Irritations And Emotional Triggers

A piece of me died on the 8^th April 2010.

The thought never left my mind- “he’s dead”.

It’s a strange thing, to be sitting down, amongst friends enjoying a cup of coffee at a café, and seeing life go on. Seeing them laugh and chat, talk about their husbands/partners and all other ‘normal’ topics of conversation. A small part of me genuinely cared for their stories. The larger part of me wanted to tell them to shut up, get over it, and be grateful for what they had.

A majority of my friends were incredibly mindful of those sorts of things. They knew that I still cared about their relationships, but they knew I had a very low tolerance to some certain topics. Long story short, if my friends had said that they miss their spouse after not seeing them for a night or two while they were away for work, this would upset me.

Were they honestly that inconsiderate to tell me that they ‘miss’ their partner? For one night? They’re upset because their partner is taking too long to reply to a text message? Seriously… For  a second… think about how that makes me feel.

A few caught on to what was a wanted conversation and what was not- some would start telling me a story, and then they’d realise where it was going, and quickly change the topic. I could not help the way I was reacting to certain things. My reactions were automatic, and in most cases, were unable to be filtered. In simpler terms, I could be talking one minute, and hear a simple word or sentence that would trigger me to get upset, and then I’d lose it. I never had enough time to compose myself in the early stages, but it improved over time.

Apart from conversations about how people’s partners were, the other thing that was annoying for me was seeing it. Walking in to someone’s home, and seeing happy wedding photos, or seeing hand written notes stuck on the fridge from one another.

It was the visual things that were worse. I avoided social gatherings for quite some time, as it hurt too much to see everyone together, and even though I was assured that If I went with some friends, “I’d be fine”… No. I didn’t care for it. I didn’t want people coming up to me and putting a hand on my shoulder, and giving me a hug and saying “I’m so sorry”. No. I didn’t want to feel uncomfortable, and I didn’t want other people to feel uncomfortable about me being there and not knowing what to say. So, I avoided many things. I decided to ultimately remove myself from the situation.

Little things like going to shopping centres were the same. I’d see couples walking hand in hand through the mall… Seeing a middle aged couple with children, and wondering what could have been… Seeing elderly couples enjoying a quiet coffee, and holding hands across the table. I remember having about 2 sips of a coffee at a café once, before I just got up and left because there were just too many happy couples there.

I was aware that people weren’t purposely rubbing things in my face, but it sure did feel like it sometimes. This was depending on the kind of day I was having… some days were worse than others.

There are so many triggers that can happen on a day to day basis. It was only after I sat down and actually thought it about, they certainly were everywhere…

It was walking behind someone with his hair, his height and his build.

It was seeing someone in the distance that smiled just like he did.

It was hearing someone laugh, laughing just like he did.

It was catching the scent of the cologne he use to wear as someone walked by.

It was hearing his favourite song on the radio… then seeing an empty passenger seat.

It was seeing someone walk past wearing the same shirt he wore on your first date.

It was seeing something in a shop that I knew he’d love.

It was remembering a funny story, and wanting to tell him because I knew he’d laugh.

People always tell me to remember the good times. That’s the most painful bit.

Remembering how happy you actually were.

The Transition from ‘is’ to ‘was’.

I remember how it felt to say ‘was’ instead of ‘is’ for the first time. It hurt. It hurt a lot. As that little word came out of my mouth, I could feel my face distorting with disgust as I said it. I remember looking down at the ground when I realised what I’d said. I said ‘he was’ instead of ‘he is’. This was some weeks after his passing, because up to that point I always said ‘is’.

Present day, to past tense. It’s crap. Put simply. Crap.

It’s hard to comprehend the loss of a loved one, and it’s all of these simple little things that make it all that much harder. It shakes the reality of what you’re trying to avoid, and before you know it, everyone around you is saying ‘he was’. It angered me to begin with, because I didn’t feel it was their right to say the word ‘was’. I felt that I, or one of his family members should have been able to say it first. It sounds terrible, but I became incredibly protective over how people worded things.
If people were talking to me, and mentioned the words dead, died or funeral, the only thing I’d want to do was punch them in the face. Did they not realise how much it hurt me to hear them say things like “when he died”, “at his funeral” or “I can’t believe he’s dead”???

