Universe of Radness

Category: Hey Julie

  • Fatigue in Grieving

    I don’t know if it’s being awake abruptly and jumping right to getting Jonah ready for his day of school, or something else, but the desire to go right back to sleep is intense.  I am a widower, so there is the added weight of constantly having to readjust to the missing pieces that were my wife.  As I am learning from online lectures from doctors in the field of neuroscience, there are a lot of unseen factors that can cause physical fatigue even if there hasn’t been strenuous activity involved. 

    In my self-designated solitude, I haven’t found open communication with others to be the easiest thing now that my wife is dead.  When she was alive, there was always an undercurrent of suspicion that I would speak the worst about her.  To get the sympathies of my chosen audience.

    When the truth was, I would express myself to anyone who would listen, that I trusted, for perspective.  I knew I wasn’t in the right at every complication.  I knew I wasn’t to blame fully for the challenges we faced either.  I knew I needed help from someone who wasn’t a part of our day-to-day.  And, that was a part of my constant fatigue that no one knew about.  Having to be on alert constantly for what I may do next to complicate an already unaddressed complicated marriage.

    There were countless times we’d be in discussion, and I’d have to remind her, “If you are hoping that me changing will make this relationship better, you’re setting us up for a major failure.”  It is impossible for two people to come together to share a life of mutual growth and development, and only one changes.  Evolution had to be a foundational goal for us both to be able to have made it seventeen years together.  They were not all great, beautiful, painless evolution.  

    Even reviewing what was a major source of frustration for the two of us is draining.  The fatigue I am battling now is more than just physical movement.  It’s also emotional movements.  Memories weigh a ton too.  My memories have my part that I played in them intertwined with the fact that I will never be able to make amends for the challenges we faced as a married couple.  I can only move forward learning the lessons that those memories are here to teach me. 

    How do I face the present challenges to be energetic and strong, when I am consistently on the verge of an emotional revelation that could derail my entire day, week, month, year…?  Has the future always been so tiring and fragile?  Or am I now seeing what has always been?  Has the emotional challenge to keep pace with a life that changes on a dime always been a part of our experience?

    Here I am racing against a clock I can’t see, to accomplish tasks that won’t last long enough for me to enjoy what life we have left.  Racing to make sure a late payment on a bill doesn’t result in another fiasco that I have to scramble to keep from getting too far out of my ability to maintain some level of control.  Racing to remember to shower more than I do for the sake of my physical hygiene.  Racing to get more rest when Jonah goes to school due to lost sleep through the night for various reasons.

    No wonder I feel tired.  I do a lot of mental and emotional running all day long. 

  • Blindsided When Someone Dies (Hey Julie – 5)

    Hey Julie, 

    What I appreciate about this morning’s time away from my house is that I used it to think about my habits.  What are the things that are driving me towards healing, and what are the things that are keeping me from experiencing the healing that is available to me?  Why does it feel like every new day is another sign of my time slipping away?  I feel so aimless now that you’re gone.  

    We would talk about it, but not get very far because of our defenses trying to protect what little pride we may have had in ourselves individually.  We wouldn’t get very far because a number of things actually.  There was my fear of having to actually do life on my own without you.  The distraction in my thoughts of how I would mourn you, and then find someone new.  I can barely stand being with myself long enough to write these words.  

    Too much digging leads to general fatigue.  And, I’m tired of being tired.  I’m tired of digging for why I’m tired most every day I wake up.  I’m tired of wondering when I will feel motivated enough to want to seek out more for me and Jonah.  I wonder when I won’t be so afraid to get close to him.  Your death has affected more than just my now having to live in the memories of you.

    I honestly struggle now to get close to anyone.  I understand mentally that there is healing in community, but there’s also a lot of death and loss too.  There’s a lot that goes into building relationships, only to have them end for whatever reason.  It’s the fragility of human life that is my biggest challenge right now.  How life can end so quickly.  The transition to life with you and life without you has been very rough.  You were such a hustler for our family’s business.  You were always “busting butt” to get your next idea out of your head, and into the world.

    I’m left with caring for our son and wondering when I will be able to get back to busting my butt for our family.  It doesn’t feel like I’m hustling for much of anything other than getting our 2nd son to his appointments daily.  Meanwhile, I have no appointments other than the appointment to get back in bed for more rest.  And maybe this habit of writing?

    But what about the habits that were built into our life together?   What about the habits we did daily?  Those habits have just had to die outwardly and be forgotten inwardly.  How does anyone just forget a life they were living every day? No, I don’t have the urge to call you.  I know where your phone is and that you won’t answer it.

