I went back and forth on posting this one. It’s one of those controversial topics that’s both difficult to share and difficult to hear. People don’t know what to say or what to think. There is generally judgement.
However, one of the many things I learned from my late husband, was that you must be vulnerable in order to have a real conversation with people. I mentioned before that he worked with children with trauma. He didn’t connect with them just because it was his job. He opened up to them and spoke truth – His truth. His struggles. He was real. He shared the dark things.
It’s hard to connect and heal if you keep hiding.
Also, after your favorite person in the entire world dies, it feels pointless and silly to hide things. You’re basically a raw, open wound, anyway. Might as well put it out there.
JUST PRAY
So, you’re a good person, right? You were raised in the church and taught right from wrong. You know that when things get hard, you turn to the Lord. You pray. You ask Him for help…and He will deliver you.
You’re a good Christian woman (or man) – and good Christian people do not struggle with addiction or other problems. We don’t do drugs. We don’t drink alcohol. We are certainly not cheaters or gossipers or envious of others. We also, never-ever, admit-to these things, or talk about our struggles with anyone.
We are practically not even human. We’re perfect. We’re robots.
Gasp! What will people think? What will they say? Who will they tell?! Oh dear. Oh no. Oh god.
Just pray and read the Bible…
Just. Pray.
Don’t misunderstand me. I believe in the Bible, and the power of prayer, and the power of God – and each of these have been a part of my journey. But there are some dark things in life that grasp and take hold. Things that make you question everything you ever knew or were taught. There are things you aren’t prepared for that make you reach out for a lifeline. For relief.
This is about falling into that dark place – and somehow, feeling at home. Finding relief – at least, for a little while.
“Hello darkness, my old friend.”
–Paul Simon (Simon & Garfunkel)
A PRISON OF PEACE
The shock that occurred because of the loss and grief (while extremely horrendous) – was also a blessing. My brain and body supplied survival chemicals so I could remain numb, yet breathing, in the wake of a horrific life-event. While that “survival juice” was flowing through my veins, I was… “OK.”
I know I wasn’t reacting the same, though. I walked and talked – and I cried and I ate, but there was nothing “on” upstairs. I was bobbing underwater in a bubble that allowed me to see just above the waterline – but things were hazy, and conversations were low and muted. I couldn’t hear what was being said, but I knew things were happening around me. I also knew I was separate from everyone else. I enjoyed my bubble where I was – alone, silent, and apart. I was floating along in the river-of-nothing and fine to go where it took me. I bobbed along and watched everyone living around me.
Looking back, I was happy for it. The body’s trauma response is amazing and fascinating. It keeps you in a numbing state so your brain and emotions can try to catch up to what happened. You’re there, but you’re not really there. Strange phenomenon.
Eventually though, the initial shock wore off, and the body and mind came back online. I had to climb out of my bubble – out of “nothing-river”, where I was happily floating along. Where the sound of silence reigned.
The world was a wasteland of devastation and debris.
THE REAL WORLD
Outside of the safety of my bubble, the world was unrecognizable. To someone who wasn’t directly connected to Austin, everything was exactly the same – except for one thing that didn’t really affect their day-to-day life – someone was gone, but they still had their family, their people, their daily activities. For me, the apocalypse had occurred and the world was a wasteland of devastation and debris. No landmarks at all in sight.
About one month after Austin died, I was still in shock but real-life was calling. Memorial discussions – bills – garage door replacement – dog surgery – house repairs – garbage day – etc. Some of these things don’t even register on other people’s radars. But for me, any small task was a huge mountain that I had to climb. In the face of those overwhelming challenges, I reached for the most readily available lifeline – and ultimate numbing solution – alcohol.
Mind you, I had drank on occasion – at social events. But when I was married, my husband was my drug of choice. I didn’t need alcohol or anything else, because anytime we were together, I was having the time of my life – we laughed and laughed and laughed, and joked and played. And that did not require numbing or escaping. He was my best friend and husband, my partner and love – my person. He “got” me more than anyone ever had, or probably ever would. There was no preparation for that being yanked away. Just a gaping wound which would never close – An emptiness – a vast cavern of nothing.
