Painful Pathways

I still find myself triggered by certain people, places, or things. Sometimes even a random thought will do it. I might be having a wonderful day, and  the trauma of that night seems like a distant memory. When suddenly, without warning the familiar feelings consume me. Disappointment, despair, fear, and anxiety. The excruciating physical pain. The dark, scary thoughts. I let those feelings in because I am learning it’s better to let them be than it is to try and push them away.

Last week, it was a beautiful spring day in Texas. As I was driving through the older part of the town where I live, I saw this beautiful Victorian house painted a buttercream yellow with white trim. I have always appreciated an old house and the history contained within its walls. I stared at its beauty. As I drove closer I noticed the sign – Funeral Parlor. My heart skipped a beat. Another memory flashed in my mind: the day of Rick’s viewing. Could this be the funeral home where Rick’s viewing was? I was incredulous. No way. It was completely different from what I remembered. That is, until I drove by the side where the parking lot was and then it looked all too familiar: the parking lot, the side entrance with a bench next to the door. This was where I took the longest walk of my life to the casket where Rick lay as if he was simply taking a nap.

I took a deep breath, sighed, and startled myself when I said aloud, “Oh. Shit.”

My tears fell as the memories started flashing like a movie reel of that awful week in May when our beautiful love story ended suddenly, without warning!

The visions of that day flooded my brain and my body responded accordingly: starting with the painful squeeze and release of my  heart, the weight pressing down on my chest forcing me to take tiny gasps in place of normal breaths. The familiar shards of my broken heart piercing my lungs with each gasp. I was trembling, quickly followed by the dreaded adrenaline rushes causing me to feel nauseas as the bitter bile rose up in my throat all at once. It was as though I was choking on the grief.

I couldn’t believe it, after all this time; it could be so vividly excruciating. I was powerless to slow it down, bringing me to my knees in despair. I needed to get home to my safe space before it got any worse, but the tears were blurring my vision making driving unsafe. I pulled over in front of one of the cute boutiques in the old part of town.

I had a memory of me sitting in a car in the parking lot of the funeral home. Unable to move. Someone opened the door and held out their hand. I still couldn’t move. No. I shook my head. Next up, was the flash of me walking toward the doors in utter disbelief. I looked around at all of those who loved Rick too. Their down turned mouths, painful looks upon their faces filled with pity told me this wasn’t something I would wake up from.

This nightmare was real.

I was thankful I wasn’t walking alone, I felt as though my legs would give out at any second. I felt an odd comfort being surrounded by all who loved him, too.

Another flash. Dread filled my body as the man in a suit pointed to the sanctuary where Rick was laying in a casket. I couldn’t hear his words over the static in my ears. My heart was beating wildly in my chest. I looked around to see if others were having the same visceral reaction that I was. I saw the fallen faces, the tears, the red rimmed eyes, but no one seemed on edge.

Suddenly I was unsure why we were subjecting ourselves to this horror!

I didn’t want to be here or do this; it was too much! Besides, I was NOT strong enough to endure this, but no one believed me. I wanted this for Cody and Devin, Rick’s sisters, and his mom who needed to say goodbye to him. I had no idea that it would be me who needed this final chance to say goodbye. The first step in letting him go.

Someone gently pushed me from behind into the sanctuary. Tears were already obscuring my vision, making it difficult to make out the outline of the casket, him laying there as if he was sleeping. It still caught me by surprise, and I felt my legs buckle beneath me at the sight of him. Rick was dead? A chair caught my fall. I looked up at the one who looks the most like his dad, our son Cody.

I shook my head as I mumbled crying out, “I just can’t do this, Code!”

He gently took me by the arms and pulled me up to a standing position as he protectively put his arm around me and starting walking slowly he said, “Let’s go see dad, I got you mama.”

Once I was up there with Rick, I didn’t want to leave him. I knew I would never see him again. I had no concept of time, but they say I sat with him for eight hours, never leaving his side. I played my “Sad Days” playlist while touching his soft hair, lovingly tracing the outlines of his hands and face. I was trying to burn into my memory every detail that I could, so I would never, ever forget the man who loved me until his last breath. When I was overcome with grief, I would sob, and scream and our kids would gather around to support me in my despair. As I gained control again, they would disperse. I knew they were there ready if I needed them again, but they respected that I needed time alone with their dad to say our final goodbye.

Before I left, I wanted to take a piece of his hair. Oddly, it felt like I was doing something wrong. I quickly cut a lock of his hair and placed it into a baggy and slipped it into my pocket. I wanted to kiss him and lay my head on his chest one last time. This time I wouldn’t hear his heart beating for me, I wouldn’t feel his arms envelope me lovingly as he pulled me up to kiss his lips. Oh, how I desperately wanted him, too though. I had an odd sense of lingering hope. Yet, I knew. The finality of it all brought on another bout of hysterical sobs and cries of anguish.

I tried to kiss him, but I was too short to reach his lips, so I grabbed the chair next to me ignoring the gasps from our kids and family. I knew no one dared to stop me as I climbed up on it, so I could kiss my love for a final time. As I gently placed a kiss on his lips for the last time, I laid my head upon his chest. I squeezed my eyes tight and made one final wish.

He didn’t whisper, “Everything is going to be okay, Dar.”

Silence.

While I knew it was unrealistic: I strained to hear the comforting lub dub of his heart like I had done for four decades. I whispered, “this is your last chance to come back to me, Poohy!”

Still hopeful, I held my breath and waited.

I was holding out for a miracle. Afterall, I witnessed miracles thousands of times in my line of work. Was it too much to ask for my own miracle? When I was met with deafening silence again, I let out another bitter wail.

I was defeated.

My mom met me as I carefully stepped off of the chair. I stomped my feet while bitterly wailing loudly so the whole world would hear me. I was unashamed in my grief.

Even six months ago, when these images took over, I was powerless to keep them from ruining my entire day. I would be gutted. Unable to do anything for the rest of the day, except write and weep for him in the comfort of my bed. I wouldn’t eat or speak sometimes for days.

Now even though these thoughts still show up and I am flooded with all of those unsettling feelings that take over. It’s temporary. I am finally able to “push through” and keep myself busy until they subside. They no longer drain all of my energy, making me feel weak and powerless. I don’t let them linger too long. I will cry and while I ache for him every single day, they do not take over, anymore. Some days continue to be harder than others, but I will not fight it. I let it come and go. It’s how I honor our love. It was real, it was intense, and the best years of my life were with him by my side. I will never regret it.

I am stronger than I ever imagined.

It’s progress. I’m healing, and I am living with my loss. I now know the grief will never leave me; it will be a part of me until my last breath. But, as time marches on it gets easier. Those intense sensations have lessened and come with less frequency. The other day I realized that I haven’t had those foreboding thoughts or adrenaline rushes followed by anxiety in several months, now. I have learned not to expect too much of myself while I heal. Grief is an unwanted companion that shows up unexpectedly and sits with me. It doesn’t mean that I’m not healing, it comes as a reminder of our one in a million love.

I have heard it said, “With great love comes great sorrow.”

I finally understand that on a cellular level. I never realized how much I loved him until he was gone from me forever.