Today is the tenth anniversary of the day Jeff, my life mate/soul mate, died and to be honest, I don’t really know what to think of it. It seems such a very long time and yet no time at all. Has it really been ten years? It must be. I no longer feel that if I could just reach far enough I could touch him. I no longer expect him to call and tell me I can come home. I am home. For so long, my home was wherever he was, and now my home is where I am.
My life is so different now from what it was with him that it seems as if the loss happened to someone else. I miss him, of course, think about him almost every day, still feel a hole in my heart/life/soul where he once was, but there has been no real upsurge of grief this year. It could be that too many years have passed, but I think it has more to do with my current situation.
Physical pain somehow has a way of overriding any emotional pain, which is why so often, when new grievers get sick or injured, they get a respite from the effects of grief. I know I did. I’ve always hated being sick, hated colds especially since they linger so long in my system, and yet, those first few years after Jeff died, I welcomed those illnesses because it gave me a break from the worst of my grief.
When I was doing the research for my book, Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One, I discovered that the answer to this anomaly has to do with brain fog and the role the brain plays in grief.
Those of us who have lost our mates know that grief is not merely emotional, but also spiritual, physical, and especially mental. The whole brain is involved in the grief process, but the prefrontal cortex is the part of the brain that seems to contribute the most to brain fog, the grief-induced amnesia, dazedness, and fogginess that shroud us after the death of a life mate — the prefrontal cortex is considered the executive branch of the brain and is associated with rational thinking and making sense of emotions, developing and pursuing goals as well as coordinating the brain’s activities. Because we grievers are on total emotional overload, our prefrontal cortex is unable to process all the information it is being fed from all parts of the brain. The more we try to suppress our emotions and try to think our way out of grief, the more overloaded the brain becomes.
When one is assaulted with some sort of physical trauma, such as an illness, the brain seems to heave a huge sigh of relief, as if to say, “This I understand!” No more scurrying around in the far recesses of our minds, looking for the truth of death . . . and life. No more lizard brain screaming for the loss of its survival unit. (We humans are essentially pack animals, and our very survival depends on the strength of this unit, one of the many reasons we are so deeply connected to our life mates.) No more conflicts between fight or flight hormones.
All the brain does is hunker down and send all its resources to getting the body well. And once that’s finished, grief again takes hold.
So what is my situation? A couple of weeks ago, I must have tweaked my knee while asleep because I woke up with a pain that wasn’t too severe, but kept me from doing things I normally would. I could still walk, and so I did. But the knee never got better. And yesterday, when I took a wrong step, my poor knee gave a loud crack (the kind of crack like knuckles cracking not like a bone cracking) and I felt a horrible pain. So not fun! (I now know that trekking poles make good canes.)
So today most of my energy is going toward taking care of my knee. And no, I’m not going to urgent care. (The last I heard, the closest urgent care was closed because of a case of The Bob.) And no, I’m not going to the emergency room. Considering I am in the high-risk group, I’d have to have a bone poking out of my skin before I’d take a chance on being around sick folks. And no, I don’t have a doctor. Even though I’ve been here a year, there was no reason to find one.
So here I am, taking care of my knee, doing the best I can to take care of myself even though I can barely walk. And the tenth anniversary is passing.
I miss not feeling the connection with Jeff — even though it’s only a connection of sorrow and loss — that I generally feel on the anniversaries. It’s the one time I can still feel him in my life, and I miss that. I miss him. I miss us. I miss who I was when I was with him.
The person I am today is a direct result of both my life with him and my grief after him. Is this a good thing? Am I a better person? I don’t know. I do know that, despite the constant barrage of news, all that’s going on in the world seems like . . . life as usual. When you’ve experienced one of the worst things a person can experience, all else seems rather tame.
