I find now that I've gone round the first year bend (pun intended) and have entered into year 2 of Widowhood, that I often feel more intense emotions than I did in the beginning. Was I really that emotionally numb back then? Could be. The mind often shuts off part of our psyche to protect us when things are too painful. However, my desire to avoid the world has, at times, become more stronger and has demanded I obey.
As a certified Life Coach and 30 + year social services professional who is well versed in Mental Health issues and Healthy Living tips, it often seems hard to take my own advice, even when I know what is best. Is it healthy to isolate all the time? No. Is it healthy to isolate sometimes? Yes. Listening to our own infallible inner guides-our intuition-we know when we need a moment to rest, to breathe, to HEAL. So, while it didn't feel good to need to avoid people, places and things that would demand too much social interaction, too little personal space and way too much conversation than I had energy for, I stayed home. I didn't go to the events I planned and looked forward to. I readily agreed to stay a bit late at work, again, and told myself that it was just another part of the job. No one else stayed late, but at least I didn't have to face those positive, supportive, nonjudgmental and fun people in that Dance fitness class I found. Ew...
I came home, ate dinner, watched boring tv or read a book and wished I'd gone to the class. I looked around at the clutter I am slowly making my way through and got depressed again. It seems overwhelming to look at all the books my Sean loved so much and not know what the hell to do with them. Throwing them away or blindly sending them off to Goodwill seems wrong somehow. And so I look around and sink further into what I define as 'Widow Paralysis'; the inability to move physically but mentally you are running laps and beating yourself up with all the 'shoulds' you can bring up and feel guilty or ashamed of not accomplishing.
After doing that for a week or two (or three or four...), I was looking in a kitchen cabinet and looked at a can that I've been staring at for years. I took it out, checked the date and realized it hadn't expired yet. Then I felt pulled to reach in for another and saw that it was expired. Twenty minutes later, I suddenly found I had not only pulled out all the expired foods, but also sorted a bag of donations for the food pantry at work. The foods were all things Sean liked, that I bought just for him. I didn't eat any of them because of my diabetic/ Keto/ low-carb food restrictions. I finally stopped because I thought there was nothing left to throw out, but there was one last thing.
One of the few things Sean could drink regularly due to his kidney failure was cranberry juice. For the past year, I have been staring at the half empty bottle. I've tried to pour it out before and felt horrible as soon as I picked it up, and so I returned the bottle to the bottom of the refrigerator door. Over the past year, it's been a daily reminder that I was hanging onto something that, quite simply, would not bring him back to me. As I finished with the cabinet, I held onto the last bit of motivation for the task I had. I reached into the refrigerator, grabbed the bottle, walked over to the sink and emptied the remaining contents. And then it was done. The juice bottle was empty and Sean was....is....still dead. But I felt the slightest bit stronger because I let go of something I attached false meaning to, and now I could heal just a bit more.
I still love him, and will always love him. Sean's love for me and the time we had was a gift and my treasure. Hanging on to a silly bit of trash, blocked some of my ability to remember that.
