Grief is the Weirdest Thing

Over the last couple of months, the one thing I’ve realized is that grief is completely unpredictable.

You never know when, where or how it will show up in your life. Before losing Gary, my husband, I lost my grandparents and my father. It almost feels like those losses were my training for what was to come. Of course, anytime you lose a loved one, it’s painful but I’m finding the grief experience is different each time.

When I lost my grandparents, I was a teenager and a young adult. It was my first experience of having a family member pass away and it was scary and upsetting. Naturally, each experience is different based on your relationship with the person and  how often you interacted with each other. Out of all my grandparents, I was closest to my maternal grandmother so the grief I felt was more pronounced and thirty years later, I still miss her and think of her often.

Losing my father was devastating. He had become disabled three decades earlier after surviving a massive stroke. I had been his caregiver and it was difficult and draining. I did feel a bit of relief after he died but was honestly shocked at how difficult it was. I loved him with all my heart and I knew that no man would ever love and adore me as he did. I was lucky to have my husband and boys to help me through the grieving process.

It was almost like I was building a grieving muscle to try and prepare me to become a widow, a title I never wanted. I knew that Gary was dying but it didn’t matter. I wanted his suffering to stop but the minute he took his last breath, I wanted him back. I had been under extreme stress in the months leading up to that moment but as soon as he was gone, I wanted the stress to return. 

The outpouring of love from others carried me through the first couple of weeks but the real work began after everyone else went back to their normal lives, except for me. My world had been forever changed. Everywhere I looked, I saw Gary. It was hard to wrap my head around the concept that I would never see or speak to him again. Even though rationally I knew that was the case, somehow I still expected to hear his voice.

The nights when my boys weren’t home and I was alone in the house were brutal. It was a kind of loneliness I had never felt before. It’s a hole right in my gut. A hole that will never heal. I guess people would say I’m strong but they don’t understand how I feel on the inside. Listening to others talk or complain about their spouses makes me not be able to breathe when I realize I no longer have a spouse. 

After thirty years of being part of a couple, I’m now alone.

I can be going about my day and I’m absolutely fine and then I hear something or a memory pops into my mind and it hits me like it’s the first time I’m learning about his death. The tears start flowing. I could be in the supermarket, office or car and they just come. Sometimes I don’t even realize it until I feel the moisture on my cheeks. I want to scream and tell every person I come in contact with that my husband died and I’m not okay even though it looks like I am.

My boys no longer have a father and I no longer have a co-parent. There’s no longer anyone else in this world who knows and loves my kids as I do. No one to discuss how to handle parenting our sons as they grow into adulthood. The pain of watching them grieve is almost too much to bear. Oh, how I wish they didn’t have to live with such loss.

With all that said, I find myself smiling and talking to Gary, particularly when I’m in the kitchen since that was his favorite room.

Sometimes I do feel like he’s with me but he's just not able to communicate.

I try and focus on just how lucky I was to have him as a partner for thirty years instead of dwelling on this new reality, but it’s hard.

I know that it will get easier as time passes, it always does. However, I know that for the rest of my life, that grief will always be there and will continue to pop up unexpectedly. I will eventually get used to my new normal and I will continue living my life but the impact and love of Gary, my dad and my grandparents will always be with me.

Until next time.

Debbie Weiss