    The part that hurts about that fact is that I don’t know where you are.  I don’t know what you are doing.  I don’t know what it looks like to see with your new eyes.  Did you even get new eyes?  Do you have a favorite meal yet?  Do you have to shower now?  When I heard that I’m not the only one who struggles to remember to continue the habits that keep me and my environment healthy, I felt a little relief from the weight of grief. 

    I continue to seek out resources to help me manage this new, unknown life of widowerhood.  You could say it’s been one of my consistent habits since we heard the news of the cancer diagnosis.  It’s been an information overload ever since.  I might be overloading with information so I don’t have to continue to feel the pain of your absence as if it just happened.  But with every memory that flashes across the screen of my headspace, there is a new reality I have without the evolution of that moment.

    Isn’t that what the future is anyways?  The evolution of moments past? There’s still time for me to continue in an evolution process.  We all face death eventually.  I’d just like mine to be a little more than I have become.  I have become someone who hides from the light.  Figuratively and literally.  The light will expose too much of my life of pain, but we’ve all lived lives of pain.  That’s what growing is.  Expanding my capabilities to experience more and more: people, places, things.

    Is this how I am going to deal with traumas from now on?  Barely make it out of bed only to get back into it.  Will sorrow be my default emotion for the rest of my life?  Will I ever allow myself to feel like writing is worth its weight in gold?  Even if that weight is covered in grief.  Would this transition have been any easier if we’d had more time together?  Or, would it have made things even harder because of the intertwining of lives further in the midst of immense pain and suffering?

    I have my selfish reasons for wanting you back next to me physically.  But, then I remember you using words like “excruciating” and “agony” to describe your comfort level.  As if anyone could ever be comfortable with the type of cancer destroying your body.  But, not your mind.  Your mind was as sharp as it ever was right until you went to sleep, and then died. 

    It’s surreal to write out that you are dead.  All there is when I survey my body is numbness.  When I think about it, that’s how I feel with most of my life.  Numb.  Is that good? Or, do I have an issue I need help with?  It’s these sorts of things the world could be better prepared to address when death makes its home in our lives.  Being aware of the blindsiding effects of when someone dies. 

  • Discovering Beauty While Grieving (Hey Julie – 4)

    Hey Julie,

    Though you aren’t physically here with me, your memory is almost as real as anything else at times.  I’m still in the house we were building into a home.  There were so many derails in the course of our time together, but there were many more successful adventures.  One of them is sitting next to me eating his regular breakfast.  The other is a 45-minute drive on I-65 to Midway University.

    We woke up this morning, and both of us got moving.  Our adventure hasn’t stopped yet.  In fact, each day is a new installment.  Days with built-in structure are the easiest, and the hardest at times.  I feel like I should be doing more for what remains than I am doing.  I just don’t have the energy to do things for myself.  Not lately.  As I type this sitting in our spot out back, I am surrounded by the budding of a new spring.  Another spring without your presence.  The plumage is returning, decorating the landscapes that are waiting for me to go adventure out into them.

    Yet, with my mornings, I’d rather eat and sleep.  Don’t get me started on the lack of motivation to want to stay vertical once I’m awake.  It’s unlike a depression I have ever experienced.  If you’re still within line of sight of this life, now you see the hidden things I didn’t even remember myself.  If you are a saint who sits in the clouds and prays for us who are still navigating life in this dangerous world, do help me.  

    I remember the beauty in being young and hopeful that I would tap into that one thing that would wow a nation.  I spend most of my time listening to, and falling in and out of sleep on videos of men wow’ing a nation every night.  Professional sports has also given me a beautiful break from the harsh reality of having to rebuild a devastated life. 

    I feel so vacant.  I feel so hollow.  I feel the time I can never get back ticking away.  I want to feel you again, though, Julie.  And then I feel trapped.  Like I’m not really getting any bigger than the loss you have been.  At times, I feel like I’m ignoring the facts of what your absence means.  In this void and quiet chaos, I fail to find the beauty of life.  Especially a life without you.  The surreality that I now take on the roles of everything for our sons. 

    And I wonder, who decides when the weight to bear has become too much?   This is a whole new kind of “Not Easy.” 

    Eventually, I’ll find something to be passionate for myself.  Eventually. Eventually the beauty will break through, and inspire.

