The Five Things I Have Learned Since Becoming a Widow – The Fourth Thing – Facing “The Monsters”

September 21, 2019October 26, 2019 Our Class Cee Life copingwithgrief, grief, griefsupport, loss, lossofchild, lossofparent, lossofspouse, organdonation, remembering, trauma

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I could feel her looking at me. As people stood near me and we talked, I could feel her moving around the room so that her eyes could find me. I glanced at her often, making quick eye contact and wondered, why was she crying? After nearly thirty minutes, we approached each other and I unknowingly put my head into the mouth of that monster.

Facing the Monsters

It’ hard to label this lesson that I’ve learned. Some people may call it bravery, but I’m not brave, I’m just the one left behind to draw breath every day since I’ve lost my love. And I hate being called brave. Some people may call it perseverance, or determination… it doesn’t matter. Whatever you want to call it, I’ve termed it, “Walking Into the Mouth of the Monster!”

The first year after someone dies is always heavily focused upon. The first birthday without them. The first holiday they aren’t sitting around the table, the first anniversary of their death. These are hard. They are grueling. But getting through those events does not mean that we just tick off some little box saying, “Done!” and move on as though that grief thing is now finished.

Having lost my father when I was a little girl, I am all too aware of the lingering pain at every important event that follows the loss. Years and even decades later, the hurt is still there. The pain of a first date he never saw, a confirmation or graduation. The wedding day he wasn’t there to walk me down the aisle, the grandchildren he wasn’t physically there to hold. Every important event, even though it was joyful, it was still laced with the undeniable pain of loss. It’s as though the old scarred wound suddenly burst open once again and weeped.

While major events are hard, there are also little things that become hard, if not impossible after a loss. These are the things that many people who have not experienced grief may not understand. For me, cleaning out my late husband’s truck or stepping into his woodturning shop was a reminder of him. Both were filled with his personal things sitting as a reminder of how he left them the last time that he touched them. Walking into his old office and putting his personal things into a box, touching the things that he last touched, each little thing is huge! So huge and powerful that I have called them monsters.

They sit and wait for us, with their mouths wide open, sharp teeth ready to pierce our hearts as we try to navigate life. People around us may not understand. They may think, “It’s just a room, why can’t you sit in it? It’s not a big deal!” I work in the building where my husband and I worked together and I have yet to sit down in his old office. It IS just a room, and it looks very different now from what it did then (a woman works in there now and she has cleaned it, organized it, and made it look so much better than when he was in there… sorry John, but it’s true!). Just walking into that room for the first time was like putting my head into a lion’s mouth and hoping the jaws didn’t snap around me. I remember stopping outside of the space, my feet frozen and thinking to myself, “You need to do this.” Then, I took a deep breath and entered the room – for less than a minute, but I did it! And then I checked my little mental box “DONE,” and moved on to the next monster that waited for me…. with it’s mouth wide open and ready to snap if it so chose.

First Death Anniversary Event

On the first anniversary of John’s death, I was ironically invited to celebrate the gift of life that he gave in donating his corneas. You can read about his gift HERE. Deciding to go was not easy. A part of me thought that this was the perfect way to honor his death anniversary while another part of me feared that monster, and the results that would be felt by sticking my head into its mouth.

I decided to go, and I’m both glad and sorry that I did. Once I got there, I could feel my pulse quicken, my body shake, and my stomach gurgle. But I was doing this for him, and for me. The more monsters I conquered, the fewer that remained. This was a life lesson that I had learned long ago, but the monsters around losing a husband and soulmate are very different from the monsters of losing a parent. They are more aggressive, and they are more sneaky.

remembering and honoring an organ donor, coping with grief. — I attended a remembrance ceremony for my husband almost exactly one year after he died, and I put my head in the mouth of this monster.

I was asked to bring a photo of my husband, and possibly share a little bit about him. When I got there, I was greeted by compassionate and kind people. I found my place at a table and sat down with my picture and the order of the service. The service was held at the clinic/hospital where John died, another monster. We started with a flag ceremony outside of the hospital entrance. I could remember coming out to this exact spot for some fresh air and sunshine during several of the 83 days that I lived in the hospital with him before he died. I could remember pacing back and forth on the very sidewalk I now stood on, arguing with insurance companies. I could remember driving up to those doors to help John from the wheelchair into the car so that we could go home, only to return a few days later with a new problem. This was an unforeseen monster, and I stood there with tears streaming down my face as I said the Pledge of Allegiance and listened to the minister share some words about our losses. I cried because the last time that I stood in this spot I had not idea that I would return as a donor family. I had not idea then that I would lose him so soon, and so suddenly.

After the outdoor opening, we returned inside and everyone sat quietly, each of us facing our own monsters. Then the sharing began. Those who received organ transplants stood and talked about how grateful they were to the people who had given their lives new meaning, and I was so proud of my husband for being one of those people – again… read HERE to find out about his donation.

Then it was my turn to share. One member from each family group stood up, holding their picture and shared something about their loved one. I shared the story of how John ended up becoming an organ donor, something that was a last minute decision… and again… you can read that story HERE. I then sat down, having successfully put my head in the mouth of that monster. After about an hour, the ceremony was finished and it was time to mingle with the others who had gathered there.

organ donation and facing fear and coping with loss — Amanda and I at the Organ Donor Remembrance Ceremony

I spoke with several people, and during each conversation I could feel her looking at me. As people stood near me and we talked, I could feel her moving so that her eyes could find me. I glanced at her often, making quick eye contact and wondered, why was she crying? She hadn’t gotten up to share anything, and with her nametag on, I could see that she was an employee of the clinic/hospital. After nearly thirty minutes, we approached each other and I unknowingly put my head into the mouth of that monster.

We stood before each other, her eyes sad and filled with tears. She grabbed my hand and introduced herself. “My name is Amanda,” she said while visibly choking back tears. “I recognized your husband from the picture. I was the nurse that met your husband in the ultrasound room when the code blue was called.” She took a breath, eyes brimming with tears and then finished facing her own monster, “I’m so sorry for your loss. I wanted you to know that I was with him the entire time, I was the first to arrive and I never left his side.” And with that, my own eyes began to fill with tears and the monster now had both of our fates in its mouth. “And I’ve never forgotten him,” she finished.

I think I thanked her. I hope I thanked her. I know I hugged her. The truth is, that unseen monster took my breath away, but I’m so happy that she came up to me and shared that story. It broke my heart, but it also gave me peace in knowing that in his final hour on this earth, a compassionate nurse cared enough to stay with him. If you would like to read about the day he died, it is a two part story, HERE is part one.

After the ceremony, I went back to my RV with my girls and sat down in the bathroom, waiting for the vomit to come. I could feel it, my stomach gurgling an my emotions so raw, but it never came. After sitting there for a long time, it was time to get going. Children needed to be fed, a campsite needed to be set up, and then I could take care of myself. I ate little that night, food once again was unappealing. I found myself suddenly crying several times and my girls were visibly worried about me. It took a long time to recover from that event, and now…almost a year later, I hope to be invited again. That monster isn’t gone, it sits and waits for me and I’ll have to take it on over and over again. In order to move forward in life, I have to face this monster and all of the others that sit and wait for me.

I wish you the best in facing your own monsters, and pray that you can create plans to confront them and move forward. I’d love to hear your monster stories! Email them to me!

Our ClassCee Life provides general educational information from someone who has experienced great loss. You should not substitute information on the Our ClassCee Life website for professional advice.

If you, or someone you care about is dealing with grief, HERE are some tips for coping with grief from people who are dealing with it themselves!