There is something that happens to some people when they lose their
significant other, perhaps more for those who enjoyed many years
together, or whose love was particularly fierce. When the one whom they
considered their "soul mate" suddenly is no more, you can see the life
go out of the survivor. Not immediately--although it does for some--but
slowly, over time, you can watch them waste away. Pining, we call it.
Some will self-medicate with alcohol or other drugs. Some simply
withdraw into themselves. They become that cranky old person, or the
even more frightening quiet one that merely stares right through you. We
seen countless versions of it in movies. We hear that it happens, but what I never hear about it how it happens. I'd like to take a moment to explain.
Some
of you may already know this. Some of you may actually be experiencing
this without realizing that it's going on. To a few of you this might be
an alien concept; in that case, let this be a cautionary tale for you
to take to heart and bring to bear if and when the time ever comes when
you need it.
When your beloved dies, your whole world
is thrown upside down. Suddenly, a new perspective is thrown upon you
unbidden. Your priorities change. What seemed important yesterday seems
trivial today. Does it really matter if your socks match?
Who really cares? And if they do, maybe they are the one with the
problem and not you. That's how it starts. You see someone getting upset
over the smallest thing, and you think to yourself, "You think you have
problems?? My wife/husband/fiance/boyfriend/girlfriend/whoever just
DIED!! What have you got to complain about? Someone accidentally bumped
into you in the checkout line? Are you nuts? Lose someone you love and
then come talk to me!" What happens is that the death (actually your
grief over the death, but let's not split hairs) becomes the litmus test
for every single social transaction we observe in life. Like I said, it
can be a very slow process, but that is how it works. You hear about an
argument, and you shake your head: if they only knew how unimportant
that is. With the passage of time, more and more things are added to
that list. Nothing can compare to the loss you feel. Until one day, you
find out that everything else is trivial. All of it. It's all just noise
and a waste of time. In the end, none of it matters.
And
it applies to all aspects of life. Nothing is worth doing. Nothing is
worth getting involved in. Nothing to get excited about. Nothing to care
about. What's the point? This is when drinking and the drugs and the
withdrawal kick in, or kick it up a notch. The less you have to engage
the "real world" the better. Isolation and loneliness become your
antidote to being alone and abandoned. (Hint: telling someone that
whoever died "wouldn't want you to be like this" probably won't work
because "whoever died" knows how much I loved them and they understand
why I'm like this; you cannot expect a rational response where the
deepest, rawest emotions are involved. If you don't know what to say,
own it. Tell them you can't imagine their pain, and hug them if they'll
have it. It will do much more for them.)
One of my
favorite sayings used to be "Nothing is Trivial". It was a good,
ready-made excuse for all the trivia I kept locked in my brain. Then,
suddenly, that all changed. Everything became trivial. When someone
close to you dies, your priorities are forced to change. You have to
reevaluate everything that ever included that person and somehow figure
out a way not to include them. In some cases the answer is a workaround,
at least until a better way presents itself. Some things you have to
relearn from the ground up, or learn for the first time if it was
something the Other was primarily responsible for. And some things, you
simply let go of--or stop doing because letting go is the one thing
that's so hard. The trick is knowing which is which and when to stop.
Reprioritizing is the natural response to your new world. You just need
to remember that even though some things may be less important, it
doesn't mean they are UNimportant. That's a huge difference.
I
have traveled down this road, and the results are not pretty. The house
is a mess, the yard is a wreck, I don't like going outside. I don't
like going out in public. I would have loved to go to my 40th class
reunion, but just...couldn't. It would have been wonderful to see
everyone again. Thankfully--and this is why I have said it over and over
again--I have you. You will never know--cannot possibly know--how
important you have been to me during this period of grieving. I post on
my blogs and my social media, and you respond with words of
encouragement, and likes and loves and sad faces, when words are not
enough or cannot be found. It all means something. Something wonderful
for me. It means someone "out there" is listening and someone out there
cares. About me.
Over the course of this summer of
self-imposed seclusion I have been very fortunate to have a couple of
true friends who check up on me daily. Just to make sure I'm still
breathing. And I check up on them, too. Because that's what friends do.
I
started therapy today, perhaps overdue, but you know me, I like to try
doing things myself until I figure out I can't. I'm not in a bad place,
but I haven't made any progress lately, and have lost a little ground
here and there about some things while gaining ground in others. I
already feel better just for having taken a step. (Plus, it gets me out
of the house, right?) Recovery is never easy and you shouldn't have to
do it alone. So thank you all again for being there for me when I needed
you. And especially you two, who have meant the world to me these past
couple of months.
So now you all know how not to
become a hermit. It's no way to live. And when you see or hear about
some lonely old person, remember my words and don't become them. And
maybe, just smile at them and say "Hi". That might be all it takes to
bring them out of their shell.