  • Hey Julie – 3

    Hey Julie, 

    I miss you so much. I love you. But this life without you has been like a year of disorientation. It’s not just in my waking hours, but even in my dreams. Some parts of my life are still moving like you were here, especially in my dreams. I’m chasing you, or the ghost of you, only to find that the ghost has moved on to a whole new existence filled with its own excitement. Meanwhile, the life we were building together is a shattered dream.

    It’s been a year of this, where I try to figure out what you were doing in your life, only to find that you were building a life where you would be the leader for the foreseeable future. A future we all hoped would come to pass. One that we were building to benefit as many people as we could with our family’s decision to start a business.

    Now, I’m navigating a present of censorship, semi-isolation, and rebuilding in many ways on my own. I know I’m not alone, but a lot of what has happened in the past year has made me have to reevaluate how I live without you. How I can carry on the legacy of what you stood for, and of what our goals were. You’re no longer here for us to work together to see how far we could go in building a resource that would benefit more than just us.

    You’re no longer here to guide the direction of our joint life, and all the benefits and challenges that come with it. The challenges of co-parenting. The benefits of having our own sources of income not dependent on a standard 9-5 job. The anticipatory excitement of having a world open up to us in ways we never dreamed of when we were younger.

    The “what ifs” surrounding integrating your death into our lives are strong indicators that I need to seek recovery. I’m grateful that I stumbled upon Grief Recovery, as it has the potential to keep the “what ifs” of dealing with death from spiraling further. Grief Recovery might be my path to “stop the bleeding” of hopeless grieving. Grieving without goals is tough, especially since moving on without you and your profound presence wasn’t part of the plan when we said “I do.”

    Yes, I still remember that we agreed, “in sickness and in health…til death do us part.” But death has torn us apart. Now, I’m wondering what it means for all the things we were building. What do I do with the past that was creating a shared present leading to an incredible future…together? You’re irreplaceable in every way. We never prepared for this reality. The “til death do us part” part.

    I wonder who has ever prepared for the death part of the vow? Who has entered a marriage relationship with the intention of living a life of togetherness without their partner? It’s a morbid thought, but you and I did it for seven years. We faced the worst news anyone could ever have, and we survived. We moved daily, we had our lives, and we were together. At times, we were inseparable. The two of us and our boys. Exploring.

    Now, I explore a new reality without you. My dear Julie, my beloved wife, you are deeply missed.  I just dropped our 2nd son off at school, and returned to our home where I walked in the backyard.  I was hit with a memory.

    The memory was a moment of hoping that when I walked in the backdoor, you would be asleep in the bed awaiting my return with coffee.  For almost two years, that was our routine.  I would run the morning errands, and return with a gift to help get your day started.  I can’t decide on if I want this particular memory to include your habit of cigarette smoking, but to be honest is the way forward.  

    Just like that, I looked up in our actual backyard to see our outdoor dining furniture.  The deck that we had built to host friends and family in the summer for swimming.  The pool cover that hasn’t been removed in two years.  The pool I don’t know if I will ever use again. The pool was a safe haven for us all.  We could melt away, and draw closer together.  

    Maybe this is how you continue to live.  I know it is, but I like laying down for catch-up sleep a little more most mornings. 

  • Hey Julie – 2

    Hey Julie, 

    There has been a new topic to give my energy to.  Something I’ve never heard of in my entire life.  Something that threatens to destroy the “new normal” I thought I had to build in sadness and sorrow.  While it is very sad that you are no longer with us in this experience of life, I’m learning it doesn’t have to remain that way.  There is a decision that can be made to heal.

    I’d never heard of Grief Recovery until two days ago.  The algorithm for when I login to YouTube lately has been kind enough to give me all kinds of perspectives on what it is to Grieve.  Since it wasn’t a topic that was offered in school, I’ve had to inundate my life with trying to understand what it is I’m experiencing.  And, I won’t lie, it’s very monochromatic to daily wake up with the void that was your existence alongside me.  

    What is Grief Recovery, and why haven’t I heard of it until now?  I’ve lost a lot of people throughout the course of my 44 years of living.  Not one of them had the power to crush my motivation like your death.  Everything we either created, or shared in this life is mostly still operating without you.  And, that is a hard reality to wake up to every day.  Grief Recovery has presented the opportunity to heal in a long lasting manor.

    I hate to think that my bride had to die to get me to become motivated about something long lasting.  Healing from the trauma of your unique death is a motivator for sure, but sharing what this trauma has done is a daunting task for me.  We spent a life trying to keep our private lives private.  There’s an undercurrent of fear of what happens when I start digging into where I am in the process of healing from such a painful death.  There’s an undercurrent of fear that the pain of watching you what Multiple Myeloma can do to a person will resurface, and I’ll have to keep reliving that pain.  

