Posted 4/13/2013 3:37 PM (GMT 0)
Barbara,
I felt the same way. My family was wonderful, but they had a hard time accepting that I needed some time alone to work through the feelings, what ever they happened to be. I could cry in front of them, but not for long, and I needed to cry until I was really done. Literally dried out, nothing left. It took time, and being alone.
It is a little over nine months now, and this morning I laughed and cried at the same time thinking of some ridiculous thing he did. Now it doesn't hurt quite as much to think about him, although there are times when it feels exactly the same, that feeling of loss that just knocks you to the ground.
It is hard for people to know what you need. They mean well, and really want the best, but they have no idea. And I am mostly glad that they don't.
I found something on a grief forum that was very helpful. It is mean to be modified for your own situation, sort of a homework assignment, but I posted it on my facebook memorial page and everyone commented that it was helpful, so I will post it here, and maybe it will help some of you to share it with your family and friends. I don't know who wrote it originally or I would give them credit for it.
Don't run from my tears. I cannot control them. I'm not made of stone. Grief comes at me in waves and when it hits, it hits hard. I never know when a wave is coming and I just have to ride it out until the waters calm. You don't need to say anything. You can't make it better no matter how much you might want to.
Please talk about my husband. I know it won't bring him back but it's more of a comfort to cry than to pretend that he never existed. I need to talk about him and I'm sorry if I repeat myself. My brain doesn't process things quite the way they used to. Don't be afraid to mention his name. You can't make me cry. The tears are here and I will love you for allowing me to shed them when I need to.
Don't abandon me. Please don't act like I have some contagious disease. Don't be afraid that you're going to upset me. Grief isn't catching. My world is painful, and when you are too afraid to call me or visit or say anything, you isolate me at a time when I most need to be cared about. If you don't know what to say, just come over, give me a hug or touch my arm, and say, "I don't know what to say, but I care, and want you to know that."
Only ask me how I'm doing if you really want to know. Please stop telling me, “You're so strong”. I am not strong. I alternate between numbness and overwhelming moments of grief. When you tell me how strong I am I feel like you don't see me at all. Please don't tell me what I “have” to do. I know I need to eat more. I know I need to sleep. I'm grieving, not stupid. Understand that there are times when I cannot physically force myself to eat, that there are nights when my mind races and memories haunt me so that I cannot sleep. Eventually, I will be able to eat more than a few mouthfuls of food and I will be able to sleep for more than minutes at a time.
This is not something that I will heal from. This is not a cold or the flu. I'm not sick. I'm not depressed. A pill can't fix this. I'm grieving and that's different. The worst of my grieving may only begin months after my husband's death. Don't set time limits on my grief. It may take six months or six years.
I am not only grieving his death, but also the person I was when I was with him, the life that we shared, the plans we had for our future. The places we will never get to go together, and the hopes and dreams that will never come true. His smile. His laughter. His kiss and his touch. We built a life together and I loved our life. He chose me to share his life with him and to be his wife. He didn't choose to die.
I will not always be grieving as deeply as I am right now, but I will never forget my husband and I want to incorporate the gift of love we shared with one another into the rest of my life. He is a part of me and always will be, and sometimes I will remember him with laughter and other times with tears. Both are okay.
I don't have to accept his death. Yes, I have to understand that it has happened and it is real, but there are some things in life that are just not acceptable.
Please don't say, "Call me if you need anything." I'll never call you because I have no idea what I need. Trying to figure out what you could do for me takes more energy than I have. If you think of something...just do it. If you want to call me then just call...don't think that you are bothering me. Ask me more than once to join you at a movie or lunch or dinner. I may say no at first or even for a while but please don't give up on me. Right now there are some days when it is all I can do to get out of bed in the morning. Some days even showering seems too big a chore. But don't give up on me. Somewhere, in time, I may be ready and if you've given up on me then I really will be alone.