Day 94: 02/07/2017
When I lost my dad in April of 2015 I did not have any time to mourn losing him. There were things that needed to be done and there just wasn't time for grief. I have missed my dad over the past two years. I have missed him very much, but I cannot say that I had mourned losing him. When Marc died, the loss of my dad hit me like a tidal wave. When I lost my husband, the grief of losing my dad swirled around me and mixed like thick black smoke with the fog of grief from losing Marc. There were moments when I literally could not breathe. It felt as though my lungs could not expand enough to draw the air into my lungs.
Now, here I am 94 days after the death of my husband and no matter how much I try to redirect my thoughts I still have those moments where I cannot breathe. It feels like time stops when it happens. What I am sure is probably no more than a second or two feels as though it is almost endless when it happens. I feel myself panic when I can't catch my breath because I'm terrified I'll stop breathing altogether - forever. I wish I could say the panic disappears as quickly as it comes, but I cannot say that. The panic lingers and leaves me wondering if I'll ever be able to find my way back to normal. I wonder, but I don't give up hope.
My life has rarely gone as planned and I have always found my way to being better than just okay with that fact. Joseph Campbell said, "We must be willing to let go of the life we planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us." In my past there were times it was difficult to make my way through the mire, but I did it and I always came through stronger and with more knowledge than when I started. Today, 94 days after the death of my husband, it is important to remind myself that I have the strength to get through this anguish I feel in the very depths of my soul. It is important to remember how much love I still have in my life.
Life is not fair, nor does life owe/entitle a person anything. Life is what we make of it, good or bad and I have no idea what this newest version of my life has waiting for me, but I have to let go of the life (we) planned. Currently, I still feel stuck in the mire, but I know I will find my way through it. Eventually. The hanging on is not what I struggle with, it is the letting go that feels so monumentally impossible. Letting go of the life we had planned feels the way I imagine it would feel if white phosphorus were burning its way through my soul.
A couple of weeks ago a friend asked me how I am coping. When she asked me the question, the first word that came to mind was "love".
Love is how I cope, but the word love standing alone doesn't explain properly exactly what I mean. It explains perfectly how I cope, but it doesn't explain the many levels of the love I have in my life. My life has been incredibly blessed and Marc's death cannot diminish or nullify all of the good in my life. Marc was a large part of what has been good in my life, and he brought so many good things to my life, and his death does not erase any of the things I have had the good fortune of knowing. Yes, I must find my way forward without him and accept with open arms what life has waiting for me, without Marc, and I will. I will find my way because I have love in my heart. Not only love in my heart, but it runs deep in my soul and every single day I am reminded of this when I look around and take in all of the people who are a part of my not so average life.
I think I am going to go open a bottle of wine and have a toast to the life I have had and a toast to the life waiting for me. It is only 3:30 in the afternoon here in Virginia, but it is 5 o'clock somewhere and that is good enough for me. Prost to the USMA Class of '86 for reaching out to me and helping me through this difficult time. Prost to my friends, prost to my family, and prost to the love all of you so freely shower me with everyday. Prost to you. Thank you for the love. Love is how I cope. Love is the life I know, love is the world I know and love is what makes me weep, for both my loss and the joy waiting for me in my future life.
When I lost my dad in April of 2015 I did not have any time to mourn losing him. There were things that needed to be done and there just wasn't time for grief. I have missed my dad over the past two years. I have missed him very much, but I cannot say that I had mourned losing him. When Marc died, the loss of my dad hit me like a tidal wave. When I lost my husband, the grief of losing my dad swirled around me and mixed like thick black smoke with the fog of grief from losing Marc. There were moments when I literally could not breathe. It felt as though my lungs could not expand enough to draw the air into my lungs.
Now, here I am 94 days after the death of my husband and no matter how much I try to redirect my thoughts I still have those moments where I cannot breathe. It feels like time stops when it happens. What I am sure is probably no more than a second or two feels as though it is almost endless when it happens. I feel myself panic when I can't catch my breath because I'm terrified I'll stop breathing altogether - forever. I wish I could say the panic disappears as quickly as it comes, but I cannot say that. The panic lingers and leaves me wondering if I'll ever be able to find my way back to normal. I wonder, but I don't give up hope.
My life has rarely gone as planned and I have always found my way to being better than just okay with that fact. Joseph Campbell said, "We must be willing to let go of the life we planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us." In my past there were times it was difficult to make my way through the mire, but I did it and I always came through stronger and with more knowledge than when I started. Today, 94 days after the death of my husband, it is important to remind myself that I have the strength to get through this anguish I feel in the very depths of my soul. It is important to remember how much love I still have in my life.
Life is not fair, nor does life owe/entitle a person anything. Life is what we make of it, good or bad and I have no idea what this newest version of my life has waiting for me, but I have to let go of the life (we) planned. Currently, I still feel stuck in the mire, but I know I will find my way through it. Eventually. The hanging on is not what I struggle with, it is the letting go that feels so monumentally impossible. Letting go of the life we had planned feels the way I imagine it would feel if white phosphorus were burning its way through my soul.
A couple of weeks ago a friend asked me how I am coping. When she asked me the question, the first word that came to mind was "love".
I think I am going to go open a bottle of wine and have a toast to the life I have had and a toast to the life waiting for me. It is only 3:30 in the afternoon here in Virginia, but it is 5 o'clock somewhere and that is good enough for me. Prost to the USMA Class of '86 for reaching out to me and helping me through this difficult time. Prost to my friends, prost to my family, and prost to the love all of you so freely shower me with everyday. Prost to you. Thank you for the love. Love is how I cope. Love is the life I know, love is the world I know and love is what makes me weep, for both my loss and the joy waiting for me in my future life.
4 comments:
Love to you!
Love is the answer! Much love to you!!!
Wow Di, your post, Joseph Campbell's words,that amazing stunning video.. it all speaks to the utter shatter of grief and not knowing what the new pieces will look like after being put back together. Who knows what the "new normal" will be? If there is such a thing. Keep breathing. Sending you oxygen if I could.. I will drink a toast of Wine to you tonight Lady Di. Big, big hugs...xoxo
Oh my. Love is indeed the answer. I totally understand, having lost my first love, Bobby, my 16 year old son, a friend to both you and Marc... Love IS all there is that matters. Period. That IS all there is. Yes, there are moments when you can't breathe, but gasp it in... you will indeed be energized by the oxygen. There is love in the oxygen. I love you Diana. Thank you for being my friend, thank you for the love you give so freely, to me, my loved ones still here, and my sweet son, who has gone ahead with Marc. You get it. I love you snd am so thankful that you get it. I am so thankful that you know LOVE. Xoxo
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