Dreading the beginning of July

Lots of people love this time of year. It's summer. That means school is out. Families are flocking to the beach, mountains or desert for vacation. Soon, people will be gathering to watch fireworks for the 4th of July. For many, it's a happy, carefree time of year.

I hate this time of year. Well, at least the first half of July.

During these several days, I recall sad and painful memories with incredible clarity. I'm talking uncanny clarity. In early July four years ago, Steve was in bad shape. He wasn't himself. He was unusually quiet and withdrawn, so incredibly uncharacteristic for him. Steve was full of life. He loved being outdoors. Fishing on Lake Erie with his friends was the second love of his life (I was the first, of course! He loved fishing so much I jokingly called myself a fishing widow ... oh, the irony.) He had this bold, contagious laugh. He adored his children.

The first two weeks of July in 2009 were bad. I had never seen Steve so down and withdrawn. Regardless of how he was feeling, he wanted to get better. And, he was doing all of the right things to get better -- see his doctor and take the medications he was prescribed. There was one thing his doctor wanted him to do, but he wouldn't do it. His doctor suggested he take a leave of absence from work. He wouldn't do it. Although he needed the rest and the break from the stress of work, it was the stigma of mental illness that kept him from obeying his doctor's recommendation. He didn't want people at work to know what was wrong.

So, he kept it hidden from everyone but his family. He wouldn't even let his closest friends know what was going on. He was embarrassed.

Now, four years later, I am recalling how bad he was but also the hope we had that things would "get back to normal." They didn't.

I struggle with these clear memories that flood back causing grief to rear its ugly head. Driving home from work today, I was thinking about our conversation with a close family friend who had stopped by our house on July 2 to talk with Steve and I. Then, I remembered that tomorrow is July 2. The emotion flooded to the surface.

It's been four years and I feel like I have come a long way on this journey to heal and find my new normal. I realize, though, that at times like this, the approaching anniversary of his death, his birthday, Father's Day and the other holidays, grief can surface with such ferocity. On the positive side, as the years pass, the length of time between these bursts of grief are longer and longer.

During these times when the grief is more intense, I know I need to be good to myself. However, those of you who know me know that I am really bad at that. I mean really bad! But, this is a journey ... so I'll keep trying to take care of myself while I take care of my children. Baby steps.

The journey continues ...

Unexpected triggers

During my three and a half year journey, I've come to learn a thing or two. I'm by no means an expert. Just learning and figuring it out as I go.

Sometimes I wish there was a book that laid out a road map for grieving. Instead, it's something everyone experiences in their own way, in their own time. One thing I've learned is that certain events, holidays, pictures or songs will trigger a grief burst. For me, the grief burst can come in many forms - feeling sad, down or irritable, finding myself staring off in the distance multiple times a day or as tears. When the trigger is expected, especially when it's a special day or when I'm planning to see someone who knew my husband, I can prepare for it. I know in advance it will trigger a grief response. It's those unexpected situations that are the worst.

Earlier today, the snow started falling ... this first of the season. The kids were ecstatic. They couldn't wait to bundle up and play outside. As we were driving home, the very short distance from my parents' house, it hit me. I saw men with snow blowers plowing out their driveways.

Yep, that's what did it.

I got inside the house and looked at my driveway. It was covered with snow. Immediately, I was flooded with images of Steve dressed from head to toe in Carhart clothing -- hat, coat, coveralls, gloves -- ready to head outside to plow our driveway. He was like a little kid riding our John Deere tractor up and down our long driveway. While those images made me smile, the memories also made me sad. Another reminder that Steve isn't here. It's like a kick in the gut.

So, I allowed myself to be sad and down in the dumps. Early on in my grief, I felt like I had to snap myself out of feeling sad. Then, through the help of a wonderful grief counselor, I learned that it's OK to give into the feelings. To let them come. What I've found is that when I allow myself to feel sad, blue, down in the dumps or just ho-hum, I end up feeling better in no time.

The triggers, whether expected or unexpected, will happen. My goal is to change how I respond to the trigger. Rather than getting sad, irritable or teary, I hope to get to a point where I will take the trigger as a chance to stop what I'm doing, remember Steve, love him in that moment and continue on. It's a journey, but I'll get there.

Until then, the journey continues ...