Sometimes it stills feels like yesterday....

[kpgct]

Early last September, I lost one of my dearest friends to suicide. She was the friend who stood by my side at the ER the morning my husband died, held my hand as we walked into his memorial service, and propped herself up at the end of my bed - any number of times in the following months - with a text book and a laptop, so I would feel safe and finally sleep. In many ways, she knew me better than anyone other than my late husband.

 

Like me, she was a clinician who worked with kids who?ve experienced trauma; we met when she interned for me 12 years ago at a clinic for children who are victims of physical and sexual abuse. It?s not work for the faint of heart; vicarious traumatization ? taking on the experience of those you work with ? is a real concern, especially for those, like my friend, who carry their own trauma history with them.

 

Her struggle began last spring, with a depression that involved a long hospitalization and every treatment that could be attempted. She lost her job, her child, her partner?hope. We spent the morning together the day before she died; we talked about how hard it was to keep trying, and why she needed to. We talked about the risk of starting yet another medication ? which she had that day ? and we spoke very candidly about the risk of self-harm.

 

But as a clinician, she knew the answers to give; they were plausible and I trusted them. She gave me a gift, I suppose; she made it very clear that there was nothing that I could have done to have stopped her. She died barely 24 hours later. I miss her. I miss her enormously.

 

Two days ago I did a suicide assessment on the mom of a client with complex medical needs, the first that I?ve done since my dear friend?s death. I asked all of the right questions, she gave all of the right answers. I asked a co-worker, as I always do in cases like this, to be a second listener, and she agreed with our plan. The mom followed up with me the next day and was grateful for my support; I think she?ll be okay.

 

But as I walked out of my office later that night, however, I realized that I wasn?t. I was feeling sad and fragile, and it was all wrapped up with a little ribbon of leftover fear.

 

And this ? for those of you who are wondering how this is related to widowhood ? is when it became clear to me, yet again, how greatly my loss ? seven years later ? still impacts me. On those days when I long for comfort and safety, I miss my husband. I miss him, and him alone. The person who would have known without words what I needed, and would have given it freely and joyfully: strong shoulders, strong arms, a hand held out in the darkness. The sound of his heartbeat?oh, the sound of his heartbeat?the most soothing sound that I?ve ever known?and I will never hear it again. How hard that thought is to tolerate. Seven years later, and it?s no easier to bear.

 

Seven years after his death and life is...well, it's life. It?s good, it?s trying, it?s full of opportunities. But on those days when I feel most uncertain?when my faith is shaken?when there's a wobble in my step...it might be seven years, but it still feels like yesterday.

[Guest marian1953]

No words, except to say I understand this. We are both widows of 2007- me on the first day of the year, you that November?your posts have always meant so much to me. I wish I could offer something other than saying " I hear you".  I am very sorry for the loss of your friend.

Marian

[marjoe]

I'm so sorry about your friend - I lost mine a year and a half ago, very sudden. I miss her so much. Like your friend, she was my rock when Joe died.

 

And what you say about your husband, the fear, the missing - the fact that it stays with us - yeah, I get that, too, very well. It will be 7 years in July for me. Sometimes (a lot of times) I think - time means absolutely nothing with regards to my heart, to how I feel. Hugs to you - marsha

[Ginger]

 

I understand this too. As time goes on we adjust to widowhood and a new way of life, but there are times and situations in our lives that still can bring us back to the sadness and shakiness that we felt when we realized that person that knew us, loved us, and was there for us unconditionally was gone.  (Yes, true even almost twelve years out.) I have no magic words except to offer you hugs and my support if you need it.

 

Ginger

[ATJ]

Early last September, I lost one of my dearest friends to suicide. She was the friend who stood by my side at the ER the morning my husband died, held my hand as we walked into his memorial service, and propped herself up at the end of my bed - any number of times in the following months - with a text book and a laptop, so I would feel safe and finally sleep. In many ways, she knew me better than anyone other than my late husband.

 

 

(((Kpgct)))

 

Your post hit me in the solar plexus and tears were streaming! How incredibly sad to lose such a loving, treasured friend in this horrible way. I am an SOS and know the special burden that comes with it. My heart aches for You, and also for her and her beautiful soul. She was a precious gift!

 

"A true friend reaches for your hand

and touches your heart."

 

~~ Author Unknown

 

 

And this ? for those of you who are wondering how this is related to widowhood ? is when it became clear to me, yet again, how greatly my loss ? seven years later ? still impacts me. On those days when I long for comfort and safety, I miss my husband. I miss him, and him alone.

 

The sound of his heartbeat?oh, the sound of his heartbeat?the most soothing sound that I?ve ever known?and I will never hear it again. How hard that thought is to tolerate. Seven years later, and it?s no easier to bear.

 

...it might be seven years, but it still feels like yesterday.

 

 

"But Oh for the touch of a vanished hand,

And the sound of a voice that is still!"

 

~~ Lord Alfred Tennyson

 

 

SEVEN years later, as you say, and the loss still greatly impacts you. You miss him, and him alone. -

 

The passage of time is a great paradox. It can soothe and calm to some extent, but it also lets us experience on a deep, visceral level "the absence of presence" and "the endless time of never coming back" -- Tom Stoppard - Especially during times of distress, our heart reaches back to the One, and the loss is not any easier to bear, as you say. I agree!

 

I wrote a short Haiku for you:

 

 

Plight of the widow -

Where are the arms around us?

We weep silent tears.

 

No one understands

The loneliness of our soul,

The cries of the heart.

 

To have and to hold -

The promise given to us,

An empty dream now.

 

Just one more embrace

When we are lonely and hurt.

What gift it would be!

-------------

 

You can lean on me,

Share your heaviness with me

I walk at your side!

 

 

 

 

 

May you always be the Keeper of his Flame,

And may its warmth embrace your troubled Heart!

 

 

(((HUGS))) to You!

 

ATJ