By day, I work for a marketing public relations agency. Much of my time is dedicated to PR in our hospice marketing division. To keep up-to-date on what's happening in the hospice industry, I read articles and review studies on a range of topics related to end-of-life care. I frequently come across articles about grief.
Today I was reading a blog post about grief. The blog's author wrote "... most of us think our feelings, our grief, is about the person who died. It is not, it is about us, about how our life has to change and how we are going to adapt to those changes." I agree with that statement ... to a point.
I absolutely grieve the loss of Steve. I miss him. I'm devastated that he's gone. And, I also grieve the life I had and the life I assumed I would have for many, many years.
Before Steve died, I knew what grief meant. Not only did I know what it meant, I experienced it. Each of my grandparents has died, first when I was in kindergarten, then early grade school, again in high school and as an adult. I was sad and felt the void of my grandparents during holidays, regular Sunday dinners and other traditions. Death is sad. Better yet, to quote Michele Hernandez with Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation, "Death Sucks." So, so true ...
The grief I have experienced during the past three and a half years has been all-encompassing, sometimes overwhelming. So many people told me to "just get through the first year." I knew the first holidays, birthdays and anniversary without Steve would be hard. And they were. What I wasn't expecting was that the second and third years would be harder. Some days I was just going through the motions of everyday life. Other days were good. Then, when I'd least expect it, a wave of emotion would hit me and knock me to my knees. On those days, it felt like I was taking two or three steps backward after the one step I had taken forward.
On Wednesday evening, the day before Thanksgiving, one of those waves kicked me in the you-know-what. The kids had gone to bed. I was in my living room folding laundry and watching a movie, Anna and the King (always one of my favorites). I forgot that Anna was a widow. At some point during the movie, the tears started to flow ... and flow ... and flow. I let the emotion out. My grief counselor used the term "grief bursts" to explain these times when grief comes out of nowhere and brings you to your knees. I let myself feel sad that Steve wouldn't be there the next day to celebrate Thanksgiving with our families and I moped. But, I woke up the next day feeling better.
I didn't expect the day or two before an important date would be worse than the day itself. I assumed THE day, whatever special day it was, would be the hardest. Unfortunately, there isn't a manual that tells us how to grieve. We need to figure it out on our own. This is true not only for the grief of a loved one who died, but also other types of loss, like divorce. We grieve the life we had and what we thought it would be.
What I've experienced during the past three years has changed me. I'm not the same person I was on July 13, 2009, the day before Steve died. The "new" Emily is strong. There's a greater sense of confidence.
I know grief doesn't end. Being a widow and grieving the loss of my husband is part of who I am today and the person I will be in the future. Even if I marry again, I still will be a widow as well as a wife.
So, the journey continues ...
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