When your husband dies people say the strangest things to you. Or they don’t say anything to you. They try to fix things, make strange suggestions or send you inspirational quotes. They get uncomfortable around you. And I get it, I am the elephant in the room. And elephants are heavy and hard to get around.
I wouldn’t know what to say to me either, but I am learning what I wouldn't say to me. Here are some things people have said in the past three weeks since I lost Jeremy. You know I love a list.
You had a good life together!
You’re gonna get through this!
You’re gonna find love again.
I can’t imagine. I wouldn’t be standing if I was in your shoes.
Bet you’ll be writing songs about this forever
It’s always the good ones.
We are all so uncomfortable with grief. Everyone Immediately wants to fix things or fill in the silence. They immediately suggest I take up a hobby, make a new record, make that move to Tuscany and buy that house I have wanted my whole life etc. Get back into pottery, learn a new language, travel around for a while. And don’t get me wrong, all of those are great ideas. But, it’s been three weeks. The reality is, the hard part none of us want to face, especially me, is getting comfortable with the uncomfortable is the only real thing I can do to survive this in the most sustainable way possible.
I told my therapist I’m afraid to be in public or around people because I can’t trust myself not to spontaneously cry. The truth is anything can be a trigger. Just the other day I stood on a rock on a cliff and reached out to grab a hand that is no longer there. Can you imagine? Like a phantom limb. I am so used to reaching out and catching my balance on Jeremy, reaching out to hold his hand, reaching out to simply place my hand on his back. I forgot for one millisecond he wasn’t on this walk with me. He isn’t even on this earth with me. My therapist’s response was “grief is inconvenient” and that I just needed to let the crying happen whenever and wherever for as long as it happens. I know that’s true but it doesn’t suck any less.
I am also lucky in as many if not more ways than I have been deeply unlucky this year. I have a network of amazing friends and family all over the world. All waiting with open arms for me to land on their doorstep for a while and just give myself time. Being a foster parent in the last few years and dealing with birth parents who are deeply unlucky, troubled, and mostly alone in this world, it has been a real reminder to be grateful for what I still have. Because I know not everyone gets to walk an impossibly hard path with so many people holding them up. So many people cheering for them along the way. I’m just writing this here to remind myself when I’m angry, or sad or spiraling or lost or whatever else comes with these impossible griefs I’ve been handed this year.
Five months between losing our foster son and losing my husband. It’s so absurdly terrible I almost feel like I’m witnessing my life from the outside of my body. And I don’t really want to come back to myself cause who wants to deal with this shit? I am a sand mandala. You know the ones they spend days meticulously creating with all the geometric shapes and different colored sands? Then this perfect piece of art gets destroyed/wiped clean in an instant to symbolize impermanence. I get it, universe.
And let me get back to number 6 from the list above. “It’s always the good ones”. It’s something people have said over and over since my husband died. And don’t get me wrong, he is/was a good one. A deeply incredible, endlessly selfless, cheeky, generous, unassuming, sharp as hell, humble to the bone, solid, reliable, cool as hell, unconditionally loving good one. The echoes across the world since he left have continued to reverberate and will for years to come. But I don’t like the saying.
So are you saying this happened BECAUSE he was a good one? Should I worry about all the “good ones” in my life? Because I pretty much only have good ones in my life. And aren’t we all inherently good? I believe we’re all born good. We all just get handed different circumstances that lead to different outcomes.
I can promise you one thing, I would never wish cancer on ANYONE. Whether you were a “good one” or not. I know this rant doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. People only say this thing in passing as something to say when they’re trying to show you how truly undeserving of this outcome the person you lost was. When they’re desperate for the right thing to say or do, that can offer you the slightest bit of relief or comfort. But my wish is that people just sit with the discomfort. because eventually, we all lose people and cross over to that side of the line of knowing our own version of grief.
I’ve been struggling to make any sort of decisions. My therapist also told me it’s hard to make decisions when you have a brain like mine (yes, I overthink things. Sue me) . And she’s right. I told her my brain feels like the 405 right now. Seven lanes and I never know which one to pick. I see everything all at once and it’s exhausting. I told her I was envious of people whose brains were more like the Pacific coast Highway. One way in, one way out. No choices, this is the path. Sounds like a vacation. So when I write to you, please know sometimes it takes changing lanes multiple times before I get to my destination and possible conclusions. For instance, wrapping my head around the saying “It’s always the good ones”. Maybe It IS always the good ones. Because everybody is good, and everybody dies.
ALL of this. Give me a “highway” with no off-ramps for anyone in my life. If that means “traffic”, bring it.💔
Ollie has been talking about death for months. In the car, on the couch, in the bath, at the YMCA- and it’s sticky. I don’t want to lie (and I mostly dont) But then I tell the truth and death is there and everything is quiet because death is scary. And there’s more questions than answers but one steady truth, and we are all heading in that direction- even the cats.
Thanks for your writings, Rosi- thanks for hitting post. Thinking of you daily. 🤍