I admit I'm not a pro/expert at this grieving thing. Although I grieved bitterly at the loss of my beloved grandparents, aunts and uncles, my mother and father and a few dear friends, nothing could have prepared me for how I would feel after Bill's death.
I'd imagined it many times over the course of our lives together. He cut into his leg with a chainsaw and nearly bled to death, had his aortic valve replaced with a mechanical one, a battery blew up in his face, he had a snowmobile accident and twice he was taken from the doctor's office in an ambulance with A-Fib and admitted to the hospital.
He had car accidents, PAD and developed Gangrene from poor circulation in his legs. A few months before he died he lost one leg above the knee, so of course the fear of losing him forever was always in my mind, but he always pulled through. He had eight stents and sailed through those procedures like a champ. I don't think I've ever know a tougher man. So when he died one beautiful September morning with no warning I was in shock. That probably sounds a little crazy, but I had come to think of him as indestructible.
Pretty silly, given the circumstances, or perhaps my mind could not conceive of life without him. Truthfully, it still can't.
Even after more than nineteen months I look for him. I want to hear his voice, touch his hand, get a hug. I want to tell him things, ask his opinion, but there are no answers except for my memories. Many times I hear him in my head, but I know that's only because I knew him so well, so intimately that most of the time I know what he'd say. Or maybe I just think I do. Sometimes he did surprise me.
Since his death I've been pretty ill off and on. I won't bore you with the details as I've mentioned them in previous posts. The only new ambulance rides have been for a 'heart hiccup' and another for complete exhaustion. Not much they can do about either of those things, but I am trying. Still drinking my Boost, which those lovely people have upped the protein to 20 grams. Thank you Nestle. I'm still eating yogurt and now taking Magnesium pills, which aren't too bad if you can get them down. So I'm starting to feel a bit better, a little stronger, although I did take a fall in the parking lot of Olive Garden earlier this week. ( I put it down to parking too close to the curb and some wet stones and landscaping. I wasn't seriously injured but my tailbone is killing me.) That's why I was so surprised at my last doctor's appointment.
My guy is leaving. A highly upsetting fact in itself as he's really pulled me through the last few months. He's a great guy and I trust him, but I'm having some serious doubts. He believes I have major clinical depression and would like me to go on medication and see a therapist. Sadly, I won't see him again. Today is his last day and I'm not sure who I'm going to switch too. I'll miss him for sure. He took great care of Bill and me for more than ten years.
Most of my family and friends agree with him. I find this a little surprising. Have I passed the time limit for grief? Is a year and a half long enough? Does grief then become self-pity or mental illness requiring medication? How is this helpful in the long run? Will medication stop the residual pain of losing the love of my life or simply mask it?
I know for a fact I will never again be the woman I was. Anti-depressants might make a difference. I might laugh more, or louder. I might be able to pretend my life is different but it would be because a drug makes it so. I might be able to slap on the happy mask easier than I can now, but my previously effervescent personality will still be as flat as week old soda. I have a hard time working up any enthusiasm now. Will drugs make me even colder, more numb to the realities of my life?
I'd be interested in comments on this post from others who are going through this painful process or have survived it. When does grief morph into mental illness? Am I worse, or are others simply more uncomfortable with my sadness?
This page is now my blog/journal about Widowhood. I'm not qualified to give advice. I'm new at this. I don't want to be qualified. I don't want to be a widow, but no one asked me. These are my thoughts, fears and feelings. Please don't equate them as anything but that.