Who the hell is this new person?!!
When Jon died I was in shock. I stayed in shock through the
first memorial service, through the trip back to his parents’ home, the
viewing, the funeral and all the way up until I was home again.
When Jon’s parents took me to the airport with my three
daughters, I must have sensed that the real grief was about to come. Suddenly I
was faced with returning to real life. I was going home to the life Jon and I
built; home to a place where my friends and family had returned to life as
usual. I would be home, alone, with my girls and I was responsible for taking
care of them. But I didn’t even feel like I could take care of myself. The
terrifying reality set in with a thud and I found myself in the midst of a teary
goodbye, the likes of which I had never experienced.
I got through security with the girls and we made our way to
the terminal only to find that our flight had been delayed. I panicked. I felt
like the airport and everyone in it was looking at me and they saw that my lungs
were collapsing beneath my chest and that my heart was racing. I am – was – the
strongest, most independent woman on the face of the earth (or so I’ve been
told.) It was a trait Jon both fell in love with and hated at the same time.
But in that moment, I was weak. I was incapable of thought. Who the hell is
this person sitting in the airport?
That feeling of detachment from the woman I once was has not
been uncommon in the days that have followed. I’ve found myself doing all sorts
of strange things I would have never done before – some of which I’d rather not
share on the internet. In a week and a half, I have lost my keys a dozen times,
lost my shoes while they were in my hand, walked in and out of rooms wondering
what I was supposed to be doing in the first place, gotten lost in my own
neighborhood, slept through alarms, blown up at friends and family over a
misplaced hair dryer and nearly brushed my teach with hair gel – and that only
scratches the surface.
I have read that this type of scatterbrained behavior is
normal. Well, it’s not normal for me.
In doing some research about the physiological effects of
grief on the body, I found some actual scientific evidence that being a nut
job, feeling tired, frantic, unable to eat and short of breath are all
triggered by a change in the body’s chemical makeup. The brain increases the
production of CRH – corticotropin releasing hormone – which creates
anxiety-like symptoms. It can be blamed for many of the crazy feelings that
come and go and sometimes over stay themselves.
If the validation of scientific evidence weren’t enough to
make me feel like less of a ditz, I have also been fortunate enough to talk to
people who have also suffered a great loss – some eerily similar, others vastly
different but with the same effect. I’ve spoken to new found friends in this
“club” that is being a widower who have told similar stories to my own; getting
lost, entering a room only to forget why you’re there.
During my times of periodic stupidity, I’ve had a mixed
response from people around me leading to the conclusion that there is no way
to know what to expect. Some have recognized that I am in the very early stages
of a healing process and understand my propensity to be daft. Others look at me
like I’m growing an arm out of my head. I have learned though, that it doesn’t
matter what they think because I truly can’t help it.
One thing that has helped me is to take a little more time.
I set my alarm clock an extra hour early to allow time for lost keys and shoes
and such. I give myself an extra 15 minute’s drive time to accommodate any
unforeseen wrong turns (they happen even with a GPS guiding me.) The best thing
I think I have done for myself is have a conversation with my boss about my
current state. Rather than take it for granted that he will understand, I told
him, “Hey boss, sometimes I might be a flake.” I explained how I often get lost
in places I used to be able to navigate with my eyes closed. I explained how I
was lucky to get more than an hour’s sleep consecutively each night. So when
the day came that I slept not just through my alarm, but through four phone
calls and missed a story I was supposed to cover, he understood.
There are others I have warned – people who help watch my
kids for example. I often make plans to have them go to someone’s house so I
can have some time to myself only to later remember that I had already
scheduled a doctor’s appointment for them. I’m constantly booking and
re-booking these things. Had I not given the forewarning that I’ve suddenly
turned into an unorganized mess, they may have gotten a bit testy. Instead, we
share a laugh over my repeated blunders.
It’s also been a pretty good thing that I’ve warned my
friends. There are so many people reaching out to make sure I have things to do
to get away. I get invitations constantly. And, especially with having
children, I can’t possibly accept them all. I have let people know that I
appreciate the invites and not to take any declines as an indication that I’m
not interested in spending time with them. I urge my friends to keep the
invites rolling. There have been days where I have been able to get away for a
bit and have found that I don’t have any standing invitations. Keeping those
doors open will ensure that when I have the time, there are options on the table.
Also, I have been trying to let myself let others help me.
Something as simple as making a phone call to change the cable bill from Jon’s
name to mine has proven to be an exhausting and daunting task. While there are
some things that I just have to do myself for legal or financial reasons, it
helps to let others make some phone calls for you – or even do your laundry.
I’m approaching week three and I find that I have no clean clothes. My girls
have been doing their own laundry, but no one has been doing mine. I could ask
for help, but I haven’t. I have to say, it would be a huge weight off my
shoulders to not have to worry about it. Right now I am at a place where it’s
all I can do to get out of the house and feel normal. Being at home with chores
still seems unbearable. I haven’t taken the step of reaching out for that yet,
but I plan to. My house has been neglected along with my laundry and I plan to
make a day of it getting caught up – with the help of friends and family.
No comments:
Post a Comment