goofy dogs, keep the household running – oh, yes, and work his usual full-time schedule which involves a near two-hour commute each way. Single parenting, as you may know, is a herculean feat, even for a few days. He lovingly stepped up to take it on so that I could be fully present for the work event. Given that this is a man who three years ago could barely imagine himself with a spouse let alone as the father of three kids, this is particularly amazing, and I adore him for it.

When I returned home, I was spent. The kids ran to greet me with hugs and kisses and “we missed you” ‘s that of course melted my heart. It didn’t take long, though, for the bickering to start up. Nothing earth shattering, just your basic “he took my Lego/Pokémon/spinner/stuffed tiger/remote” or “he threw my meatballs into the dog kennel!” or “he pooped and didn’t wipe and now his butt is stinking up my room!” You know, the usual.

My spirit could not handle the re-entry. I walked upstairs, fell asleep, and essentially didn’t reappear for the better part of three days. While I went through the motions, and even performed well at work, at home I had nothing to give. My resilience, about which I had shouted from the virtual rooftops in years past, utterly failed me. I recognized it immediately – my old adversary Grief had knocked me on my butt once again.

I can hypothesize about triggers, but the upshot of it is that I was rendered mostly useless to my family. The more they reached for me, the more I withdrew. I could feel what was happening, but could not articulate it. My husband, who had looked forward to me coming home to share the work and the love with him, felt frustrated and at a loss (which triggered stuff for him, but that is another story).

It was a difficult week. We fought a fair amount, mostly about stupid incidentals – dishes, who’s going to baseball or karate, which one of us is responsible for the folding the laundry. All of the little fussy details that send us into martyrdom and resentment. What is typical felt insurmountable. It was awful.

 

It wasn’t until my darling husband and I went out on a date and ended up hashing it out that I was able to connect it with any sort of cognitive clarity. The exertion of energy with relative strangers – as fantastic as they are – even in the most soothing atmosphere, had cued me to call up any reserves of social grace that I could muster, and I came back depleted. When I arrived home, the stores of anxiety I managed to keep at bay while away jumped out from behind the garage door and laid me out flat. As a consequence, and completely without intention, I frightened and hurt my partner, and probably my children too. The guilt of that fueled the cycle, which of course only made matters worse.

Thankfully, we found our way back to each other. It was a bear, and it took some highly focused compassion on both of our parts to step out of it. But we did it. I am back now, and am reminded how difficult it is to love someone who carries a bit of darkness – I know this all too well. And so I write this a love letter to my sweet husband…

I am so very grateful for your tender heart. Your acceptance and celebration of my story inspires my faith in love. I know my history casts shadows on our endurance from time to time. I also know that it is because of that history and my journey through it, that I am able to come to you with courage and a spirit full of trust in our future. Thank you for willingness to believe in love renewed, and for loving all of me…even the extra 10 pounds I have acquired since we married. Ok, 20. Hush. 😉

So yes, grief can hijack you. But it can also help you find exactly what you need, and more of what you want. Believe it or not, it is all a gift.

Peace from the Widowsill.