Monday, January 12, 2009


This woodstove is in my kitchen.

I spent hours sitting in that chair last winter. After I put my kids to bed the house was so quiet. I sat there and cried some nights hours and hours and hours, wondering what was happening to my life. Trying to deal with confusion that seemed overwhelming and too much to bear at times. Thinking about my husband, missing him in a way that encompassed so many emotions. When I wasn't crying I was off in another world. If you saw me you would see someone who seemed mentally absent. In shock. Even months later I still think my head was stinging from the shock of it all. My God, how could he be my husband one day and then just disappear? Gone? Without a word. Without me with him. How could I have seen my husband with no life in his body. How? How can he not be walking through the door again? How can all of the plans we made be meaningless? How do I deal with the fact that I will never see his face again? That I will never hear his voice? That he is no longer with me?
.
I remember one night feeling really true deep pain and mental anguish. It was a friday night, I remember because for a long time Friday nights were hard for me because that was our "special" night. The silence in my house was piercing that night. I laid down on the floor in the kitchen and prayed for someone to walk through the door and take my pain away. That thought is so out of the realm of normal for me. I knew that it was not rational, not possible, not happening. That was a terrible, dark, lonely night. There were a bunch of those.
.
I am writing this post because I have no idea what it means to "move on", "move forward", "get better", "deal with it", "get over", "make peace with" etc. There is no gauge to tell me if I am getting better or dealing with things and the pain is still deep and sharp and intensely sad. But I know that I don't sit for hours in that chair anymore. And although I do sit there, my thoughts are more of "what am I going to do now?" (in itself an overwhelming question), and less of the reflection of the hurtful past and the events that unfolded. There really is no sense in what happened. It took me a long time just to figure that out. No answers to the questions, no gain for going through the details. It just happened.

2 comments:

Jodi Rich said...

Robin,
I read this post and I can truly feel and relate to your pain. I feel the same way about this grieving process. I too feel like I don't know how to do this or I don't know what it means to "move on", "move forward", "get over", etc.... I feel like I am a fish out of water trying to give myself a pep talk to get through most days. I hate that I am just getting by not really taking in or savoring life (the moments). I feel guilty that maybe my 3 girls should be enough for me to feel happy and still have the joy of life. Of course I love them with all my heart and they are everything to me but I continue to feel such emptyiness inside. Empty that my family that was once complete is missing one very special person my husband Dennis. I too feel so much frustration there are no answers and no one can give me any either. I just have to deal, no way out, have to face this tragedy head on and unfortuatly we can't skip over this grieving process. I asked my therapist the other day when does grieving stop or when do you tell me that I don't need to come anymore. Well, she said you really never completly stop grieving for the one you love. I took it as a sign that it must be learning to live with it. Life as I knew it will never be the same or will I ever truly be the same person. If I had to take a guess it probably feels somewhat the same for you. I also hear you when you said in the other post about people telling you things like ,your amazing, so strong, etc. or I get all the time "I don't know how you do it." As wonderful as it is to hear such nice words of support I too don't feel those things about myself. Not that I don't think I am strong in alot of ways but when it comes to trying to deal with the absence of Dennis raising my girls alone I just don't have a choice.

Robin, I don't know you personally but you sound like a great person. Keep up the writing. It's true like one of your friends wrote you have the guts to say what so many young widows are feeling. I too find I have to write and talk about my loss. I am not one to let it bottle up. I truly, truly wish you all the peace, love and strength for continueing to live with such a huge loss for you and your children. I wish that for us both. Take care& stay strong, With Love, Jodi Rich

Anonymous said...

"Moving forward" means you DO get out of bed when you don't want to, you care for your children when you're too tired, and you allow yourself the release of laughter when those oppurtunities arise. You DON'T stay in bed all day, stop showering, expect pity, attention, & special treatment from others, pop pills or hold a residency on a bar stool, neglect/ abuse your children, and shut out your friends & famiily. My definition of course. I can't relate & I'm not judging, it sounds like you need to start somewhere, but I truly hope you find the key to your future happiness. I hope more for you than getting by.