The waves of grief

[DWS]

I was hit with another huge wave of grief last night while texting with my partner Tom's daughter. The weekend was a difficult one to begin with as I spent it raking and mulching the ton of leaves that fell over the course of the past week. Getting out there alone to do this chore without Tom's eagerness and silly jokes filled with me such emptiness and the silence was deafening. It took about four hours but I did manage to get the leaves into bags, my compost bin and garden beds. There's still plenty more to fall so this fun ain't over yet. 

But it turned out, I wasn't the only one missing Tom. His daughter had spent part of the day yesterday going through some of her dad's stuff and found a photo of him from 1956 when he was only two years old. We both marvel at how similar her young son looks like his grandfather when he was a young boy. In the photo, two year old Tom was standing and petting a German Shephard. I said to his daughter that Tom never mentioned the dog before to me. She doesn't remember him saying anything either and then remarked that she had a lot of regrets that she didn't have more conversations with him and listen to him more. I tried to reassure her that most of us end up with such regret. I know that there are so many questions that I wish I could now ask my own father. 

Then she texted another pic of her grandfather who had died before she and her brothers were born. He died at age 67...the same age that Tom passed away. Tom and I had had a few discussions about his dad dying so early and that he was just hoping to get past that age. Tom's brother who is two years older had a massive stroke at age 67 but managed to survive it and it was either Tom's grandfather or perhaps his uncle (or both) that also died at that age. 

What this topic did for me was clear up my confusion on that number 67 and it brought on a huge wave of grief. Throughout this time, I had been wondering was it 57 or 67 that Tom and I discussed and now it's confirmed. I fell apart immediately yesterday. He was only ten days from turning 68...healthy and fit with no indication that his life would be ending. It now seems like it was all in the cards. We only got four years together. I can't get past how cruel that that's all we were meant to have.

[Ronni_W]

Dear DWS, "waves" of grief. The 'frequency' and 'amplitude' of our waves of grief. Science (and neuroscience), as related to our human experience and sense of loss and grief, have not even started to figure it out. I think maybe because anyone's given sense of loss and grief is too individual, too personal, too unique, for there to be some kind of scientific/ neuro-scientific 'one-size-fits-all' theory...from which they can then start their 'surveys' and 'formal experiments' to reach the required threshold or 'standard' to make it a "fact" instead of just still a stupid theory. (It'll always be just a stupid theory, in my mind, because it is so bloody unique and individual for each and every griever.)

In my own experience, the frequency and the amplitude of our personal, individual, unique waves of our emotions do fluctuate to extraordinary highs and extraordinary lows. And then, at some point (not in a linear-time way), it does start to balance itself out, and then doesn't hit us quite so hard as it used to, anymore. It still hits us, but the with a lesser amplitude and not quite so often.

I would offer to you that I noticed that your tried to reassure Tom's daughter that feelings of regret are normal and natural. Hopefully she will have taken that on board, and start to stop feeling guilty about how things went, when Tom was alive. It's a difficult thing, but you're doing what you can to help her with it. So, I wanted to acknowledge you for that.

As to whether or not we live in an actually cruel world or existence...I myself am still trying to come to my own decisions and conclusions about that.

Love and hugs, Ronni

[DWS]

I read this comment earlier that an older man wrote to console someone in mourning on a Reddit chat years ago. It went viral because of how true and significant it is....

"As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything…and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.”

[steveb1]

That Reddit post is incredibly insightful and beautifully written. Thank you for sharing. 

[KayC]

21 hours ago, DWS said:

It now seems like it was all in the cards. We only got four years together.

I feel for you...George and I met in our mid-40s, it was five days after his 51st birthday when he died, yet his old man (I can't call him his father and he never acted the part) lived on.  We knew each other 6 1/2 years, but were only married 3 years, 8 months, it seemed like a cruel joke, that he should be gone, just as our lives together had begun!  How long we had awaited our time together!

[KayC]

11 hours ago, Ronni_W said:

I think maybe because anyone's given sense of loss and grief is too individual, too personal, too unique, for there to be some kind of scientific/ neuro-scientific 'one-size-fits-all' theory...from which they can then start their 'surveys' and 'formal experiments' to reach the required threshold or 'standard' to make it a "fact" instead of just still a stupid theory. (It'll always be just a stupid theory, in my mind, because it is so bloody unique and individual for each and every griever.)

