Overload

I'm not in a great headspace right now, so please forgive me if this turns into a rant. I'm having one of those toddler moments when I just want to sit down on the floor and wail.

And I've done that quite a bit the last couple of days. Not as much on the floor, but in my bed, in the car, and many times at my desk (yes, I work from home so the only coworker who is alarmed is my dog).

The last couple of months have been non-stop and I think I've finally hit my limit. Between the constant activity and my husband's death anniversary (and our wedding anniversary) coming up, my whole body feels like it's just DONE.

Last week I went with my daughter to her freshman orientation and after we got back from the airport at 1 AM, I could barely move for the next 24-hours. I've managed to rally and get moving when I need to, but my body, mind and spirit are just spent right now.

I know you know what I'm talking about.

I've spent the last week in varying stages of self-pity; those moments have been broken up by frustration and anger. And that's not like me. I'm actually a pretty naturally optimistic person (not counting this blog). But I'm just. so. tired.

This morning I was trying to look at articles for clients and I could not read them. Seriously. I had no idea what they meant. It was like they were written in a foreign language when in fact they were in English. But right now I only speak Grief.

A few weeks ago, I had someone tell me that I needed to say "no" more, that I was self-sabotaging myself by being so busy. I was already in a fragile state of mind, but that fragility quickly turned to fury.

Note to the world at large: Don't ever tell a widowed single mother that she should say "no" more. It's not helpful and just says to the widow that you have no concept of what she goes through daily.

WHAT SHOULD I SAY NO TO? Being the only parent? The only person who pays the bills? Oh, wait! I know. I should say no to getting my sprinkler system fixed and going to the grocery store. Better yet, maybe I shouldn't try to figure out how I'm going to pay for college next year and when I'm going to get my oil changed.

Sorry, World. Someone told me to say "no" so I guess that means I don't have to do anything I don't want to for the next month. I had no idea it would be so easy!

Yeah. Right.

I just had a therapy session and I actually warned my therapist in a text before I got there.

I'm not doing well, I said. I'm nauseous and I can't stop crying.

By the time I got there, I was pretty tempted to ask her if I could take a $150 nap on her couch. I just wanted my mind to stop.

I want a vacation from being a widow. Is that too much to ask?

Last night I had a dream about my husband and he was driving us somewhere.

"You need to slow down," I said.

"I know what I'm doing," he replied.

"Obviously not," I snapped alluding to the car accident that killed him.

Even my dead husband can't avoid my bad mood.

"The wound is the place the light enters you." -Rumi

I've heard this quote twice today. I believe that when the universe calls, you have to respond.

It's been a tough couple of days - you all know what it's like. And you can't explain it to anyone else unless they've been through it. It's not just tired (that's such an inadequate word). You can't stop crying and you've lost all hope that you're going to get out of whatever funk you're in and even though it's only lasted a few days, you feel like it's lasted decades.

Let's call them Widow Days, shall we? It's code for "life sucks today and nothing anyone says or does is going to make it better."

How uplifting. Bet you're glad you stumbled onto this blog, eh?

Anyway, it's been building and it's not surprising. The next 30 days are my trigger time; some years I almost float through them and some years I can't function at all. It sucks because I never know which it's going to be. I think things would be a lot easier if you could just prepare.

What set me off this year? Getting my daughter ready for college. And it's not the fact that she's going to college that had me crying uncontrollably. It's the logistics.

I called my sister, the Financial Planner, because while my daughter has been accepted to college and all money has been figured out (for the most part) I wasn't sure what was supposed to happen next. I've been lying awake at night worrying that the tuition bill would arrive and I wouldn't be prepared, so I decided the best way to get back to sleep was to tackle it.

My sister sat on the phone with me as I went through all of the paperwork the university had sent to find out what the next steps are with the funding that had been offered. Within 5 minutes, I was sobbing uncontrollably.

