No Lesson Learned
I’ve pondered those stages of grief a lot the last few years trying to make sense of them. Eventually I even took the time to read the scientific evidence on them. I simply couldn’t buy into the common belief that moving through grief involved stages and moving through each stage would be the only hope of healing completely. To not go through each stage of grief may cause someone to get “stuck” in their grief. I have learned the hard way; grief isn’t linear. I no longer declare triumphantly that I am getting through to the other side. Three years later, I can still have the wind knocked out of me. If those stages are necessary for our healing, I look at them as something we feel multiple times on our grief journey.
Even before Rick died, learning about the stages of grief in psychology class has always felt counterintuitive to me. I’m not convinced everyone needs to go through each one of the stages in order to heal from their grief. For example, anger. That being said, I’ve experienced all of them, including anger, even though brief. Those first twelve minutes that I was next to Rick performing CPR on him, I felt a wide range of emotions in rapid succession as if it was gunfire. It was intense. There was a point when I was reaching exhaustion, that I yelled at Rick and was enraged that he wasn’t coming back to me. Then, I directed my anger towards God and there it has remained. Unchanged. Unchallenged.
From the beginning, my best friend was incredibly angry at Rick. I never said a word, but it hurt my heart for Rick and yet I knew she was allowed to feel whatever she needed to in her own grief. She loved Rick too, and because of that fact, I would never judge her for feeling angry at him. I knew it was also out of her love for me and witnessing us in those first few days in so much pain was the root of at least some of her anger at him. For me personally to be angry with him felt foreign to me; I could never be angry with Rick, he’s suffered the worst blow of all. He died. As of May 24, 2021, he missed so many epic changes within the Curtis Clan.
He missed Cody getting married, Wade and Ashley having their third baby, Devin having his first. He missed theater productions of Teigun’s, his graduation, him being accepted into a theater arts school in NY, his illness. He missed graduations from high school and kindergarten. The holiday singing programs with the grandchildren. Watching Kaylx, Klaire, and Avery playing soccer; he would have made sure we attended them all without fail. Without a doubt he and Wade would’ve coached Paxton in baseball just as he coached our boys. He missed Kylie growing into a compassionate, beautiful young woman and her accomplishment of straight A’s, and Elliott’s continued passion for making videos, but most importantly his empathetic heart. He missed treasured time with his sisters and mom.
Our trips to Europe and Vegas we had planned. Visiting the baseball stadiums throughout the country and going to a Mariner’s playoff game with his sons. He missed my relentless lists of projects both inside and out. No, Rick is missing all he valued more than life, his family. He was so proud and happiest when he got to be with them, which was almost constant when he was alive. I could never be angry with Rick; he didn’t choose to die. He too suffered a horrendous loss.
He didn’t want to mis growing old and gray together, hand in hand enjoying that undeniable feeling of safety and comfort that comes from spending a lifetime together. It was an easy companionship for us.
He was so dang excited about retiring, whenever he would talk about it, his eyes would twinkle mischievously, and he would have the biggest smile on his face that only made my heart swell. His face positively glowed!
I have often said, “If there is a hell, I guess I’m going because I am furious with God for taking an amazing human being!” God had to have known that I couldn’t bear to do this life without Rick, yet he took him anyway! I could never be angry with Rick.
While it’s true when I was trying to breathe life into him and get his heart beating again, I got angry.
I told him, “Don’t you dare leave me, Richard!”
I even resorted to telling him to F&*CK off! I went from pleading, begging him to stay with me. To cursing both him and God. I remember a minute when I was infuriated because I was failing in my efforts to bring him back. I had been confident our love was so strong he would come back to me. Three years later, it still shakes me to my core, that it didn’t happen. I feel the sting as strongly as if it happened yesterday. I have never been angry with him for dying unless that minute I cursed at him counts.
Memories of working in the birth room and handling complications as if they were second nature come to mind. How many lives did I have in my hands over the last twenty-four years and yet I couldn’t save the life that mattered the most to me. For a long while I blamed my inability to remain calm and centered for not being able to bring him back. I was everything else, but calm. And those moments when I stopped feeling overwhelmed by love for him and hugged his neck instead of continuing to thrust on his chest deprived him of precious air and circulation to bring him back.
