The Second Year
In widow circles, there is much discussion of the second and subsequent years after the loss of a spouse in terms of difficulty, stress, and emotion. Thoughts and opinions vary widely, as grief and our reaction to it is unpredictable and highly personal. We are all just taking it as it comes. These are my thoughts on the topic.
In some ways the second year is easier. The firsts are over. Everyone has had their birthday, and we have lived through each holiday without him here. The new normal starts to feel actually normal. There are still days I get angry that the new normal even exists, but, I have come to a place of acceptance. And most days, I don't try to fight reality anymore. It is what it is. I may not have picked this life but it's not like I can quit now because "life is for the living", as Michael's friend so wisely told me. The children have shifted into their new roles of greater independence and self-sufficiency. There is a certain feeling of survival. We made it. We did it. We survived a whole year without him.
And then it hit me. We haven't seen him in a year? That seems crazy, and like it's been too long. I felt like I had been so focused on survival I hadn't thought past it (past surviving). And then, I got sad. And then I felt sort of just a little bit lost. I think I felt a little like I just wanted to stop here and stay in this moment. Stay close to where he was with us. Instead, I started to feel like everything we did was taking us further and further from him. It almost seemed like we were walking away from a place and time when we were a family. In my head, it seemed that every new memory and experience was taking the children a few more steps away from their father. The kids have been to Florida four times, twice with their dad, and twice without. It hit me hard. It struck me how much of life was left to lived without him here. From lacrosse games, to dance recitals, and weddings, there is so much he is going to miss. There is so many times we will miss him.
My kids attend a bereavement "club". One week, my son's group built something out of popsicle sticks and then they were told to smash it. Their structure was a representation of their life; it was going smoothly and everything was looking good, and then their loved one died and it seemed like it came crashing down and was broken to bits. After this, the children were instructed to take the broken pieces and build something new. Their leaders told them that they could still build something beautiful and wonderful with the broken pieces. I loved this activity. What a great way for an 8 year old child to SEE the process of rebuilding.
A few months after the year "anniversary". I was telling a friend how sometimes I was having trouble moving forward. That sometimes I felt like each new day was as step away from what once was. She smiled a sort of knowing smile and said, "Beth, it is just you picking up your popsicle sticks and building something new with them, and that is what he would want you to do." Oh my friends, they are so smart, and so good to me.
First year, second year, tenth year, twentieth year......it is a process. I am starting to think that on some levels it is never ending. And most certainly you never know when it will hit you or how. On the whole, our lives are good, and normal. We have been resilient and weathered a stormy sea that at times seemed overwhelming. We have held on to each other through the sad days and loved each other through this thing. Life is moving forward. We aren't stuck. We are rebuilding. I am proud of us.
In some ways the second year is easier. The firsts are over. Everyone has had their birthday, and we have lived through each holiday without him here. The new normal starts to feel actually normal. There are still days I get angry that the new normal even exists, but, I have come to a place of acceptance. And most days, I don't try to fight reality anymore. It is what it is. I may not have picked this life but it's not like I can quit now because "life is for the living", as Michael's friend so wisely told me. The children have shifted into their new roles of greater independence and self-sufficiency. There is a certain feeling of survival. We made it. We did it. We survived a whole year without him.
And then it hit me. We haven't seen him in a year? That seems crazy, and like it's been too long. I felt like I had been so focused on survival I hadn't thought past it (past surviving). And then, I got sad. And then I felt sort of just a little bit lost. I think I felt a little like I just wanted to stop here and stay in this moment. Stay close to where he was with us. Instead, I started to feel like everything we did was taking us further and further from him. It almost seemed like we were walking away from a place and time when we were a family. In my head, it seemed that every new memory and experience was taking the children a few more steps away from their father. The kids have been to Florida four times, twice with their dad, and twice without. It hit me hard. It struck me how much of life was left to lived without him here. From lacrosse games, to dance recitals, and weddings, there is so much he is going to miss. There is so many times we will miss him.
My kids attend a bereavement "club". One week, my son's group built something out of popsicle sticks and then they were told to smash it. Their structure was a representation of their life; it was going smoothly and everything was looking good, and then their loved one died and it seemed like it came crashing down and was broken to bits. After this, the children were instructed to take the broken pieces and build something new. Their leaders told them that they could still build something beautiful and wonderful with the broken pieces. I loved this activity. What a great way for an 8 year old child to SEE the process of rebuilding.
A few months after the year "anniversary". I was telling a friend how sometimes I was having trouble moving forward. That sometimes I felt like each new day was as step away from what once was. She smiled a sort of knowing smile and said, "Beth, it is just you picking up your popsicle sticks and building something new with them, and that is what he would want you to do." Oh my friends, they are so smart, and so good to me.
First year, second year, tenth year, twentieth year......it is a process. I am starting to think that on some levels it is never ending. And most certainly you never know when it will hit you or how. On the whole, our lives are good, and normal. We have been resilient and weathered a stormy sea that at times seemed overwhelming. We have held on to each other through the sad days and loved each other through this thing. Life is moving forward. We aren't stuck. We are rebuilding. I am proud of us.
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