Now, common sense would say that I was crying over the money, right? And while that's its own separate source of stress, the reason why I was crying was actually more basic.

I don't want to do this.

I don't want to do car maintenance. I don't want to figure out why my sprinklers are leaking. I don't want to figure out our household budget and how I alone am going to make things happen.

I did  not fucking sign up to do this alone.

This is when the widow-child in me wants to sit down on the floor, arms crossed in front of her, pout on her face and say, "NO. I don't wanna."

Of course, after I hung up with my very alarmed sister, I figured out what I was supposed to do about the college stuff within 5 minutes. Seriously. One click of a button.

Didn't matter. The damage had been done. The floodgates had opened. I spent the rest of the day fighting tears through three business calls and finally fell asleep after midnight only to have a little bit of an emotional hangover this morning.

Wait a Minute

Crap. I just realized that I wrote this whole blog and it has nothing to do with the quote I posted. Good Lord - I just can't get it together.

Okay...hmmmm...wound...light...

I felt wounded yesterday and my light was on until midnight? That can't be it.

Come on, Universe. What are you trying to tell me?

Is Grief the Price We Pay for Love?

I think a lot of us have probably heard that saying. Something along the lines of "grief is our proof that we loved." For me, that saying ranks right up there with "everything happens for a reason."

I'm not a fan. Personally, I'd rather have my husband here and just tell everyone I love him. That seems much easier.

This was the subject of a recent podcast I was listening to with Glennon Doyle. To be honest, I haven't read any of her books and when I first started listening to her I wondered if I would have anything in common with her. But she was one of the first adults I'd ever heard speak about how she was a sensitive child and how that always made her feel like the black sheep in her family. And that I understood, but didn't realize anyone else felt that way.

So, she got my attention.

In the podcast I was listening to she said this:

"Grief is love's souvenir. It's our proof that we once loved. Grief is the receipt we wave in the air that says to the world: Look! Love was once mine. I love well. Here is my proof that I paid the price."

Again, if I'm going to have a souvenir, I'd really rather my husband be here and for us to be wearing "I'm with stupid" sweatshirts or something. 

Later in the podcast she started talking about embracing pain. Seriously? If I could, I would run from it as fast as I could - and I'm not a runner. This body was not built for speed. But pain is something that I fear in myself and, even more, I fear witnessing in other people (especially my children). I want to fix whatever is happening and move forward as quickly as possible. And if I can't fix, I want to numb.

But she brought up a good point. I'm going to paraphrase here, so if you want to listen to what she really said, click here for the podcast. When talking to a mother who expressed her wish to keep her son from feeling pain, Glennon asked her, "What kind of person do you want your son to be?"

"I want him to be kind and wise," said the mother.

"How do you think he gets that way? From experiencing pain." 

Hmmmm. That's a thinker.

Solomon Says

Yesterday I was at church and the pastor was talking about the many devastating things that have been happening - especially here in Colorado in the last month or so. He quoted Ecclesiastes and said, "For with much wisdom comes much sorrow; the more knowledge, the more grief."

In other words, the more experience you have, the more sorrow you'll experience.

But, sorry Solomon, I just have to reverse this for a minute. Because I believe that "with much sorrow comes much wisdom." I would say that the people who participate and follow the Widow Chick page are some of the kindest and wisest people I know. And while I know we all wish we could have gained that wisdom by wearing that "I'm with stupid" sweatshirt while standing next to our spouses, at least wisdom is something we can get out of this sorrow.

I would say that if you refuse to learn something from this pain, if you refuse to allow it to make you a kinder, wiser person, then you never got your souvenir - you've left the experience empty-handed. Our stories and the stories of our loved ones are our legacies. 

And as Glennon Doyle said, "Grief and pain are like joy and peace; they are not things we should try to snatch from each other. They're sacred. they are part of each person's journey. All we can do is offer relief from this fear: I am all alone. That's the one fear you can alleviate."