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It is funny the path that grief takes in an individual. Though there are similar effects in others, our path is unique. I was thinking about it this morning as I weighed myself and realized that 3 ½ years later, I now had gained back all of the weight I lost after my husband died (over 20 pounds). That was one of my major physical manifestations of grief. Looking back now, at the time I thought I was losing weight because I was too miserable to eat, too uninterested in things that would cause pleasure (like food). But I think that was only part of the story. The real story behind it seems more similar to what I hear about anorexia. I was watching that scale every morning - deriving satisfaction in seeing the pounds come off because they represented control. In a world where things had so severely slipped out of my control, I could watch the pounds come off and know that I was making that happen.
Soon after my husband died, I started having trouble sleeping. Initially that difficulty developed as paranoia. I would hear things in the house, people outside. I would sleep with the phone under my pillow convinced someone was now going to try to break in. As the early period of grief subsided, I stopped being paranoid about security (I now occasionally will wake in the morning to find I left the front door unlocked all night). But those first couple of months, I was scared. And that fear took the form of fear of a break in. It was somehow easier to direct the fear towards an unknown stranger than experience what I was really afraid of – that I couldn’t manage alone. I wasn’t sure I could handle the finances or manage two small children with their demands and a full time career. I had no idea how I was going to balance it all on my own. So, instead of expressing fear of failure, I became paralyzed at night with fear that someone was breaking into the house.
Later in my grief process I developed another sleep problem, insomnia. It appeared for me probably three to four months after he was gone – at a point when I felt I was finally getting on my feet and getting some control back over my life. So, it was odd to me I began waking up every night at 4 in the morning, unable to go back to sleep. Eventually I gave into the insomnia, would just get up, work for an hour, and then either go back to bed or if that was unsuccessful, I would go sleep on the sofa.
I went back to work two weeks after my husband died. Ostensibly it was because my job only gave us two weeks bereavement leave (however, I had been told I could get a doctor’s note and use sick leave if needed) but the reality for me was that I needed to go back to work. It provided me with an escape from being bereaved. I could step into my classroom and be the performer I am when lecturing and stop being the widow. Grief had no place in that space. I cannot imagine my lectures were any good that term (though I got fantastic evaluations out of sympathy) but it provided an escape for me.
Though lecturing was easy following his death, other parts of work left me almost paralyzed. I couldn’t grade papers. And while commuting at times I was overcome by a wave of panic that didn’t seem to be based on any thought. It was one of the strangest aspects of the process for me – the physical manifestations of stress were often independent of thought. I did discover the wonders of a drug called Ativan – an anti-anxiety drug. One pill and that ball of panic and fear would dissolve and I could grade! You might assume by that statement that I used it frequently, but I didn’t. My doctor initially gave me a bottle of 20 pills. I gave several away to a friend dying of pancreatic cancer, and 5 or so remain in my cabinet (expired I am sure). I hoarded those pills. Just having them in my cupboard helped me cope with life. It wasn’t necessary to take them, just knowing I could meant I could sit down and grade my papers and drive to work.
It has been 3 ½ years since he has been gone. And my grief process isn’t over. It has changed, but learning to move on to a new life is a long term process. For me now, the steps are about distancing myself from my previous life. Moving forward means letting go of what I had. While during that first year, I did remember the bad with the good, I was still looking to replace what I had with something similar. I dated men who were like him. Now, more often than not, I remember the problems in my previous marriage not the good things. It is sad to me that I end up focusing on what was wrong other than what was right. I envy others who can look back and only see the good part. But perhaps the exchange there is while I was in my marriage I was very happy – I can ignore the bad in the present, but see it strongly in the past.
My process has been very different from others I have seen around me. I went to a grief group for a couple of years and watched others expressions of grief. Even after the first couple of months, I was working on moving forward and rebuilding my life. Others I saw spent far more time missing what they had. Some of them seemed stuck in their grief. But most of them only ever reported the happy parts of their lives with their spouse - the ways in which that person was wonderful. I miss that. I wish I could in some ways filter out the parts of my marriage that were difficult. I think it might make life easier for my kids.
Grief is individual. There is no one road to travel down. I am a different person than I was before I lost him. I am proud of surviving. I am managing. And that puts a smile on my face most days.
