It occurred to me a few weeks ago that for the first time in 12 years I wasn't dragged into a pit of memories and grief over the course of November, December, and January. I admit it was a surprising realization.
When the journey began, more like a train wreck than a journey, they told me the average time to recover from the death of a spouse was about 6 years. Obviously, I am an underachiever. I took twice as long. I can only attribute that to the accompanying PTSD that resulted from my experience.
Maybe you could have done better. Maybe you know someone who did. I'm truly happy for them. I wish.
It took me a bit to understand what was going on with me. Apparently, my brain doesn't release trauma as easily as other folks do. I have memories from my childhood that can destroy my day in an instant. I've controlled this stuff over the years, but not without extreme efforts. Jerry's death nearly destroyed me, and even today, I don't handle stress with the same ease I once did. I break easily now, something that shocks my closest family members when it happens.
And I still have days when a memory can pop up and just wreck my composure. I sit and cry but it isn't the soul shredding of early days and the intense sadness that follows, I can cope with.
Am I "over it"? No. That won't happen. I remember all the times I should have been nicer, more understanding, not taken part in an argument, and said "I love you" more. I remember every moment of the last 24 hours of his life. And I can't think about it. Ever. It is a nightmare I try very hard to avoid at all cost, sometimes failing. I remember the sound of his wedding ring striking the post of the headboard of our bed as he struggled with a massive coronary, and the deathly silence that followed. For months I heard that sound. And if I try very hard, I can still hear it. Just writing these words makes it hard to breathe.
Just breathe. Just breathe. Just breathe!
The cliche is that time heals all wounds. Maybe. I'm not sure. I carry massive scars that no one but I can see. And believe me, they are deep and painful. I often ask myself if I'll ever stop hurting from it. I have no answer to that. Some folks find a new spouse in a few years. I haven't even considered it. I've met death once, up close and personal. He won that fight. The next time, maybe I'll win and Jerry will walk me home.
For now, I just try to breathe.