It started small, at Thanksgiving. One month after Austin died, the family went on a trip to Florida. Flying away from DFW was so difficult – it felt like I was leaving him behind – that he wouldn’t be able to find me, because – he was coming back… He would show up at our house and I wouldn’t be there. Then, his family wouldn’t be at their homes when he went to look. He’d be alone! I cried at takeoff and spent most of the flight just watching out the window, trying to maintain calm and collected when I was so worried about the “him” that no longer was.
Getting the brain and heart to align takes so much longer than you think.
After we all arrived in Florida, I felt instant relief. Austin and I had never been to that location or city before. It didn’t remind me of anything at all. I took some deep breaths in what felt like forever.
On the downside, there was a huge hole in the room when the family was together. A major piece of our puzzle was missing – and we danced around the edges of it (awkwardly), as people do. There was no real joy to be had in the experience of our vacation. We were all still in major shock. But, what can you do? We were trying. To live. To be normal. That’s all there was. And it sucked – it sucked so bad. But, at the same time, I remember it fondly. One of life’s great conundrums.
At night, I felt so alone. I was in a strange place, in a strange bed. I had so much to say, but the person I wanted to say it to was no-more. The yawning abyss of my new and empty life was laid out before me. All the plans we ever had – gone. My hope for the future – disappeared. There was only darkness – and the sound of silence.
The next day, I bought some hard seltzer.
SCRATCHING
I didn’t just dive into drinking.
I had a little bit on some days when I felt stressed or overwhelmed with grief or everyday tasks. At Austin’s memorial, I carried vodka down the aisle in a Diet Mountain Dew bottle so I didn’t cry my way through the entire service (more on the memorial coming soon). Family & events were available much of the time through during the first 6 months after Austin’s death, so I had some distraction.
Once the summer came, I found other diversions. I also found someone who found something wrong with everything I was doing – from my every day routines to how I was dealing with my grief. Whether it was drinking, taking medication for my thyroid, taking time for myself, taking medication for depression/anxiety, my caffeine intake – EVERY-SINGLE-THING I did was wrong in their eyes. After a few months, I saw the light and dissolved the connection. I didn’t think crying and feeling bad about myself were things I needed on-top of what I was already dealing with.
I reached into the darkness…I didn’t want to remember. I didn’t want to cry anymore.
In August, I met more new friends and got out of the house – concerts, restaurants, events, pool parties – I was going out and having a pretty good time. At social events, I drank more than if I was alone, but it wasn’t anything crazy.
It wasn’t until September that I really reached into the darkness. It was our wedding anniversary: September 9th. We would have been married 10 years. I was vacationing with my family in order to get away and not be surrounded by reminders. But while I was distracted and having a good time…in the back of my mind, the memories were scratching. I knew it was going to be bad. I could feel it building and building and filling up the space, ready to break through at any time. I didn’t want it – I didn’t want to remember. I didn’t want to cry anymore.
No more…please, God. Please…no more.
I was already, so very, fucking tired.
And so…I bought some Captain Morgan.
TSUNAMI
On the day of my anniversary, September 9th, I was “fine,” I guess.
I swam, I ate, and I went to the beach. Drinking a bit helped me numb-out and keep the demons at bay. But you know what happens when you ignore something…
That night – while I was sitting on the porch and listened to the waves – the dam broke. One minute, I was talking to my dad. The next, I was balling and wailing and rocking myself. The memories had scratched and burrowed, and had finally broken through the walls. they flooded me with pain. Pure pain, straight from the source.
FLASH – Me walking down the aisle toward Austin on our wedding day.
FLASH – Austin surprising me on our 1st anniversary – when he took me back to the chapel where we got married.
FLASH – How he surprised me again on our last anniversary and bought me 3 pairs of slippers – none of which fit me.
FLASH – My current life and how I would never, ever, celebrate another anniversary with him again.
All I felt was pain – and I allowed it to swallow me whole.
I sobbed so hard that it was difficult to breathe. I ached down to my bones for him. To see him again. To talk to him. To hold his hand. To simply hear his voice.
My mom somehow helped me get in the shower, and tucked me into bed. I basically blacked out because I don’t remember the rest of what happened that night – including waking up, coughing & choking – which my mom told me about the next morning. I didn’t remember any of it. All I felt was pain – and I allowed it to swallow me whole.
The next day was normal, except for the exhaustion. Grief pulls energy from you – like a vampire drains blood from your veins. It’s exhausting. And it’s work. And much of it happens in the background – in your subconscious.
