SIX MONTHS A WIDOW

We all know time is a fickle thing - for me last month seemed to last forever, for you it might have passed in a blur. Six months ago just happened.  Six months ago seems like a lifetime past. Six months ago today was a Saturday.  It was Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day.  It was the day my husband died.

I had to look up what day of the week it was.  The 22 days living in the hospital were marked by the rhythm of shift changes.  The whiteboard laying out each day's status updates, planned meds, infusions and procedures. During the last few days spent in the ICU many of those personal connections were lost as treatment stopped and reacting to each new problem and symptom began.  In the ICU they didn't know him when he arrived 18 days earlier, weak but still himself.

Tom at the top of the "Rocky Steps" in Philly. September 2019

And now here I am.  Living alone in a little house in a new state with a fraction of my belongings collected over 37 years of living with my husband.  Each day I am reminded of things planned 

which will not happen. I open a cabinet and see his hat or the velveteen bag containing his ashes.  I usually say "Hi Tommy" and go ahead with what I was doing. I have moved from pain to wistfulness. 

I know for sure that I would be in a more positive mood today if not for the Covid 19 situation.  The classes I signed up for were cancelled, the social groups I had hoped to join have delayed events until late June or July, the gym closed.  The voids in my life I had hoped to start filling will have to wait a little longer.

I have the benefit of living in a small house with a large yard.  I don't particularly like gardening but I find myself pulling weeds, planting herb gardens, fussing over tomato plants, spreading  bark, watering, sweeping off the patio and porch.

There is a large park nearby with many walking paths and I have watched winter turn to spring as I traipse through it several times a week.  I've stopped having the TV on all the time for company.  I make lists of things to do and check them off as I complete them.  I am baking low carb cookies and cinnamon bread, grilling salmon, eating the first cherries and apricots.

My son and his wife have shared their murder mystery boxes with me following nice meals in their home.  I am in touch with all 3 children nearly every day and have Zoom gatherings with other family and former co-workers.

Alone together - isn't that the theme of the day?

GRIEF - ONE SIZE NEVER FITS ALL

Much has been studied and reported about grief.  We have all heard about the stages of grief and the requirement that one has to go through them to go forward emotionally.  The most frequent  statement is that we must express our grief or it can't be put to rest.

It is four months ago today that my husband died.  He was hospitalized for 22 days.  He went through a complete round of chemo during that time.  He struggled physically and emotionally.  He would say to the Palliative Care team that he looked at the disease as a "blessing - a new beginning".  He never talked that way.  The entire family engaged in eye rolling over that one.  But generally he was himself to the day he died.  Difficult, demanding, hard working, sentimental, loving.

I loved my husband of 35 years.  Our relationship was interdependent in many ways.  I am a nurturer by nature. As a lonely only child he sopped up all that I did for him with gratitude. He was my protector, provider and companion.  We have 3 amazing children.  We - all five of us - are independent people.  We agreed to let him go when it was clear he was not going to recover, we were at his bedside when he breathed his last breath.  We told stories and laughed and none of us thought he would go as quickly as he did because it was his way to put up a fight and drag things out.

I did not cry then - and have shed very few tears since.  We went home and started getting things organized the next day.  I did not take to my bed.  I did not feel that there was no reason to go on, or that my life was over. I recognized that my life had completely changed - but that I am still my whole self.

After the initial shock had worn off and many tasks had been taken care of and things around his death had slowed a bit - I started to wonder if there was something wrong with me.  I didn't feel I was denying any of my emotions but I wasn't distraught.  I felt pretty secure in the decisions I was making.  When I felt overwhelmed by things I took a step back.  I engaged in self care - went for walks, made sure I ate well. But still I wondered if I was "normal."

I went online and looked at information about grief.  I don't think I am repressing things - Brene Brown would say I was not being authentic, that I was denying my negative emotions and that suppression would bring more suffering.  I don't think so.  I am not denying who I truly am.  I am not fearful of being unlovable.

