Grief, Tractors and Caskets

Grief is a weird thing.  At first, you're in total shock, you can't believe what has happened - but there is a flurry of activity, people, decisions, and you just do the things.  Auto Pilot. You understand that something horrible has happened, that your loved one is gone, but you really cannot wrap your head around it completely. As some time passes, things settle down and you have more time to contemplate your new situation. You still can't wrap your head around it, or even believe it . . . still. More time passes, and suddenly it's the first year anniversary.  You take time to reflect, not being able to believe that 365 days have passed, and almost all of them in a foggy blur.  You wonder how that happened.  How all those days have gone by - without them in it, without a hug, a text, a call. You are amazed, not because you made it this far, not because you're still getting out of bed, but because it literally feels like it happened yesterday and yet, the clock didn't stop.  The world didn't stop.  It just feels like it should have.  To you.

Brain fog is a huge problem in grief.  Most people can't read, retain information, or even handle the simplest tasks for a while. Getting groceries, eating out, or running errands becomes a field of land mines. Even after the year mark. Maybe forever. Things set you off, people you haven't seen make conversation, or awkwardly avoid you. Your memory is terrible. I said hello to the same person twice, within minutes of each other - like I didn't remember seeing her the first time. Truth is, I am not looking very closely.  If I look around at all.  I'm embarrassed to admit, it took me an hour or so to put her face together with her name. {sorry} I still walk around with lists, and then I cannot find them. I drive home without remembering the stops I was supposed to make.  I listen intently to people when they tell me things and yet I cannot remember the details later, or who told me what.  I try and repeat or relay the information I heard or learned, and I find myself saying time and time again, I can't remember who told me that.  I try and go back and think of who I might have been with, who I may have spoken to...but often times, I can't come up with it.  I constantly feel like I'm forgetting something.  I always feel like I'm looking for something I have lost.  I have trouble figuring out the simplest things some days and it's all very confusing.  I quit my part-time job.  There were days where I sat and stared at the paperwork I'd been processing for 17 years...and I couldn't remember how to do it.  And I didn't care.

In the past month, I've started attending a grief group and I've met with other bereaved mothers - in hopes of being of able to talk about it, about him, about what happened.  I think I'm beginning to realize that I can't out talk my emotions. That quite possibly talking about it will not make it easier.  I think it literally depends on the day, my mood, the amount of sleep I've had, and if there were any other triggers that day. I literally lost two days over a post from a grief site.  It said, "If people knew how much I truly missed you, they would wonder how I am still breathing".  I read it and cried.  And then, every time I thought about it, for two whole days, I cried.  I don't know why it hit me so hard, but it literally ripped my heart out. I guess it's just because someone else had the foresight to write down how much missing them hurts. I miss him. And thinking about how much I miss him, well, it's a super trigger. While his loss is always present, there are times I can speak of it without losing my crap, and times I cannot - and I'm starting to think that that is what normal looks like for me now.  Normal just might be a daily crap shoot. {A risky or uncertain matter}

The reality of the thing just never seems completely real.  Does that make sense?  People say "I don't know how you are getting through this.  I know I couldn't if it was me."  But the thing is, what choice do we have? You don't know.  I didn't know.  I didn't get it.  I didn't understand.  I'm sorry for my misunderstanding of just how awful it is.  But in my defense and in your defense, we just didn't know.  I hope you never know.  But if you do; you'll do it.   The reality of it is such that I feel the brain cannot completely comprehend it all the time.  I think the brain becomes a little muddled, the days just sort of happen, with or without your participation, life continues on around you and you just go into an autopilot mode, until either the facade gets chipped too far, or you let the wall down and you "go there".  Going there can be frightening.  To fully embrace what has happened is like, well, how can I even explain what it really feels like?  It's like getting gut-punched, losing your air, your ability to breathe.  The giant lump that forms in your throat starts a chain reaction of dread and anxiety. You want to lay down and die.  You don't want to be those people anymore.  You want off the ride - but it just keeps spinning around and around.  Tilt-A-Whirl . . .

I didn't want to go to grief group.  I didn't start until week 3 and only because M asked me to go.  I don't believe in "from mourning to joy" right now. I don't believe in "healing" from this loss.  I felt like going somewhere to learn how to move on from John would be a breach of contract.  I thought people went to a grief group so they could move on from their grief. To me, that sounded a whole lot like moving away, from my son.  Yeah, I know.  Sounds either dead on to you or completely ridiculous.  Welcome to bereavement.  However, I also understood that being with people that have suffered similar losses can be comforting, in a very-sad-you're-in-the-club sort of way, but I'm glad I went.  

We went to a reviewal last night.  I thought it would be okay.  I thought, going in, that I could handle it.  I wanted to support my friend - and then she hugged me and said, this can't be easy for you.  And as much as I thought I could - it wasn't. I saw the beautifully polished wood casket and I remembered looking at that one as well. We really liked that one, it seemed like John, in his everyday life, growing up in the country, but in his dress blues, the silver casket felt more "military", for lack of a better word.  Then there was the toy John Deere combine next to her dad's casket. . . reminding me of all those same green toys and the many "corn harvests" on the living room floor. John had all the equipment on his farm.  Semi trucks, trailers, corn bins, corn, auger, grain cart...quite the farming operation.  The room, the flowers, the photos, the hugs...I'm sad to say I couldn't finish the line, couldn't finish trying to give condolences - I told Brian we had to go.  He understood.  I know she will understand too. Showing support is the purpose, it doesn't matter if it looks the way you intended it too, sometimes it's just showing up. 

I also finally looked at a Facebook Watch series called "Sorry For Your Loss". A few people mentioned it to me previously and I wasn't ready.  But I guess it was time.  It's relevant.  It speaks my language.  They've done a good job with it - it's very realistic and really hits home.  Episode 3 was called Jackie O and Courtney Love, or something like that.  The main character accuses another grieving widow of handling grief like Jackie, while she is more of a Courtney.  Do you paste on a gracious grief face and act upbeat, or tell people exactly how you're feeling?  Do you act as angry as you are some days?  Have a meltdown in public or adjust the mask and keep smiling?  They don't sugarcoat it, and I like that. I might be more of a Courtney.  😬

I'm still trying to come to terms with "how are you".  I still default to "good".  Although I am not.  It's not even grammatically correct, is it?  I should be saying "well", I suppose.  But I neither feel good nor well.  I need a new word.  One that doesn't elicit conversation and yet isn't a lie.  

And speaking of the Minnesota niceties, who in the world came up with the total turn around greeting?  You know the ones.  Overly enthusiastic, huge smile, where they say they are doing well and include you in it.  You're good too!!??  Umm, are you asking me or telling me?  It seems like you're waiting for me to respond to you telling me I'm doing enthusiastically well, and yet I cannot.  So, instead, I find myself not responding to that at all - and changing the subject.  Cute shoes.  Is it snowing?  How about those Twins/Vikes/Wild/Wolves?    Anyway, the Jackie O widow admitted that she really isn't a Jackie O type griever at all, she justs acts that way because people don't want to see or hear the truth. Then she has a total meltdown.  The Courtney griever goes to a wedding in a later episode - she has lost her husband just five months ago.  You know that's not a good idea.  But she doesn't punch anyone in the face, so there's that.

Anyway, I guess the bottom line of this particular blog is, I'm going to be awkward whether I want to be or not.  I'm either going to have a good day or I'm not.  I might be able to converse without crying, or I might not.  It doesn't really matter what you do or say, it might just be the way the wind is blowing.  How about that weather?😏