    It was hard enough the first time!  Being so helpless as your body was assaulted from the inside is something I want to never feel again.  It’s not something I would hope anyone would ever feel, but the truth is, I am just one person who has little to no power over the fragility of our lives on this planet.  

    It was hard enough to wonder what sort of Creator would create a world where such horrible things can happen to any one of us at any moment in the day.  To wonder such a thing, and still have to work to find meaning in the activities of the day.  It’s so gloomy without you.  It’s so anti-productive without your head of steam to “bust butt” to meet the day’s responsibilities.  It’s hard writing to the memory of you. 

    And, that’s where Grief Recovery has caught my attention.  It is a traumatic thing to be confronted with our mortality so soon.  It was traumatic for me to have been introduced to death at the age of 4.  I didn’t have a place in my life to understand why my grandfather was here one Sunday, and gone the next.  I didn’t know it was the natural course our lives take.  I don’t even think the explanations offered were helpful in giving me language to understand what happened.  

    Grief Recovery acknowledges the trauma of losing that person, whoever they were, to death.  The ripping away of physical interaction in a split second…there are no words to fully encapsulate how devastating it feels to lose someone so close to the heart.  But, the thought that it is possible to recover from such a loss?  I will never get her back in my life as she was, and that doesn’t have to be the end of my life. 

    To recover from the grief of death is a prospect I hope to explore in depth because it’s necessary that I share the lessons we learned together.  It’s important that I keep looking for opportunities to learn lessons.  At this point in the acknowledgment that recovery is available, I do struggle with the power of positive thinking.  Knowing that death can come for anyone, at any time, for any reason is a helluva bag to carry.  

    Grief Recovery allows me to make space to begin to believe that I don’t have to keep carrying the sorrow of the rest of my life without your presence.  It allows me to explore how I can enjoy the memories of you when they pop up, instead of panicking, and trying to distract myself so I don’t feel the pain.  Grief Recovery has the potential of letting my heart heal so I can move into what’s left for me with confidence that it is worth my time and energy to live.  To live with hope that greatness is still possible. 

    Most importantly, the idea of Grief Recovery has given me the space to see that your death, Dear Julie, is something worth recovering from.  Though I will never see you again in this life, I will love you forever with the rest of mine.  Grief Recovery has given me eyes to see the wound in that statement, as well as the healing.  

  • Hey Julie – 1

    Hey Julie,

    Life hasn’t felt the same since you’ve been gone. It’s like a huge piece of me is missing. I can still hear and see you in my head, and I can feel you near me when I close my eyes. But when I open my eyes or look for you, I’m reminded that what’s left of you is just downstairs. What’s left in my head is the endless gap that was your place in our lives.

    That gap has a sound in my head. It’s like super strong Velcro, or the tearing of really thick skin. And you know I’m not great at visualizing things, so it gives me the heebie-jeebies. But that’s how life feels now. It’s like breaking a bone that will never heal. I know what that’s like because I shattered my femur.

    Somehow, this feels like so much more was crushed when we had to say goodbye. You’re dead, but not gone. Here, but not here. It’s all so surreal. I wish I could trust myself to do what’s necessary to start healing what will never fully heal. It might never be as strong as it was before.

    Different.

    Forever different is how I am now. Without you to guide us with your wisdom. Your passion for learning how to run a business. I’m so sorry we didn’t have the time to do it a more proper way. You drove this family to want to be and do more, and that part of me misses you. I can barely decide what to eat or when to eat it.

    Jonah is doing his best with what’s left of my energy, and I’m so grateful that he has school. I miss us having a place to go when we needed to escape the house. He loved his trampoline, and I loved seeing you behind your desks. Big and small, or when you could get down on the floor to sift through the buckets of sea glass.  

    Sometimes, it feels like you’re on a trip to Florida or something for work, and I’m waiting for you to come back. Or, when you started treatment, I drove you to Indianapolis. The waiting for the next time I can drive to see you is tough. It’s just me, our van, and the anticipation of seeing your smile.

    But, I’m reminded that you’re here, but not here forever. Then I wonder… is it my turn next? Is it soon? Life is so different now. Because of what happened recently, everything feels different. The things that used to be important are no longer even on my mind. The goals we had for the future aren’t even goals I think about anymore.

    My life has changed a lot. They were always going to change, but it’s hard to handle the weight of how much they’ve changed. I guess I need to admit it in some way. I’m not alone in this. I know others have gone through what I’m going through, and I know it won’t be the last time.