If the grief is conscious, like the event just described – it is like a tsunami. It leaves you flattened. You are literally bulldozed over.
Daily grief, though, happens constantly and unconsciously. It’s like a small storm – the wind batters the trees, and they lose their limbs – the waves crash over the beach. Fish and debris are washed ashore. You’re bombarded with it over and over, but it’s not as obvious. It happens in the background – like the sound of the waves when you’re at the beach. It subtly chips away at you, like water does on rocks. It’s carves a persistent path that wears and tears at your soul.
The next day, on September 10th, I spread some of my husband’s ashes into the ocean (see photo below). The wind and water were still, which was ideal. I didn’t want the ashes blowing back in my face like in one those “fail” videos.
It’s interesting to me now, how I had stormed – I had cried and wailed and sobbed the night before. The next day though, the beach was so still and calm. The metaphor isn’t lost on me now – but, I didn’t recognize it then.
THE PULL OF DARKNESS
I’d like to say that everything was smooth sailing after that. But, it wasn’t.
What followed, was 6-7 months of darkness – both literally, and figuratively. Not only did the time change (darkness at 5:30pm), but events and special dates were also prominent in those months.
While not significant for many others, these dates were alarming & triggering for me following Austin’s death. This was the first year I was experiencing these things – and I was experiencing them on-top of daily grief.
Depression was next in the mix, both from grief and from the time change. Seasonal depression is a thing, and very real. While it had been subtle before, it was a layer on a very complicated grief-cake now.
So, I dove headfirst and un-willingly into a pool of tar and quicksand.
I started drinking – a lot. At events. At home alone. I drank, and drank, and drank – and drank. I wanted to be numb. I wanted to feel…nothing. There was no sun. There was no Austin. Therefore, I didn’t give a shit. Darkness was calling my name, and I wanted it to take me under.
October – Austin’s date of death
November – Thanksgiving
December – Christmas (which Austin hated, but learned to love – only because I loved it)
January – New Year’s Day, & Austin’s Birthday
February – Valentines Day
March – It was so dark still, and depression had taken hold
April – My birthday (where I turn another year older than he will ever be)
In April, I realized that I needed to reset. More depression, meant more alcohol. More alcohol, meant more depression. So, I called my doctor to up my dosage on my antidepressants.
THIS IS WHERE I LEAVE YOU
Many of you are probably yelling at me right now – saying, “Just stop drinking!”
But, things aren’t that simple. It’s not always black and white. Stopping isn’t easy once it’s taken hold. Stopping isn’t easy when you’re so lonely for your person, you don’t know what else to do. There’s no magic pill (like with depression), where it will help you “do life”.
It’s a struggle that continues. You may see me out-and-about some evening or weekend, and I may have had a drink or two.
You can think whatever you want. You can judge me. You can talk about me.
The truth is, though…there is no one (that I know) that is my age, who has lost their spouse. And, while there are similarities, it is not like divorce. We didn’t stop loving each-other. There wasn’t irreconcilable differences in our marriage. We didn’t cheat on each other.
He was just….gone. Ripped from my side. Suddenly and without warning,
I’ve joined support groups and talked with other widows, but the truth is…I’m a mid-30’s widow. There are so very few who can identify with me at this age. I’m identifying and talking with people who are 30+ years older than me.
I’m envious of those who have been together for 40 to 50 years. I get mad when I hear those things now…Couples celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary. I really wish I didn’t get upset. But, I think….”Must be nice.”
In the last couple months, things have gotten better – I’m back in therapy. I’ve joined an app where I feel supported and I’m not judged. They help you to set realistic goals that aren’t just about quitting and pretending “everything is okay,” – even though it’s not – not yet.
But I have hope.
PLAYLIST
Hello darkness, my old friend
I’ve come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence
In restless dreams, I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
‘Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence
And in the naked light, I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never shared
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence
“Fools” said I, “You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you”
But my words, like silent raindrops fell
And echoed in the wells of silence
And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
Then the sign said, “The words on the prophets are written on the subway walls
In tenement halls”
And whispered in the sound of silence
-The Sound of Silence (Disturbed)
Written by Paul Simon
Originally performed by Simon & Garfunkel
Since You Been Gone 
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