Each one of those words was Hell. Even hearing his name hurt. I often said ‘he’ instead of using his name. Why? Because it hurt too much. I did not use the word ‘died’. I said ‘passed away’. When the word ‘died’ was said to me, it felt like a full stop. I couldn’t stand it. Even to this day, I dislike saying the word died, and much prefer to use the term passed away.

This is how I’d describe these words visually, as best as I can. Hopefully this will help to explain how a simple change of words, in my head, can make an incredible difference.

Died: Imagine someone holding a beautiful red balloon, and then picture them popping it with a knife while we both watch it explode. That is what it felt like when I heard this word.

Passed away: Imagine someone holding a beautiful red balloon, and then imagine them letting it go gently. As you see the ribbon pass through their hand, you can see the balloon getting smaller and smaller, as it floats off into the distance. You appreciate the beauty of the balloon for just a moment longer, and it’s not as harsh as seeing it explode right in front of you. This is what it felt like when I heard this.
Do you notice the difference?

Something to remember when you’re dealing with someone who is grieving;
If they are not using their loved ones name, then you shouldn’t either. If they are not discussing their death with you, then you shouldn’t bring it up. If they’re not talking about their funeral, then you shouldn’t ask about it. They should always be the first to initiate all of the hard topics. Chances are, if they’re not mentioning things that you think they should, it’s because they’re not ready to.

Just try to remember… while you may be ready for the ‘was’, they could still be struggling with the ‘is’.

Things that people will say

After losing a loved one, people often try and provide comfort with their wise words. Some, better than others. These are a few of the common examples that were repeated to me often.

“I’m sorry”
It’s a cliché thing to say, and I’ve often said it myself- when you don’t know what to say, this is usually a safe option when other words fail. I believe it’s said because you’re genuinely sorry for that person’s loss, and for the person who has passed away.

“You’re so strong”
This is something that annoyed me as it was said so often. I was very good at hiding my tears, and putting on a brave face when I needed to. I was strong for those who needed to see it, and I could be an emotional wreck behind closed doors. Over time, I learnt to look at it from another angle- I dealt with my grief drug free, and provided myself with positive outlets to keep my mind stimulated and focused on good things.

“He’s in a better place now”
I understand that it’s another thing that’s said. Without dragging religion into this, people have different views on where people end up after they leave this world. I think everybody takes comfort in knowing that their loved ones are looking down on us from a greater place. Speaking from my own experience, I would often respond with “yeah…”. But it’s not something I dealt with lightly. The point was still that they’re not here on Earth, with you, with their family, enjoying their life, and having the opportunity to grow old.

“He’s not suffering”
Granted that this is said to the family who have had to watch their loved ones battle illness over long periods of time, I can understand why this is said, but it’s still not anything that I can just say “yeah, you’re right, I feel better now, thanks!”. It could just be in my cynical nature to automatically find the downside of every comment ever made…

“I know how you feel”
This is one of the blue ribbon winners when it comes down to “the worst thing you can say to someone who just lost their partner”. “I know how you feel”. This was said to me on a number of occasions, and I had to fight very hard to resist the urge to punch people in the face when they said this to me. With the exception of the few people that said this to me, who were actually widows. Unless you’re a widow, please don’t say this to someone. The same thing can be said for any loss- Unless it’s literally the same loss, losing the person same way, just remember, you don’t know it feels.

The Other F Word. (part one)

“A ceremony or group of ceremonies held in connection with the burial or cremation of a dead person”

 

Funeral.

 

It’s a shame that the first three letters of this word have absolutely nothing to do with the actual meaning.

 

The funeral Director told us that we could go inside whenever we decided that we were ready. We stood outside torturing ourselves with idle chat for a few minutes trying to post pone what was ahead. After a few moments, we made our way into the chapel. We all knew what was going to be in there…

I let his parents and his brother make their way up first, while I gathered my thoughts for a few seconds. I looked down at the little blue box that I was holding in my trembling hands- my last gift to him. A baby blue box, tied neatly with a blue and white ribbon. Inside  were some things that I so badly wanted him to have. I made sure that every little thing in that box was something he’d hold dear to his heart. I filled it with things that I knew would make him laugh and smile. I also placed a letter in there that I had been writing over the past few days- I wanted it to be perfect… I would have ripped out my own heart and put it in that box if I could have…

I walked up the step, carrying that little blue box, and stood next to his brother. It took me a long time to look at what was right in front of me. I remember looking above the coffin and just seeing what was below, in my peripheral vision. I knew what it was. But still, I chose to ignore it for as long as I could.