Despite this almost blasé attitude, you can see that I still do not put myself in harm’s way if at all possible. I owe it to Jeff to live the best life I can, to savor the freedom his death gave to me. It was an inadvertent gift — his dying — but it has given me ten years of learning and experiencing and new beginnings rather than ten years of being worn down taking care of him.
Would I wish it were otherwise? I don’t know because I don’t know that woman any more. All I know is today.
And today, I am forcibly alone, missing Jeff, wondering about that road we could not take together. Would he be proud of the roads I did take? Would he be proud of me? Silly questions, I suppose. Considering the itinerary life handed me, I can’t be other than who I am today.
And today, I am a ten-year grief survivor.
And today, like every day, I miss him.
Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.
March 27, 2020 at 4:41 pm
Thinking of you Pat! I think I’ve been following your adventures for five of those ten years, and I’m always grateful for your insights. Hope the knee heals soon! Treve
March 27, 2020 at 5:08 pm
You’ve offered immeasurable support over the years. Thank you!
March 27, 2020 at 5:12 pm
I never knew Jeff so I don’t know if he’d be proud of you Pat but if he cared for you at all surely he would have to be. Proud of your truthfulness and courage, your willingness to feel, all the journeys you’ve taken over the last 10 years, the way you’ve shared your journey so others can see another’s struggles making theirs not easier but at least enabling them to see the light at the end, all leading to a real home of your own. You are a role model for how to travel the grief journey in a way that allows eventual healing. We carry tender scars but we do heal if we don’t run from the process and you have demonstrated that beautifully. Sending big hugs on this 10th year remembrance and looking forward to your next adventures Pat 🙂 xx
March 27, 2020 at 6:09 pm
You have always been such a staunch supporter. Whenever others have tried to convince me to give up grieving, you were always there — a voice of truth. Thank you for that, and for your kind words.
March 27, 2020 at 5:32 pm
You give me hope and you give me strength
You are so right even at 4 years I not the woman I was when Danny passed. I still miss him and I fo wonder would he be proud of all of us he left behind moving on living the type of life we lived with him
Take care of u knee
March 27, 2020 at 6:12 pm
I’ll take care of my knee, and you continue to take care of yourself as you deal with your own grief and new life.
March 28, 2020 at 12:16 pm
Thank you Pat. I am great full for your thoughts. What you have written of you not only made me cry and you have written beautifully that what I am feeling now. This month I have got to go through our wedding anniversary, her birthday, and mine’s. As you have said physical, mental, and emotional feelings.
Simply I try to stay calm. I continue to survive after two years. Jeff will appreciate heart-fully the way you continue to honer him and the way your tribute to him.
I will be never the same person. I feel I will be never happier again.
As you said
Today like every day I miss her for ever.
Please take care of your health and of your knees.
Keep going with your wonderful writing.
March 28, 2020 at 2:40 pm
One day, you too will look around and wonder what happened to the past ten years. You still have a long way to go, and a lot of sadness still to face, but slowly, day by day, you’re getting there. Meantime, what a sad month you had with all those birthdays and anniversary. I would be willing to bet this will always be a sad month for you, but you will eventually reach a time when it doesn’t hurt so much. Take care of yourself, especially now.
April 20, 2020 at 6:50 am
I am Ciel.I felt sad after I read your article.I think I should send my warmest good wishes to you all. I am a Chinese and maybe in China ,I hardly can see people like you all around me.So,I think you are marvelous .But it is also possible that their
grief is not visible.I hope you get better.And I also want to see your book.I can not find it in Chinese Taobao.Can I buy it in Amazon?I think your book is interesting.
April 20, 2020 at 7:23 am
Yes, you can buy my books on Amazon. Thanks for the good wishes. I agree with you — people tend to hide their grief, which makes grievers feel even lonelier. Take care of yourself.
April 21, 2020 at 6:51 am
Thank you for your blessing，Pat.I don’t know if my English level is a bit naive, but thank you for agreeing with me.
April 21, 2020 at 10:05 am
Your English is fine. Wishing you peace and health.