The Journey — What do I do Nau?

May 21

May 21 The Journey

My journey from loss back to life began on November 25, 2009, when my husband and the love of my life, Tim, died of complications of liver cancer, a result of the insidious Hep-C virus that he did not even know he had until just a few years before his cancer diagnosis. Everything we went through to finally get him on the liver transplant list were all for naught. He died the day before Thanksgiving and three days short of what would’ve been his 55th birthday. It was the day I became that much dreaded word...widow.

I have come to call November 25 my personal Ground Zero – the day when my whole world crumbled and life, as I knew it, was completely obliterated. I was like a small boat that was wrenched off of its secure moorings and hurled into the perfect storm. I was battered by wave upon merciless wave and finally dragged down into the murky depths of a vast unfamiliar sea. I had entered a parallel universe - two worlds where everything was co-existing but contradictory, separated by a chasm so wide I didn’t think my mind would ever be able to reconcile them. While I looked my usual and efficient self to the outside world, my internal world was in shambles. My heart had shattered into a thousand agonizing pieces.

I was in pain and yet I was numb. I had never felt so alone and yet I found no comfort in being around people. I knew Tim was gone but I talked about him as if he were still here with me. There was no question that he was ever coming back and yet I begged him with all my heart to come home and get me off this nightmarish rollercoaster ride. Tim and Death were so diametrically opposed because he had such a lust for life. He savored every bit of everything he experienced. He taught me how to live and love life. He was a fighter and a survivor. I never worried about THAT shoe dropping because I was so sure he would outlive me.

Shock, the first stage of grief, is a blessing in the early days of loss. It was my warm mantle of protection, my safe cocoon. It helped me go through the things that needed to get done. The event planner in me stepped up and planned his funeral as if it was someone else’s. Everyone said I was so strong and brave to not even shed a tear at the funeral mass. The truth was, the whole thing felt like an out of body experience. I was functioning on auto-pilot, doing things and having conversations that I would later never remember.

After the funeral and my family had left, the tears had mercifully come. When they came, I could not stop until my body was like a rag that was wrung dry. I cried myself to sleep painfully aware that I was now permanently alone in that big bed. I cried at every waking moment as I realized that his death was not a nightmare but was now my reality. I cried for him and all that he had agreed to go through to get well for our sake; for my children who would never experience the love and guidance of their father and all the important events in their future lives that they will never get to share with him; for everybody who knew and loved him; and for what our love had built in 21 years. Lastly, I cried for myself, for the “me” that had died with him and for all our future plans and dreams that were now irrevocably gone.

Year after year, I avoided putting my thoughts about my grief journey into writing for fear that I would get too close and Ground Zero would swallow me up. For sure, I would never be able to climb out of its depths again. I did everything I could to get as far away from Ground Zero as possible. My every waking moment became a choice and I chose to move forward – conquering one challenge after another that I put in my path. Surviving “triggers” became my daily goal. I forced myself to stand still and feel when grief came to wallop me with all its might so that when another wave came, it no longer had the same power to hurt and devastate.

Contrary to romantic belief, time does not heal our wounded hearts. It just blunts our memory of the sharp edges of pain and grief. There will always be that sadness when I look back to where my journey began. I will always love and miss Tim with every fiber of my being for the remainder of my days. My loss has wrapped around my heart like scar tissue, attempting to make it whole again, imperfect at best. Grief will never go away because it has become a part of who I am today.

I have always been an optimistic person who looked for that silver lining in every dark cloud. I know it is hard to imagine that any good could come from losing someone you love more than your life. But my journey has taught me gratitude. I am most thankful for the transformative change that my loss has brought about in my life and the life lessons that came with it. It has taught me that we grieve deeply because we have loved deeply. Grief is not a one-time event but a life-long journey – we can heal from it but we will never get over it. With it, though, is a message of hope that we can survive it and make a new life for ourselves. I have learned to trust that my God is bigger than my loss and He continues to give me the grace to come out of my grief, time and time again, mercifully unscathed. It has taught me to be more compassionate toward myself and others, especially the kindred souls experiencing a similar loss. It has taught me to let everyone who matter in my life know how much I love them every single day because life is short and death is a certainty that we can never prepare for. I have learned that even in the midst of experiencing our grief, it is okay to laugh, to live, to enjoy new moments again. Maybe, even be open to a new love someday. This is what Tim would want me to do – to continue to live and savor life for the both of us. And I will do so to honor him. Lastly, I am thankful for all the love and support of friends and family during our difficult moments through the years and who continue to be there for us.

I no longer fear Ground Zero nor Death. My loss has taught me that even if we live this life without our beloved, our days on this earth are numbered and every day we live is a step closer to reuniting with them. This is my biggest take away from living life to the fullest and also my greatest comfort. So for Nau, I go and live.