I had and still sometimes have a lot of anger toward my husband for the financial situation he left me in - but I also recognized immediately that he suffered knowing what was coming for me and I have, as best I can, forgiven him for it.  So I explored if that combination of being sad and mad was something others had experienced - and there is a bit out there about similar situations - but mostly it goes back to the "stages of grief" kind of anger.  So I was satisfied with the general sentiment that not everyone grieves the same way, on the same timeline - one size doesn't fit all understanding of grief.

Then I ran across some newer studies about resilience.   I am nothing if not resilient.  The Mrs. Brightside moniker is all about that. For me it isn't about glossing over or denying the negative - it is about finding your way through by focusing on what is possible, the positive, the light.

George Bonanno's studies and book The Other Side of Sadness: What the New Science of Bereavement Tells About Life After Loss  is about "studies which followed bereaved people over long periods of time we always found tremendous variability in how people react to loss. We found a pattern we call "resilience" in between one third and two thirds of bereaved people. It looks like the term suggests. People who show a resilient outcome struggle initially with the pain of loss, as almost everyone does, but they manage to deal with the sadness and distress with equanimity. Their pain is acute, usually lasting most pointedly for a few days to a few weeks but then begins to subside. It is not that they don't grieve, or that they didn't care; far from it. Rather, they are able to put the pain aside when they need to and they continue to meet the demands of their life. They even laugh and experience moments of joy. They accept the loss, readjust their sense of what is, and move on."

I don't report this as in "I am of superior mental health" than people who are traumatized and grieve for years and years.  I am well aware that sudden, violent loss or the loss of a child is much different and creates more of a PTSD response.  I am just comforted by the approach that lets me know I am not a cold, unfeeling or suppressed person for experiencing my grief in my way.

TRIGGERS

I have not experienced grief in a go to bed for days, weepy, can't cope way.  I moved into the what needs to be done zone and stayed there for weeks - to the point that I wondered what was wrong with me.  Am I normal?  I loved my husband, he died.  Shouldn't I fall apart at least a little bit? 

Then a cascade of problems started to set in - and I found I was fine putting out fires but unable to cope with simple things.  A notice from the bank that required me to change my log-in just threw me - I couldn't think of something new.  The woman on the phone nicely came up with something until I could think straight. A CPA I called for advice told me what killed him probably was the financial stress he was under and I hung up on her but was so shaken up I didn't make phone calls for days.  Paperwork for the new bank account I opened had to be corrected because I put in that I was married.

Driving through the city where we used to live brought on tears.  Seeing people out on their bikes brought waves of memories. Passing by things I used to buy for him at the store made me sadder than planning meals for one.

After moving to a new state, I have not had many of those moments, until today.  I went to donate

blood - which is the thing I told people to do when they asked how they could help following his diagnosis and death.  I  didn't really give it much thought until I saw all the people there doing this generous life giving thing.  I had gone prompted by the Covid crisis, but realized once there that the hospitals are still full of leukemia patients in need of this precious resource only we can provide.

I had strong mixed emotions all day.  The loss. The life sustaining gift we can  give. 

THE REVEAL

Tom and I had certainly not foreseen that this would happen so soon in our lives - we expected a good 10 years before major health issues might occur.  We lived a healthy lifestyle and had no medical issues.  We had, however, spent time discussing things like quality of life and how far we would or would not allow medical intervention for each other.

I served as his advocate and was respected by the medical staff in that role.  His mental capacity was compromised and he had trouble speaking on and off during his hospitalization.  When he was lucid and could communicate well, he had many things he felt strongly about telling me.  He was extremely focused on his work, he made sure his clients had been taken care of.  He repeatedly told me about financial stuff like passwords and when bills were due that he handled. Even when he was delirious or sleepy, he insisted on holding his phone and having his blue tooth in his ear - during the nights I would wake up to him talking away as if he was conducting business.

