Lessons learned

1. Grief doesn’t go away

While time moves on and healing spreads gently through the soul, grief never leaves. It’s always there sitting quietly in a corner, waiting. Then a scene on a tv show, a song playing in the grocery store, a dream, a memory, an anniversary comes along and suddenly I notice its presence has never left. It fills my body with heaviness and an ache grows in my heart as it recalls the places that had been torn. Like running your thumb over a scar that stands as a reminder that flesh may heal but will never be the same.

2. The pain subsides  

Like a horror scene when a victim tries to flee an angry swarm of insects, every inch of me was covered and screaming with the pain of grief and despair, except there was no death to release me from it. I didn’t see a way out. I couldn’t imagine a world where every step wasn’t agony. The psychological torment felt like it would never end. But that was not the truth. Slowly I began to notice moments of reprieve. I would take a deep breath of the salty ocean air and find myself enjoying the warmth of the sun on my skin. Those moments turned into hours which turned into days which turned into months. In that time, my experience of grief changed as well. It no longer felt like Prometheus’s eagle was ripping my heart out every day. Eventually, grief showed up without the pain attached. No longer is it sharp and chaotic, now it is heavy but gentle.

 

3. Healing is your responsibility 

My trauma was not my fault, but no one else could heal me. Only I had that power. It was my choice and my work alone. I have seen examples of widows wallowing in their grief. They use their loss to excuse awful behavior and demand everyone make accommodations for them. I had to leave all the Facebook widow groups that I was in because I saw too much excusing bad choices and enabling people to remain in a stunted state. Working on healing when your life is shattered feels like an impossible task. People these days hate anything that looks like personal responsibility. As much as I wish it was otherwise, unfortunately, no one can do the healing work for you. It is a choice and alas, recovery is not instantaneous. Healing is a slow process and the work is not always obvious from the outside or even to yourself. Healing from trauma is like watching a tree grow. There doesn’t seem like any difference from day to day, but when you look back at where it started the change is undeniable. 

4. You cannot heal without help 

While healing is ultimately up to the individual, it is impossible to heal in isolation. We are social creatures. We NEED one another. If you have a physical injury or illness you need a doctor and help from friends and family. The same is true for mental health. You need a mental health professional and a support network to help you through it.

5. Rebuilding does not mean forgetting

When navigating life after loss there is almost always a sense of guilt. My life would be unrecognizable to Brian. I’m in a new house, with a new car. I have a fiancé and I have dogs, not his beloved cat. None of the people I see on a regular basis knew Brian. I have worked hard to make a new life, but that does not mean Brian has been erased from it. He has not been erased from my life or memory.

6. Your loved one cannot remain the center of your life 

You cannot build a life around loss. You never forget your loss, but you can’t live at their grave either. 

7. You can do hard things

If there is one thing that I have learned in the last 13 years is that we are resilient creatures. While I would never wish my experience on anyone, I can recognize in myself the strengths that have come from working through it. I now possess an indestructible hope, an inner steel that has been strengthened by the fire and pounding of adversity. No matter how dark it seems, I know beyond doubt that there is still light and I will see it again. Trauma didn’t make me strong, I had to become strong to face it. I remember being asked by a new acquaintance, “So 2020 has been the worst year ever, huh?” I actually chuckled a bit. Was it stressful, yes, was it the worst? Not even close. Knowing it could never be worse than 2010 gave me the hope and endurance I needed to get through. For others, 2020 was their 2010. They were experiencing the fire for the first time and didn’t know when or if it would ever end. Now, 13 years later I hope they have come to the same conclusions I have. Even though the fire is agony, it will not last forever. The ashes, no matter how desolate, will become the soil from which a new garden grows.