Thank you for shedding this light on it, makes sense!  In other words, they're trying to make fact and logic out of what we all know is very unique and individual..  We don't need their scientific claims, we live it.

@DWS Thank you for sharing about grief coming in waves, another one I've saved! 

[CharliesM0m2012]

10 hours ago, DWS said:

As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

Never heard this before, but omg it’s true.   Personally I haven’t been coping as well as I make out to to an outside audience, and I have had too many bad days as I come to terms w/ a new normal.   I’ve just made my enquiry about treatment / therapy at a Priory Hospital that specialises in mental health and mental health after bereavement.   It’s not cheap, and it will have waiting lists, and I know it will be horrible for my family, etc that I will be in a hospital for Christmas maybe but this is the kindest thing I’ve done for myself and the best decision.   I just want to feel a bit more normal and to be given the tools to cope with these bad days 

[KayC]

I wish you well with it @CharliesM0m2012  I take it you'll be admitted?  Brave!  I want as far away from a hospital as possible, mental or otherwise.  Check in with us as you are able.

[widower2]

On 10/31/2022 at 10:18 PM, DWS said:

I read this comment earlier that an older man wrote to console someone in mourning on a Reddit chat years ago. It went viral because of how true and significant it is....

"As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything…and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.”

Very apt and I agreed all the way...until the part about "The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to." Say what? Speaking just for me of course hell YES I want them to stop (although at this point in the game they are far less frequent) and wish I'd never experienced a single damn one...but that was impossible. 

Another analogy I've used is that it's like strolling through a mine field; you never know when you'll take a step and * boom * something sets it (you) off. 

[Ronni_W]

1 hour ago, widower2 said:

Another analogy I've used is that it's like strolling through a mine field; you never know when you'll take a step and * boom * something sets it (you) off. 

Yep! That's much closer to how I've experienced it myself. Do you mind if I use that analogy...with proper credit, of course.

I also agree with you, widower2 -- I find no pleasure or gratification in emotional pain/trauma/suffering, so I definitely, most strongly do want any and all waves of this kind of grief to stop, cease and desist! 🥰. That would make me most happy!

[Gail 8588]

I described it as falling through a trap door.  

I would be shuffling along in my zombie life, going through the motions of living, doing the stuff that needed to be done and out of the blue I would fall through a trap door that dropped me into the black abyss of grief again. My world was in tatters. The fabric of the universe was shredded.  There was no solid ground beneath my feet. All because a song came on the the store's musack system, because a Kingfisher bird flew past me, or some one spoke a phrase just like he did.  These little trap doors couldn't be prepared for like a holiday or birthday you knew was coming.  But they would destroy my sense of having made any progress at all in learning to live with my grief.  I was back at the beginning, just trying to breathe. Struggling to stand. 

Those days are gone for me now.  I'm glad to say I haven't fallen through a trap door in a couple of years now.

Gail

 

[KayC]

I wouldn't say it's true that the waves never stop coming because somewhere along the way over the last 17 years they did.  I just don't remember when, you notice them when they come, not so much when they quit.  And no, me neither, not a glutton for punishment.

[DWS]

2 hours ago, KayC said:

I wouldn't say it's true that the waves never stop coming because somewhere along the way over the last 17 years they did.  I just don't remember when, you notice them when they come, not so much when they quit.  And no, me neither, not a glutton for punishment.

I find this to be true. In an earlier post, I had mentioned the loss of my very close, longtime friend Lori. Come early December this year, it will be 14 years since she passed. She died after a year dealing with ovarian cancer. We met in our early 20s and bonded over our love of music plus loving each other's quirks and curiousities for life and love. For years after her death, tears welled in my eyes whenever I'd think of her or attempted to tell stories about her. At the beginning of this year, I watched the Carole King and James Taylor documentary showcasing their 50 year friendship...two people who maintained this long bonding because of their love of music...and grief hit me like a tidal wave as it reminded me of my friendship with Lori, all of the crazy wildness of our times together, and how we'd be just like Carole and James if she were still alive today (although with much much less money). I sure wasn't ready for that when I innocently sat down and turned on the TV.  