It was clear to the family that in the last days he was asking for our help, asking to be let go. Things had deteriorated so significantly that much of his day was spent undergoing care that was painful and intrusive and not creating any gains.  We were all in agreement about stopping treatment and the staff handled the end very well with great respect and consideration.  He knew we were all there and the last word he said was "love".

The entire family retreated to our house to sleep.  In the morning we started making lists of things that needed to be done - divided it up and got to work.  We are a family of "doers".  Each of us in our own state of shock/grief/bewilderment we set about our tasks.  As the day went on, it became clear that there was a big problem.  I knew that I would not be able to afford the big house we had just rented, but the financial situation was significantly more dire than I had ever imagined. 

He would be very angry that I am even revealing this to others, but I think it is very important not to gloss over things - not just because this is the grim reality of my life now, but because it should serve as a warning.  I am not one of those old fashioned women who left everything up to my spouse.  I knew we had tax debt because I signed the taxes and payment plans every year.  I argued with him about his refusal to pay his quarterly estimated taxes as a self employed person.  He always argued back that if he had bad months back to back he might not be able to pay the rent or his bills to keep his practice going.  I know he lived in constant stress about his business month to month. 

Going through the finances, notifying creditors of his death, determining what accounts had to be paid or closed was significantly aided by the fact that he had created a comprehensive list with all his accounts and passwords.  What going through that revealed was gut wrenching.  Long story short (sorry, I guess this is not so short) he had massive consumer debt in his name that I did not know about and he had gotten behind on the tax payment plans and the IRS was after us. Big time.

Not only is finding I would have to deal with all this another kick in the gut, the kids were all exposed to this information and, quite frankly, we are all really pissed off about it.  Yes, he had no idea he was going to get sick and die.  Yes, he clearly was upset and obsessed with this throughout his illness and confinement in the hospital. Yes, he was trying to shield me with the belief he was somehow going to get it taken care of over time - but he didn't end up with time. 

I feel such pain knowing how worried he was all during his illness, he knew this hammer was out there and if he didn't survive it was going to come down on me. 

On the other hand - REALLY?  Keeping all this from me for years? Not being honest?  Pretending like we could actually purchase a house again?  Agreeing I could retire?

This reveal was only the beginning - much more to follow.

I'M STILL MRS. BRIGHTSIDE

The last time I posted I was getting back into the swing of things after getting 2 new knees.  For the record, that has continued to be a great improvement in my life.  My husband Tom and I increased our mileage on our bikes and though I never managed to become a great hill climber - with the addition of an electric wheel on one of my bikes, we joined a biking group and took many wonderful rides.

So what brings me back to writing here? I always thought I'd get back to writing when I  stopped working full time - but my life has taken a wholly unexpected turn. I was trying to figure out how to update my profile with my new information. (Still can't figure out how.)  I considered starting a whole new blog.  Anyway...

We had just moved into a different house, both of us were exhausted from the effort. That Tom was tired and sore was a surprise because he's in such great shape, but not too worrisome - after all we are in our mid-sixties.

A couple of weeks later, on the last day of my job, my husband called an ambulance and got himself to the ER.  I left my retirement party and by the time I got to the hospital, the blood draw they had done was already conclusive that he had leukemia - so acute that they were pretty stunned he'd been upright for the past few days.

 Long story short - he was transferred to a hospital in Oakland where they specialized in treating AML. He started chemo a couple of days later.   It was 22 days from the diagnosis to the day we let him go due to multiple organ failure.  The chemo had worked, but his body was not up to the side effects.

I will save many of the stories and information I learned for future posts. Pretty much living in the hospital for 3 weeks, gathering, dispersing and then gathering the family again,  working with the doctors, nurses and Palliative Care team was all consuming in addition to his needs and demands and frustrations.  In many ways I shut down my emotions and here I am three months later and only now just starting to get my feelings back.  And I will tell you - they are a real mixed bag.

I will be writing with some frequency to express my feelings, thoughts and experience on this most unexpected turn in my life.