There are days where, despite your best efforts, the pain of losing your spouse hits you out of nowhere.
Grief waves…that’s what another widow calls it.
Today, it feels a typhoon.
Part of being open and honest is acknowledging those days. People often assume that I’m weathering the storm well, and the truth is, most days I am.
But today…today sucks.
I will own it. I will not try to put it in a pretty bow or spray it with perfume. I miss my hubby. I miss what we were and the all the things that were left unfulfilled. I miss that he’s not here for me to tell him how much of a crappy day I’m having…how his absence is the reason for my mood right now.
A routine trip to the doctor escalated my not-so-great day into a downright depressing one.
In the middle of my pap smear – naked except for the gown with the exposed front – the doctor asks about contraceptives. The conversation then morphs into the fact that I’m widowed and before I know it, she’s asking the dreaded, “How did he die?” question.
As I recounted the story, lying in one of the most uncomfortable and vulnerable positions, I was overwhelmed. I felt sad that instead of the awkward silence typical of the exam, I was talking about a horrible, unexpected, senseless death.
My heart skips whenever I think about my hubby’s absence. But I feel my heart being ripped out when someone else mentions it. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy reminiscing about the wonderful person he was – his life. But his death hurts when it’s spoken by others. It’s as if my brain and heart processes the pain all over again….that Year Two pain…when the magnitude of the loss has set in.
There’s a quote that says, “It’s okay to have a meltdown. Just don’t unpack and live there.”
Well, today I unpack. I want to sulk. I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to point out the unfairness of life. I want to ask why me, why us. I want to ask God questions. I want to vent. I want to curl up in bed. I want to throw something. I want to shut down emotionally. I want to be jealous of those who are fortunate enough to never have to talk about their spouse’s death while their feet are in stirrups…
Today, I will be unapologetic about my grief!
Mom to a feisty preschooler, Kerry Phillips became widowed at age 32. She runs an online support group for young widows and widowers venturing back into the world of dating and is a blogger for The Huffington Post.