After my husband died, I wondered the same thing.
At first it seemed inconceivable that I could survive the wrenching hurt that permeated my being. How could anyone? Yet I knew people that had, and did. But I am not them. I could not imagine living another day without Jim. I suppose like anyone, I'd hoped we would grow old together and die in our sleep on the same night. I knew that wasn't likely. I knew by our family histories that the likelihood was that I would outlive him, yet I never really grasped what that would mean. I could never have imagined the emptiness, the profound sadness, the complete and utter hopelessness of my grief. So how, when that grief was upon me, could I possibly live through it?
I really did want to be dead. I never wanted to end my life, I just simply did not want to be alive. Why was I not dead? I did not feel life, nor did I want to feel alive. In those first months my numbness probably served as a protective shield from the reality of my life ahead. But in the grey fog of those days, I just wandered, and wondered, 'why am I not dead yet?' Heaven or not, I wanted this life to be over. If heaven is real, then I knew I'd be reunited with Jim. If the after-life is something where we just exist on another plane, I assumed I'd be on that plane with him. If we are reincarnated, then the sooner I died, the sooner I could start a new life with Jim in another time. And if there is no heaven, no after, then I would be together with him in the black nothing...and at least this pain would end.
I was pretty sure no one wanted to hear about it, and so I never spoke if it. I didn't want friends and family worrying about me any more than they already were. But in my heart there was darkness.
Later, as the searing pain subsided, to be replaced with more of a dull, ever present ache, I didn't want to be dead as much as I just didn't care. I ate because I knew I should, I tried to be social when I felt up to it, I returned to work. I slept. I slept a lot. I wasn't depressed, I have been depressed and this was something different. I was just sad. The life I'd loved, and come to depend on, was gone...over. I continued to try to bravely put one foot in front of the other. I was in my 'fake it til you make it' phase. I finally did talk to my grief therapist about my feelings, and she assured me they were quite normal. She knew I wasn't suicidal, and so we talked about the sadness and emptiness.
But I still wondered, why am I not dead? I had reasons to live...I love my family - of choice and of birth. I enjoy my career, although I found facing expectant 10 year olds day after day to be exhausting in those grieving days. I also knew that if Jim would here he'd metaphorically kick me in the ass and say, "why are you wasting your time? I'd give anything to have one more day to enjoy this thing called life! Get out there and LIVE!" We worked hard to save for our future and it has occurred to me that the future we'd dreamed of is now mine, and it is now!
I talk about it now because I think it is important to face up to the whole range of experiences that I had and continue to go through. I also hope that by my naming it, others who are or will go through a profound loss will see that perhaps these feelings are a normal part of grieving. Marc Brackett, of the Yale Center for Emotional Intelligence, says, “Labeling your emotions is key. If you can name it, you can tame it.” And Daniel J. Siegel, neuropsychiatrist and co-author Tina Payne Bryson write in their book, The Whole Brain Child:
At first it seemed inconceivable that I could survive the wrenching hurt that permeated my being. How could anyone? Yet I knew people that had, and did. But I am not them. I could not imagine living another day without Jim. I suppose like anyone, I'd hoped we would grow old together and die in our sleep on the same night. I knew that wasn't likely. I knew by our family histories that the likelihood was that I would outlive him, yet I never really grasped what that would mean. I could never have imagined the emptiness, the profound sadness, the complete and utter hopelessness of my grief. So how, when that grief was upon me, could I possibly live through it?
I was pretty sure no one wanted to hear about it, and so I never spoke if it. I didn't want friends and family worrying about me any more than they already were. But in my heart there was darkness.
Later, as the searing pain subsided, to be replaced with more of a dull, ever present ache, I didn't want to be dead as much as I just didn't care. I ate because I knew I should, I tried to be social when I felt up to it, I returned to work. I slept. I slept a lot. I wasn't depressed, I have been depressed and this was something different. I was just sad. The life I'd loved, and come to depend on, was gone...over. I continued to try to bravely put one foot in front of the other. I was in my 'fake it til you make it' phase. I finally did talk to my grief therapist about my feelings, and she assured me they were quite normal. She knew I wasn't suicidal, and so we talked about the sadness and emptiness.
But I still wondered, why am I not dead? I had reasons to live...I love my family - of choice and of birth. I enjoy my career, although I found facing expectant 10 year olds day after day to be exhausting in those grieving days. I also knew that if Jim would here he'd metaphorically kick me in the ass and say, "why are you wasting your time? I'd give anything to have one more day to enjoy this thing called life! Get out there and LIVE!" We worked hard to save for our future and it has occurred to me that the future we'd dreamed of is now mine, and it is now!
I talk about it now because I think it is important to face up to the whole range of experiences that I had and continue to go through. I also hope that by my naming it, others who are or will go through a profound loss will see that perhaps these feelings are a normal part of grieving. Marc Brackett, of the Yale Center for Emotional Intelligence, says, “Labeling your emotions is key. If you can name it, you can tame it.” And Daniel J. Siegel, neuropsychiatrist and co-author Tina Payne Bryson write in their book, The Whole Brain Child:
“When (people) learn to pay attention to and share their own stories, they can respond in healthy ways to everything from a scraped elbow to a major loss or trauma. ...to put things in order and to name these big scary right-brain feelings so they can deal with them effectively…When we give words to our frightening painful experiences—when we literally come to terms with them—they often become much less frightening and painful.”
I no longer wonder why I am not dead. Clearly, I have something left to do. I know I have a lot of life yet to live and strive to live every day to its fullest, no matter how many days I have left. There are some days where all that means is that I just get up and get dressed, Other days, living life to its fullest involves an amazing adventure. And both are okay, it is all part of this journey I am on. My journey out of the valley.