Sure, he could have taken better care of himself; ate healthier, taken his meds more consistently, or exercised regularly. All the things most of us are guilty of not doing enough of. He could have listened to me and not pushed back when I got upset about his drinking with his high blood pressure. This is the thing. I have no doubt he did not want to leave me or our children for that matter. I’m sure he wanted to stay, if given the choice. I imagine the painful expression on his face when he heard my cries begging him to come back to me. I sometimes even envision him hesitating to go to the “light” because he loved me THAT much. He knew for me, living life without him was no life for me and he needed to stick around and keep an eye on me.
We were so freaking close… six months, one hundred and eighty days. It was within reach after thirty-seven years working for the same company. The overtime, the mandatory weekends when our kids were young, was paying off. The goal we set for early retirement was finally within reach. The satisfaction we felt was palpable. All of the sacrifices we made as young people raising four children when we started out, when we were only babies ourselves. Everything we owned fit into the back of a 76 Datsun pickup when we moved to Washington as scared teenagers with a baby, unsure of what life had in store for us. We received no handouts from our parents. We worked hard for everything we had or accomplished. Together, we were a fabulous team, and we couldn’t wait for the next chapter!
The times we didn’t get date nights or to celebrate our anniversary because we had littles, was unimportant. I remember older family members would give me advice, telling me that I had to be available for Rick, or our marriage would fall apart. We were without family, they were all in Montana, so we didn’t have access to a babysitter. We did everything with our kids, and we loved it! I used to say I had four kids because I liked kids, not to dump them off at a sitter. All the alone time we were robbed of because one of the four littles had to sleep with us, usually the youngest, Wade, didn’t matter. It was a chapter in our lives.
I remember sharing with Rick what our “wiser” relatives told me, and he rolled his eyes at them confirming to me they simply didn’t understand our relationship.
He said, “I’m not worried babe. We will have our own time together eventually, for now I’m glad we are right here!”
That was another time in our lives when I distinctly remember falling a bit more in love with him than I thought was possible. He always knew just what to say to make me feel safe and reassured and with my issues growing up with domestic violence, abuse, and an emotionally detached mom, I held on tight to the safety he provided me. I wish men understood that women need regular reassurance to feel safe. Without it we don’t blossom as we could. Neither of us had any regrets or resentment when we were in the thick of raising kids. Now looking back, I’m not sure how we did it. I see people with four kids running around and I think to myself, “That’s a lot!”
We knew our time would come because we started as teenagers and in turn, would be young enough to enjoy all the things retirement had in store for us.
That, my friends, is when the sharp pang of regret knocks the proverbial wind out of me. While I had never considered this before Rick died, I believe it to be true, now. Life is indeed unfair. Terrible things do happen to good people. For my entire life, before Rick died, I have believed life is one big lesson, an amazing journey that even sad things can be spun into a positive learning experience. Sure, we may not feel it in the moment, but in hindsight we can and do. Good, bad, ugly things happen to us and how we choose to manage them is where the lesson lies and shows our true character. When Rick died though, for the first time ever I refused to believe there is any good that can come from something so incredibly horrific. Nothing. In this instance, it is a shitty, terrible thing that happened, not some lesson to be learned.
No. There will be no enlightenment or epiphany for me once I get to the other side of this agonizing journey because even then, I will still grieve for the way our love story ended. I will still grieve for all that should have been. I will carry him with me until my last breath and always believe that we were cheated that gray day in May!
Yet my hope is that you will glean something significant from me sharing the darkest night of my soul with you. Whether it be that longing to be seen and understood, minimizing the feelings of isolation during grief. Or to plant a seed for those who have yet to experience a loss of this magnitude. So someday when someone you love experiences an earth-shattering loss you will be able to lean into their grief instead of walking the other way. I’ve since learned that the more you lean into it, the easier it becomes. While it’s not the most pleasant of roles to be in, it is not only an admirable one, but a critical one.
Someone’s life may depend upon it.