Eighteen months - how am I?

As the document where I write all my blog posts opened, I noticed that in April last year I wrote a post entitled ‘how am I?’ Good question, I thought. So how am I, eighteen months on? 

For a lot of the time now, it feels as though I have reached a sense of peace with my grief. That doesn’t mean that I no longer miss B, of course I do, just that I am better at living with the sorrow. I try to accept the sadness when it comes and, mostly, I am able to carry on anyway. Although I still cry it is far less often. Occasionally, I still have a good sob, but quite often now I will only cry for a matter of seconds. I find this a bit strange. What are these tears worth if they only last for such a short time? But they are not crocodile tears, rather a way of letting go of the feelings before picking up where I left off. I think, perhaps, that I’m nearer to what I, wrongly, imagined grief would be like when I contemplated it before B died – a deep feeling of sadness whilst just trying to get on with life. Of course, I might regret writing this but, on the whole, that is how it feels at the moment. I do have some sense of equanimity for much of the time.

What I find, though, is that very often the sadness just descends, without any obvious trigger. Some days I wake up and I actually feel happy, I sing in the shower, whilst on others I simply have a sense of sadness. Or else, on another day I can be walking through the park feeling okay, or doing something else that is very ordinary, and then just be struck down by an overwhelming sense of loss, for no obvious reason. It’s mystifying! I just try to go with the flow and accept it for what it is. I do still get ambushed, but perhaps less often and my reaction to these triggers is, perhaps, less harsh. Last week I was watching the images come through from the new James Webb telescope and the commentator was speaking about the excitement felt by astronomers as they received the data, and I felt upset that B was missing it. I remembered when he told me that he was using the Hubble Telescope to do some research and how exciting that was (probably more for me than him!). I also felt sad that B wasn’t here to hear the news that Boris Johnson had finally resigned!!

I have, I think, become more self-contained, partly because that is just how my grief has affected me, but also partly due to self-preservation. I’m not sure this is a good thing, but I find it easier to keep that sense of equanimity in my own space. It’s good being with those friends I can trust and with whom I can relax, but it still remains harder being in groups, where it is uncertain how people are going to be or what they are going to say. This isn’t necessarily even related to my grief, but it just takes more energy being around and responding to people. If I’m not careful, I can feel my mood taking a dip. 

The place I find hardest is definitely still church. Sometimes the hymns or prayers have a saddening effect on me, sometimes it’s just something someone says, or occasionally, and much less so now, it’s just about being in the place where B and I spent a lot of our time. But, even on a ‘good’ Sunday, I often still feel lower in mood when I get home than when I arrived. Last Sunday is a prime example. It was a ‘good’ Sunday, with nothing obvious to bring me down, but I left feeling desolate and had a good cry when I got in. It then affected my mood for the rest of the day. I still haven’t fully worked it out, but I think I have begun to realise why this happens. I see my friends, we mingle over a coffee, and we talk about everyday things, holidays, the books we are reading, what’s going on at church, the weather (!!), etc. and we have a good catch-up. I enjoy the company, the banter and the conversations, but then it is over and the pleasure of seeing everyone just emphasises my aloneness. As I have said before, it’s not about being on my own per se, it’s about being without B, about my life being so completely changed, when it appears that most people (not all, as others are also grieving), my friends (which somehow makes it harder), are carrying on with their everyday lives as though nothing has changed, when my whole life still feels like it has just been turned upside down. I do realise, though, that I probably don’t let this show anymore, so I guess that  doesn’t help! It’s another of those double-edged swords: I so enjoy the time I spend with my friends but this then also highlights the massive sense of loss and emptiness in my life without B. I find that I can cope with it in most other spaces, but for some reason it feels different at church. I hesitate even to write this, as a lot has changed for everyone since covid, and these are my friends who have been so kind and supportive. Why wouldn’t / shouldn’t they do as they do? So, then I feel guilty and start berating myself, which also doesn’t help! Perhaps, I’m just feeling sorry for myself, but I find it so hard and I go home feeling emotionally shattered. The thing is, I don’t know how it can be any different (unless I don’t go) – so somehow, I have to get over this. The question is, how?! Perhaps, I just have to carry on carrying on and coping with the feelings that arise but, to be very honest, that doesn’t fill me with any enthusiasm. I do know, though, that I can’t just shut myself away.

