Since the colossal inception of the vulgarities called talk shows, I found the public display of grief repugnant. Perhaps it’s just how I was raised, or maybe I have more moral fiber than the common person, but I’ve always considered the grieving process to be a selective and private matter.
This blog is about as close as I come to public grieving, but I do it with purpose: that others may possibly glean some coping mechanisms from the foibles of my life.
The devastating morning of my beloved Michael’s death, I broke down in the hospital, as one would do upon receiving such horrific news. My otherwise solid facade fell to pieces as I did; my heart crumbled within my chest upon seeing my darling man upon the table, restful and peaceful in his repose, and never again to wrap his arms around me or kiss my lips. My mind darted from horror to horror, as if every episode of nightmare which I’d faced in life now came back to haunt me. The tears never seemed to stop. My nose ran, my voice broke, and I was just some gelatinous mess.
Upon my arrival back at our house, it was no better. But now I was alone. Completely and utterly alone. My mind raced with thoughts. How could he have died? How could he leave me like this? What am I going to do now? How am I going to cope without him with me every day? Was it the diabetes? Was it the kidney failure? Was it some infection that took him from my life? Why was God once more interfering with my life?
There was to be a coroner involved since he died en route to the hospital. I got the call from the hospital that day. They said they’d do an autopsy and the results would be available within ten days. I was still stunned, agreeing to what needed to be done. Unfortunately the day he passed was also a day of snow for Leeds. My friends couldn’t get to me. I got to the task of notifying his friends and family during the first day. My voice was raw by the end of the day, my eyes hurt. His cousins did manage to get to the house and spent some time consoling me. Our friends finally came around later in the day.
There were many well wishes and offers of help but at the time, I couldn’t think of anything anyone could do for me. I just had to cry until I could cry no more. I just had to get used to an empty house, an empty bed, and an empty life.
The cousins and I made a journey to see my father in law, to break the bad news. They offered to do it for me but I felt it was my responsibility and I was glad to have them there for support. It was difficult to get the words out, looking at this man who had lost his wife just a year earlier. Now I have to tell him that he’s lost his son too. I was torn apart inside, still raw from the news myself. We all clung together, gaining strength from each other as we talked. All the fond memories of my beloved man were shared and all I could do was suffer my loneliness, even with people around.
The next few days were spent with getting the information together so I could begin settling accounts. It was difficult to be in the house, our house, what was our home. I expected to hear him call or see him come into the kitchen. I wanted to speak to him at his desk or cuddle close in bed. But none of this would happen. I mulled over what the cause could have been, trying to trace the last day of his life.
I went back to work after three days, to get some degree of normalcy into my life again. Everyone was very caring and supportive. In fact, they texted me the day of his death, after I’d told my boss that I wasn’t coming in. But they were all surprised that I came back so soon. I let them know that I just needed a little normal in my life. Some were nervous to talk to me, thinking I’d break down again. But others just carried on as usual, including me in their banter. I didn’t have a single weeping moment at work, that they saw.
The following weeks were filled with more activity, getting the accounts in order, planning the funeral, getting the information from the coroner. I found out that he’d died of a heart attack on the way to the hospital which was brought on by clogged arteries. The coroner report said that his arteries were 80-90% blocked! I was in shock. I wasn’t prepared for that cause of death. Anything but that.
The first month was a festival of tears. It seemed like all I did. The news that I got about his actual cause of death had me thinking and second-guessing myself. Could I have done more? Should I have seen the signs? How could I have helped prevent this? All the assurances from people didn’t help much. I seemed to be on suicide watch by the cousins and friends. They called every day and I updated them on what was going on.
The next month went a little better. I didn’t cry all the time but got hit with odd waves of sorrow at the weirdest times. It came with or without anything to remind me of my love. I managed to get out to the bars and attempt to make friends. The first month I couldn’t even go to the grocery store for fear of crying. I went to Whitby which was our get away for a weekend, although it was hard to get through that.
Now I’m three months from that fateful day. I still cry every once in a while. Something will remind me. I still sleep next to his pillow. I still miss him more than anything. But I’m not focused on my grief now, rather on getting better and moving forward. My husband would have wanted that.
Eventually I’ll start living again.
wildcatleeds
I keep ya guessing
WildcatLeeds 