Signs of Love

15 months yesterday. It was a rough day; I woke up with that all-too-familiar feeling on my chest. My body reminds me if my head doesn't. Thankfully, faking it and pushing through is easier now. I only had a couple of breakdowns and each time I gathered myself up, stood tall and tried my best to smile. He left me not one, but two much needed signs yesterday. My Spotify does not play songs on repeat, I don’t pay for premium. But yesterday Jack and Diane played THREE times. After the second time, I was telling Rick thank you as tears streamed down my face. Then, when it played for the THIRD time, I knew it was no coincidence and I broke down sobbing. I miss him so much still! The second sign was Mr. Cardinal came to visit and sang to me again today. He is getting braver and coming closer to me each time. My trip to Montana in May was the key to my ability to start healing. It seems every day since I have been back, life is a little easier to manage. I still have horrible days. But those trauma memories don't consume me like they used to. My good days are more frequent than the bad. Some days I feel a twinge of happiness. I thought it important to identify what caused those twinges, so perhaps I would feel them more often. It will come as no surprise; it is my sweet grandchildren.

Now my life consists of before and after Rick died. I've changed. I resisted it at first. I knew this whole grief experience and trauma would change me, but I was so afraid of losing myself in all of it. I wanted to go back to the old Dar. The happy go lucky Dar. I liked her. She was fun and funny! A small piece to this fear was that  I thought changing meant the inability to experience happiness and joy again. I loved my life before Rick died. I understand I say this way too often, but I hate my life now. All the joy was sucked out the day he died. And then, I realized, how could I not be changed? He was not only ripped from our lives suddenly, but in a very traumatic way. It wasn't at all how I pictured our love story ending. As silly as this sounds, I had a romantic version of how Rick and I would die. It would be in our sleep together, snuggling in our bed as we each took our last breath. While this is completely unrealistic, I knew that one of us would live the rest of our lives mourning the loss of the other. I knew I didn’t want to experience losing Rick, but I also would never want him to have to endure that pain, either. Looking back, I am thankful that I was the one left behind, because I would never want him to experience this painful and ugly road. Isn’t it ironic we lived our lives as fully as we could so we would never have regrets and while thinking of his last moments I am overcome with regret, regardless. I'm sure he hates what it's done to me. I have been a shell of myself, wandering around like a ghost unsure what to do with all of these feelings rise every day to the surface. Some new, some familiar, all of them causing a steep learning curve for me to navigate.

It was violent and chaotic trying to bring him back to me. I thought our love was supernatural and it was purely that fact that would make him come back to me. Simply the strength of our love was enough. I was confident that I needed to be the only one who did CPR on him. That way he would feel me, hear me, and want to come back to me as desperately as I needed him to. But I was sorely mistaken. That has been a hard pill to swallow. It threatened my sanity in the first few weeks. I think that's why I don't remember much about those following days. What little I do remember has permanently been etched into my psyche. I can't forget.

I visited my best friend Tonya last weekend who remembers those first few days all too well. She has filled in some of those blanks for my memory. She told me that when I called her late in the evening on that Monday night, she didn't want to answer it because she knew it wasn’t going to be good news. I remember I called her on our way to the hospital. She was my “person” besides Rick, and I knew I needed her to walk with me through this first week. When she answered, I calmly told her, “I’m fairly sure Rick is dead, I tried to save him, but it didn’t work. Tonya, I need you to come now! Please.”

She thought I'd lost my mind and wasn’t sure what to believe, since I was scary calm and only my shaking voice told me it might be true. Rick is dead. She explained that as soon as we hung up, she called Bri because she couldn't believe how calm my words were. Looking back, she realized I was exhausted and in shock. As soon as Bri answered, she asked her, “What the Fu@%  is going on? Your mom just called me, and she doesn't sound right at all. I think she's lost her mind!”

Bri confirmed what Tonya was already afraid was true, but it was still unbelievable for her. It was always Rick and me, a team, a unit, and Tonya couldn’t imagine anything different.

She said it was scary for her when I would tell her about wanting to hurt myself so I could feel something other than this horrific pain and loss. Looking back, I couldn't agree more, it felt like some other person was thinking those horrific thoughts, yet somehow, I managed to prevent myself from acting on them. She was worried when I seemed incapable of taking care of my basic needs. My eyes were empty, and I barely uttered two words to her. I would look blankly at her as tears would fill my eyes, unable to say anything, and it made her shudder. She understood that I was in so much pain that I couldn’t even speak of it.  She told herself if I could survive the first year, I'd be OK. But she had prepared herself that within the year she would get a call that I died, too.

I still can't say I love my life and I still hate how it turned out. But I'm still standing when there were too many days that I couldn't. I’ve learned to accept the ways in which I’ve changed, while I can’t embrace them, yet that is my goal. Eventually. When I laugh now, it doesn't sound forced or hollow. Even in pictures I can see a glimmer of spunk and sparkle. She's in there, just beneath the surface,  but she's got more healing to do. I still count my blessings because I have a whole crew of humans that Rick and I created that are right there when I cry out that I need them. I see bits of him in each of them and that, my friends, makes my broken heart feel almost whole again. They are 100% the reason I couldn't give up. My love for them surpasses any pain I ever felt over losing Rick, no matter how excruciating. Some days I was white knuckling it, holding on for dear life. But the fact is I did it.

My point is, for those of you still in early grief, it absolutely will get better. Hang on. You will be changed. But you will heal. You will never forget them. And you will learn to laugh again. They were the love of your life, and you will carry them with you for the rest of yours. Whichever way it looks when you get to the other side of grief, I promise you it's going to be OK. No matter what, our partners are with us, cheering us on, and so proud of our strength and resilience amidst all of the suffering we have endured.

It feels good to be beyond the first year. I can't even tell you. I've been told the second year is harder as you learn to live your new life without them. For me, there are days it feels that way. But mostly I feel relieved to be living and not merely surviving. Friends, you got this! Please don't give up. Please. For all of you who still follow me and read every word, you are part of changing our grief culture and I thank you for that. I also love you all for letting me grieve as loudly as we lived and loved in the Curtis family.