It may not be obvious from all of this (!) but my feelings are definitely less intense now. I also notice that I now tend to write more about my thoughts than my feelings, both here on my blog and in my journal. This might not always be a good thing but, on the whole, I think it has helped me to keep moving forward rather than getting stuck in all those ruminations and regrets that can so easily throw me off course. To start with, my feelings were just so overwhelming I couldn’t have stopped them tumbling out even if I had wanted to. Now, most of the time, I am able to cope with them a bit better and, on the whole, be more positive (famous last words?!). For example, when I walk along our - it still slips out, sometimes! - my street and see the hedges that B arranged to have planted, I now tend to think, ‘They look good, B would be pleased’ and I feel happy, rather than bemoaning the fact that he won’t ever see them. Perhaps, it’s a subtle difference, but I feel it’s a move in the right direction. And, I do go out and enjoy myself. This doesn’t mean that I don’t think about B whilst I am out, of course I do, but generally my grief doesn’t limit my enjoyment anymore. I was at a concert with friends the other evening. It struck me during the concert that it was the first I have been to without B (as a member of the audience, rather than the choir), but instead of thinking “he should be here”, I just thought to myself that it was good to be there and how B would have enjoyed it. It reminded me of all the happy times we had spent at other concerts over the years. Little steps…

Looking back, I think that B and I were at our best when we were alone with each other, and that we were each better together than either of us was apart – I wonder if he would agree, but I think he would. Our two halves made a much greater whole – synergy, if you like. Like me, he was an introvert but we were opposites in most other respects. We balanced each other. Although we had (and I still have) lots of friends, we were a fairly self-contained couple and, perhaps it’s a male thing, but B didn’t have many deep friendships - it was probably his work colleagues who knew him best. The upshot of this, however, is that it feels as though there are few people with whom I am actually able to share experiences and stories about B. I find it so positive when people do talk about him with me but, especially now, I find this happens less, and it is usually me that brings him up in conversation (or decides not too), and then I still wonder whether people are thinking ‘isn’t she over it yet’ or ‘oh, no, not again’ - the self-critic is harsher, now! But, thinking about it, talking about him is definitely one of those continuing bonds, and just something I need to do… I wouldn’t often say this, but who cares what other people think!

I think, or at least hope, that I have now got over the longing for a sign from B. That was a weird episode to go through, searching for something that I didn’t believe in! It was reassuring to read something of this in a letter by Nick Cave (https://www.openculture.com/2022/07/benedict-cumberbatch-reads-nick-caves-beautiful-letter-about-grief.html):

“Within that whirling gyre (of grief) all manner of madnesses exist; ghosts and spirits and dream visitations, and everything else that we, in our anguish, will into existence. These are precious gifts that are as valid and as real as we need them to be. They are the spirit guides that lead us out of the darkness.”

I don’t know how he would define ‘spirit guides’ (I certainly don’t believe in trapped souls on ‘the other side’), but perhaps it’s about anything that helps one’s own spirit whilst battling on through the turmoil. What I experienced was madness (I knew it at the time, although that didn’t help!), but I really needed something to give me a sense of connection with B, and a sense of comfort that he was alright (again, mad!). I do now have some sense of connection (those continuing bonds?!), but it is in terms of our history and all that we shared together – B remains ‘alive’ (!) through me. I think I just wasn’t ready to accept that what we had was all in the past. So, perhaps, it was just a stage I had to go through. I’m not sure that it is was helpful, but maybe it was a way of ‘hanging on in there’ until my mind could create some form of order in all the chaos of grief. Who knows?

Then there are those odd day-to-day differences: I drink much more coffee (although, it’s still not nearly as much as B drank!); I go to bed later, although I still get up early (I always wanted to go to bed earlier than B, when he was around); I watch far less news (it’s too unbearably sad, or irritating); I unintentionally leave lights on and drawers open (all those little things that I used to nag B about, and now I feel guilty), but on the other hand, I’m reverting to the more-tidy self that I was before we married (possibly, because it is something that I can have control over??); I now read during the day, when previously I only read in bed or on The Tube; I am much more leisurely in the mornings. When I look at some of these things, it strikes me that I am taking on what were some of B’s characteristics! None of these things have been conscious decisions, they’ve just happened, but I do find it strange, and I also carry some guilt about it – perhaps I should have been more like this when he was alive… 

Obviously, I am the same person as I was before B died, and yet I am also different. B’s death and my subsequent grief have altered me. I am less emotionally resilient than I was before B died and I continue to feel more vulnerable when all those emotions start to spill over. Everyday life requires a lot more emotional energy than it ever did before and it can still be quite enervating coping with all the things that can disturb my composure. I still get stressed more easily than before and sometimes I also experience a feeling of anxiety, which I’m not used to. I’m still trying to come to terms with how very different life is now. I’ve said it before, but it remains true, everything, but everything, is different and because of that I behave and react differently both when alone (I talk to myself now) and when I’m with other people (though, perhaps, it doesn’t show?). As mentioned previously, the sense of meaningless has worn off, thankfully, and I, generally, feel less lonely. I’ve got used to B not being here, although his absence (still) leaves such a huge void, and my life is very slowly beginning to grow around that void. On the plus side, perhaps, I am a little more self-aware than I was previously, and I think I look at life a little differently now and, in some ways, I am just that little bit braver - what could be worse than B dying? 

Writing all this I can see how my grief has changed over the last eighteen months, I can see it unfolding, and it feels as though I am moving in the right direction. Who knows what tomorrow will hold, but I will continue to try to live each day as it comes. What will be will be…