Letting go of grief trash, Holding onto real treasure

 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.

Gosh, we can be so ridiculously hard on ourselves...

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. 

Life of a Childfree Widow

 

I have always lived my life as Childfree by Choice. I should clarify what that means to ME. It means that I have never wanted to breed (get pregnant or biologically give birth), raise, foster or adopt a child of any age. It was never something that held the slightest interest for me. I don’t hate children, some are quite adorable (in their own way), but I prefer to spend my time with ADULTS as often as possible.  Or animals; cats, dogs, etc. often bring me to a level of happiness I can’t even measure. I could easily swap and do animals instead of adults. But I digress…

Ironically, much of my career has centered around helping children and families who live in poverty, abuse/neglect, trauma, homelessness, addiction, and other life events which have made them even more vulnerable than they already are. My belief and values are that NO ONE should have to live with those painful conditions, and so, I work where the need is greatest. However, I don’t take it home with me.

I don’t think my mom ever accepted it. My dad never pitched a fit over it, but he was always the more tolerant of my differences within our family. Try as I might, I couldn’t distract mom by having her accept my cats as substitute grandchildren. I was college educated, had friends, hobbies and interests, but she wanted babies and no matter the guilt trips, I never boarded that vessel. Childfree was and is my choice and I stuck with it.

When I met Sean, I was up front from the start. I was in my early 40s, but it was a trend back then for women, desperate to not let the metaphorical parade pass them by or to fill an empty nest, to struggle and try to get pregnant after their ovaries ‘best-used-by date’ and go horribly into debt paying for IVF treatments.  I did not, then or ever, want to have children. I wanted a true partner-a companion, a travel-buddy, lover, conversationalist, comedian, supporter-who would focus on me, on US, and what we each wanted, so that we could then be happy together. We found each other and, despite naysayers and skeptics alike, we made it work, without the overwhelming distraction of kids. For 16 years we ROCKED it; loving each other and our crazy cats, until Sean died on January 13, 2024.     

Since Sean died, I have been asked, ‘What will you do now?’ ‘Aren’t you lonely?’ ‘What will you do now with all your time?’, ‘Aren’t you afraid of being alone?’ and of course, ‘Who will look after you now that he’s gone?’  Same person who has always looked after me; ME.

I miss my darling hubby more than words can properly express, but I’m not regretting the decision not to add children to the mix. I’ve never wanted them and despite near overwhelming societal and familial pressure, stayed true to myself and my values. Sean and I often discussed the various folks we knew who had kids because they thought they had to and while rightly prioritizing little people who could not take care of themselves without their parents, often lost sight of the person they loved in the first place. Sean and I never wanted that for ourselves-individually and as a couple. We stuck to our decision to love and honor each other-no regrets.

Sean and I also talked about why I am so good at my job, working with the folks I assisted and how I, as a Childfree woman, could possibly help parents. I’m good at what I do, because of the values I live by; loving myself first and foremost. I was blessed to have a loving partner who shared my values, but I wouldn’t have compromised my Childfree stance for him. Now that he is gone, that hasn’t changed. There is nurturing in the work I do, from one human being to another. I can still help people recognize the value in knowing their worth and how living true to themselves makes them better women, men, workers, friends, partners and yes, parents.

My love for my husband will ALWAYS be the love I have for him. I don’t feel the need to fill the void he has left with someone else who may ‘need’ me. I need me. My cats need me. The world needs me; just a childfree widow. I am also blessed to have loving friends who get me, as I am.  In this world, you ARE enough and your contribution to this life is amazing, whomever you choose or don’t choose to share your space with. Losing my partner, my darling Sean and not having children does not make me LESS than. It makes me who I’ve always been. Just me…and that is just right.

In Mourning with Cats

Moxie, as a kitten, giving kisses to her new Cat-Dad...

It's been a little over a month now since Sean passed away. I feel I'm still in survival mode; just trying to figure out how to live without the ever present thought of my beloved husband being a major consideration in my day-to-day activities. I've started having more lucid moments out of my brain fog. Most of the time I'm more 'numb', which is generally how I feel at work. I can't deal with all the decisions and drama there if I'm raw so, I think I just turn 'off' as much as possible.

                                                    

I have become more aware of my home environment lately. Last week, I donated all of Sean's medical equipment-bed, wheelchair, Hoyer lift, chux, etc-to a very lovely woman who works with veterans. I felt quite emotional once the space was emptied in the bedroom. However, I couldn't be selfish and hang onto those things he used. Knowing what a struggle we went through to get them, I wanted to ease someone else's life by providing them help in their care for a loved one. My apartment is the same, but the energy is different without those reminders associated with his long illness and suffering.                                 

       

Another change I hadn't been fully aware of until recently has been the behaviors of my cats since Sean has been gone. The longest the 'Babies' had gone without seeing him every day was almost 2 years ago when he went to a nursing facility for 3 months. Sean adored these "furbearin' critters" and they eased his anxiety when he was stuck in bed every day. They were his loving companions, more constant and consistent than his nursing caregivers, and they had a routine that followed being with and checking on him after I went off to work each day. They were anxious when Sean went to the hospital, as the chaos of his injury and paramedics in the home was a lot for them to deal with. Ringo would sit outside of the bedroom and howl...waiting for Sean to answer him. Moxie would look for Sean in the bedroom and not seeing him, she would slink off to the closet or other dark corner for comfort

Somehow, I know that the Babies are aware that Sean is gone. I didn't really think about it until recently that we ALL are grieving Sean's loss.  I am the center of their world now and it is different than just another short hospital stay. The Babies are not secure and I feel it with them. Nightly cuddles took on a level of sadness the day the hospital bed went away. Moxie, aka-the Floofy lap cat, still goes to hide in the closet and other closed spaces more often than before.  Ringo, aka-the Clown, comes over for cuddles now every day; he still howls outside the bedroom but runs right to me when I call his name. 

The Babies are sad and they miss their Cat-Dad. They help me stay focused in a day and not lose myself completely to my grief. But I didn't think that *I* am also helping them with theirs. I see the changes in their behaviors. I see how they still look for Sean. I see how they still go in the closet and sniff at his clothing and shoes. I know how I feel and I see that in them. All I can do for them is what I do for myself. Be gentle. Go slow. Pay attention. Let the grief come when it needs to. Cuddle and Play. Speak with love to Sean, wherever he is, and speak about him to the Babies. 

Every single night-the Cuddle Puddle

We have each other now-me and the Babies. Their grief is just as real as mine. Remembering that reminds me that I need to take care of myself-for me and for them. Some days are easier than others. I have just as many moments as Moxie does where I want to lie in a dark space and mourn for hours. I have the same anxiety as Ringo where I just want to call Sean's name in some sort of otherworldly game of Marco-Polo, hoping he'd answer me but knowing he never will again. We are all mourning Sean...and I need to remind them every day they are not alone and I'm with them. It will keep me focused and give me a reason to get up and get on with my days. I don't know how this will change for us, but I know that we are all just grieving Sean, one day at a time.