Does It Get Easier?

I don't know about some of you who are further down the line like I am...but sometimes I feel like I'm doing a disservice to the newbies when I tell them it gets easier.

I don't mean to and it's not like I'm lying - I think the problem is that "easier" isn't the right word.

And I don't know what is.

Let's see...the synonyms for "easier" are the following:

calmer (Uh...no.  That doesn't apply.)
relaxed (Are you kidding me?)
comfortable (Never.)
simpler, uncomplicated, effortless and unproblematic (There's laughing in my head right now.)

Okay, so all of you newcomers are right.  It doesn't get easier.

But there are a lot of us out there functioning and many are doing it quite well.  So, what's the deal?

Every once in a while, I come across an article or a quote in a book that perfectly describes something that I've experienced better than I could ever articulate.  I love it when that happens.  I feel like hugging the writer and saying, "YES.  Thank you so much for putting into words what I couldn't!"  

But it's hard when the right word doesn't even seem to exist.

I think most of us who have been hanging out in the Widowhood will often use the word "adapt" when it comes to describing where we might be years after the initial crumbling of our former worlds.  And when I look up the synonyms for that (sorry about the impromptu vocab lesson), the following words come up:

alter (Okay.  I'm trying.)
adjust (Working on it.)
change (And HOW.)
rework (Don't rush me.)
fit (Hmmmmm...now there's a thinker.)

~

I've been trying to think of an analogy that might fit this situation, but most are pretty inadequate.  I've been thinking about the summer I sprained my ankle and was in one of those boots for a few weeks.  Yes, the boot made my foot feel better, but I had to change the way I walked and that caused me some lower back pain.

The injury was there.  And while I tried to fix it the pain moved to another location.

I know that's kind of a dumb way to think about the pain of grief, but it does sometimes seem like the moment we fix one injury, another comes up in its place; as soon as we get used to sleeping in a bed alone we get invited to a wedding and have no "plus one" and that sends us over the edge once again.  The focus shifts from what we previously thought was so hard to the challenge that's before us.

And that's not easy.

~

It does make me wonder if those of us who have learned to be adaptable are the ones who are able to say it gets "easier."  And I actually don't think that you're either adaptable or you're not - I think that it depends on the situation.  

There have been times in my life when I've fought so hard to hold on to my past that it would be impossible for me to change.  And then there are times when I've closed my eyes and jumped, hoping that it will all work out.

And it does.  One way or the other. 

I guess the bottom line is the idea of widowhood getting "easier" in any way totally depends on the person.  We all know that all of our timelines are different, our situations are different, and our coping methods are completely individual.  

I know that, in the beginning, when someone would tell me that it gets easier, I wanted to know the exact date, time, and cause of death of the person's spouse so that I could compare notes with my own situation.  

"Okay...so her husband died two years before mine...in an accident...so in exactly six months, four days, and three hours things should be getting easier."

Doesn't work like that.

And the truth is, that what "easier" means to someone could be completely different from your definition:  She could mean that she actually took a shower that morning and remembered to put on matching shoes while you're thinking she means that she is now remarried, got a promotion at work, and is training for a marathon.

I can assure you, that this journey is never "easy" for anyone...I don't care how far out you are or what your current life situation is.  Life will never be "simpler, uncomplicated, and effortless."

But then again...it never was.

Where the Hell are you Going?

Do you ever have one of those moments that jolts you awake...even though you're not sleeping?

I do.

I love it when that happens.  There's just something that clicks in my head and lets me knows that it's something important and I suddenly feel awake.

And both the feeling of something important happening and feeling truly awake are kind of rare occurrences.

I enjoy my laziness and my sleep.  Especially at the same time.

Anyway, I was sitting with my family the other night, enjoying the Lyle Lovett concert at Red Rocks (I don't care what your musical tastes are...that man is a song-writing genius) when he introduced his fiddle player and asked him to play a song on his own.

Luke Bulla took over the microphone and in a voice as clear as a bell began to sing while strumming his fiddle.  For the life of me, I can't remember the name of the song, but one line made me sit up straighter. And it went something like....

I won't know where I'm going until I know where I've been.

And I don't think one sentence could have summed up this summer for me better than that.

~

Here's the hard part.  You have to embrace your past in order to get on with the future.  But sometimes the past is like the person you're trying to save in the deep end of the pool:  You can either allow it to take you both down or you can smack it in the face and take control in order to save you both.

Okay.  That was a weird analogy.  I just came up with it.  So roll with me.

I didn't realize until recently what a strangle-hold my past has had on me.  How paralyzed I was.  How it took making major changes, personally and professionally, to find the release I needed.

But you can't completely escape your past.  I know that and I don't want to.  It's just a matter of deciding how much power I'm going to allow it to have.

Am I going to sink or swim?

~

It's been eight years.  And I know exactly what's happened to me.  I can tell you the story of how my husband died.  I can tell you how the kids and I have survived. 

I see it now and I understand it more.  And I get it.  I really can't know where I'm going until I know where I've been.  And that takes perspective.  And in many ways...it has nothing to do with widowhood.
 

I can see my past as a mother and I can appreciate where that experience is sending me.

I can see who I've dated and can understand their places (not too many places, Mom) in my life.

I can see all of the memories I thought were so unimportant when they happened as the pieces of my life that I should appreciate the most.

Because those memories aren't just my past.  

They're where I've been.

What the...?

I get a lot more traffic on this blog when I'm unhappy.

I get it.  That's why I have a subscription to US Weekly.  It's not that I want to see people fail...it's just that I want to feel like a real person when shit hits the fan.  And celebrity shit seems bigger than mine; therefore I feel better that my shit doesn't warrant a cover story in US Weekly.

Anyway.

I'm happy.  So, if you don't like that, just stop reading now.  I'm not going to dig down to that deep unhappy place to appease the masses. Not to say I won't be unhappy again.  So, stay tuned for later posts if that's what you're looking for.

~

"I was just thinking of you," said the voicemail recording.  "I know this is a really hard time for you.  Just call me when you get a chance."

Huh?

Today is July 16th.  Years ago (maybe even last year) I was detailing how agonizing this date was for me.  This was the day of the accident.  Tomorrow would be the full day at the hospital.  The next would be the day he died.

Eight years ago.

And I almost forgot.

It's here, I know it is.  But somehow it doesn't hurt quite as much.  It's not crippling.  It's here and I can give it a slight nod as it passes...and not fall down, gripping its ankles like a person life forgot as I did before.

It's here.

And I'm happy.

~

To quote my children:  "Whaaaa...?"

I know.  I feel the same way.

If someone had told my shaky, nauseous self last year that this anniversary was going to pass with barely a tremor, I would have said, "Girl, you're crazy."

Actually, it probably would have been more like, "Shut the f--- up and hand me a bucket."

But that's where I am.  No bucket.  No shakes. No nauseous.  I'm living a whole new life I didn't even know was out there.  It has nothing to do with finding a new relationship.  I'm alone and I like it.  The kids are the same; driving me crazy one minute and endearing the next.  I've stopped waiting for my life to begin and for the first time in eight years I actually feel like I'm living it.

I'm in it.