[foreverhis]

On 10/31/2022 at 7:18 PM, DWS said:

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them.

I could not agree more.  After 4 years, the waves are no longer tsunamis.  They don't come as often and they aren't as high, but they are there.  Yet, I don't want them to stop completely because that would mean forgetting why they come in the first place.  Not that I could ever forget or stop missing my love.  Today's softer nudges are miles away from the constant stabbing pain from the shards of my broken heart of the first couple of years, but I relish those nudges. those reminders inside that my John was here and remains present for me still.

[DWS]

Another huge wave of grief hit me this morning triggered by, of all things, this evening's airing of the third season of Star Trek's Picard.  I've mentioned it a few times over the past months that my partner Tom was a big fan of the  original Star Trek series and its various spinoffs. I enjoyed a bit of Star Trek over the years but when Tom entered my life, I got much more into it. Tom wasn't one of those crazy Trekkie convention fans but his gained knowledge of all of it was fascinating and something I grew to love about him.  The two of us had so much humble enjoyment watching those familiar episodes together. I haven't really watched much of the current Picard series but learned that this season, it's bringing back the past crew of The Next Generation series. Tom would be in his absolute glory seeing this.

This is sadly something that I can only share with people here. It's amazing how these grief waves can just suddenly come out of nowhere and overwhelm us.  I'm hoping I feel Tom's presence while I watch the show this evening.

[DWS]

On 10/31/2022 at 10:18 PM, DWS said:

"Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.”

I was glad that I dug up my original "waves of grief" post this morning because I had forgotten about that insightful quote I read on a Reddit discussion. I do admit that the waves have more distance between them now but getting smacked with one today made me wonder just when or how this will get easier. When we run out of triggers? 

[movingon]

@LostThomaswe used to watch that series as well every Sunday night, and record it if we weren't going to stay up late. I cannot watch it now, I tried to watch an episode a few weeks ago, I had to turn it off after not even 5 minutes. I will never watch it again. It was too emotional and too painful because he loved it even more than I. I decided I didn't need the additional grief it brought on. Too much. 

[Alone. Again.]

2 hours ago, LostThomas said:

 Special events are one thing, but losing the warmth of routine has been a major unexpected sadness for me.

I agree, this is unbearably hard. There are so many horrendous elements to losing your person. 

3 hours ago, maud said:

It was too emotional and too painful because he loved it even more than I. I decided I didn't need the additional grief it brought on. Too much. 

I can't watch anything we watched together. I avoid everything like the plague. Maybe one day I may find comfort in it, but I find those painful reminders too difficult to bear.

[foreverhis]

3 hours ago, LostThomas said:

I miss our shopping trips even though we always went in different directions.  But we entered the store together and left the store together.

This resonates for me so much.  We'd go shopping together and I would have the list, but once in the store, John would aimlessly wander (his term) looking at things, considering trying something new, and once our daughter had our granddaughter, more often than not finding some fun thing that John was sure she absolutely had to have.  And if grandpa wants to spoil his girls within the bounds of our budget (and maybe a little more sometimes), I was always going to say, "Great idea, honey."  We'd meet at the registers.  He'd chat with the checkers and I'd pay with our joint credit card.  Then he'd joke to the checkers we knew, "I'm a kept man..." on our way out. 

We went to the farmers markets together almost every week, so we had relationships with our favorite growers.  He always, always remembered to thank them for "growing our food" because we did home grown veggies as well and we know how much work it takes.  I couldn't face the markets for a few months and when I finally braved it, I had to tell so many people.  It was hard.  Harder still was, for example, picking out six Persian cucumbers (our favorite) and then realizing I was shopping only for me, putting three back, and letting the tears come.  I got quite a bit of complimentary produce that autumn because our farmers had no other way to show they cared.  That meant a lot to me.

[KayC]

17 hours ago, LostThomas said:

I miss our shopping trips

This was a big one for me...we'd make a day of it as our grocery store is 50 miles away...we'd buy a pizza and take it to friends and visit them, then get groceries on the way home, him usually by my side but sometimes venturing off to find something, he'd come back smiling!  I watched the clerk ring things up while he bagged the groceries, he'd bring them into the house while I put them away.  To this day it's hard to watch other couples doing this.  They're a team even when they don't think about it.  I lost the other half of my team many years ago.