 

His father knew what I was doing, and he came and stood next to me. With his arm around me, he said “you have to pull yourself together”. I looked up at him, and then my eyes followed his…  then I saw what he was looking at. His eldest son. My boyfriend. Lifeless. Dead.

 

Without even thinking about it, my body automatically went into meltdown. I could feel my heart throbbing. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. I could feel myself running short of breath. I looked up at his father one more time and tried my best to mutter out one simple word. I couldn’t do it. I tried to form a word. Just one word. Nothing. All that came out was a blood curdling howl. In my entire life- I had never… ever cried and screamed as much as I did at this moment. There were no words to describe how uncontrollable it was.

 

I was so shocked with my reaction that I immediately walked out. I quickly stumbled outside, where I sat on the ground, placing the little blue box beside me. I put my hands over my mouth to stop myself from screaming, and it took every ounce of my will to make me stop. I had to remind myself to breathe. I thought about how hard it must be for his parents and his brother, and I knew that I had to pull myself together and get back in there. After a few minutes, I dusted myself off and made my way back inside… I stood next to his father once again, where I muttered out a “sorry”. I felt so bad for reacting that way, but I couldn’t control it… I think he understood.

 

I composed myself after a while, and took a few deep breaths. I held that little blue box in my hands one last time before I placed it in the coffin beside him. I loosened the ribbon a little once I’d placed it by his side, so it would be easier for him to open. Sounds stupid, I know… I knew he wasn’t going to physically be able to open it.

 

We stood there in silence for a few minutes until we could hear the cars pull up outside. We heard people’s muffled voices as they walked across the gravel, making their way towards the chapel. We took that as our cue to leave for the moment, so we stepped away from the coffin, one at a time, and told him that we’d be back soon…

 

Why I said “No” to Grief Counselling.

The Grief Counsellor was introduced to us when we were at the hospital. He’d pick us out from where we were standing and would say things like “And you must be his partner” or “And I take it that you’re the brother?” etc. His way of addressing us was irritating to say the least. But it’s what he said next that I didn’t like.

“This was his journey…”

“You should be grateful that he died here, and not in some sort of horrible car accident. Just think, if he was in a car accident, he’d have looked much worse than this”

“It’s ok for you to move on and be with someone else, you’re only 25- he’d want that”

He said other things too, most of which I’ve chosen to forget. I understand that they must say things to cover every type of ‘loss’ situation but it was like listening to someone read from cue cards. I struggled to make eye contact with him throughout his talk as he made me furious.  I had to bite my tongue the entire time and the few times that I did manage to look up, I made sure that I gave him the foulest look of Hell. I really wanted to tell him to shut up and get out, but I knew that I couldn’t.

He rambled on with his “journey” and “life” speech for a few more minutes before he made his way around to each of us to give us his business card.  He put his hand on my shoulder when I didn’t respond to his handshake and left his card on the little table that was next to me. I turned my head away as he said goodbye and left the room. As soon as he left, I looked at everyone- They had all thought the same thing as I did. “What an idiot!”

I understand that these services are made available to us to make the transition to our new life easier.  I understand that the GC was just doing his job but I didn’t like the way that he spoke to us, or the things that he said. I’d like to think that other GC’s perhaps handle themselves differently, and (I hope) have different approaches with these incredibly personal situations.

It was for this reason, and this reason alone that I chose not to seek any grief counselling. I didn’t want to hear about these supposed “journeys”. I didn’t need someone to look at me, and fill me with their ideas of how this was “meant to be”. It meant nothing to me and for the most part I found it insulting to say the very least.

I didn’t want any advice from anyone unless they were, or have been in my exact situation. Because only they would know how it feels.

To the person that’s walking in my shoes:

I am certain that counselling can have some amazing benefits. But, it comes down to the individual. Had this person been different, I may have been more comfortable talking with someone about it, and maybe finding good ways of dealing with certain things, rather than finding things out for myself, though I’ve not regretted the way of which I handled anything.

Grieving is a very personal thing and only you will know how you feel- so don’t let anybody tell you how you should be feeling. Don’t let anybody force you into seeking counselling. On the flip side of that, don’t let anybody tell you that you shouldn’t seek counselling. It’s up to you and you alone. Only you will know how you feel.

My advice would be to make an appointment with a GP and see them if you feel up to it. They will have resources and contacts available for you for if and when you need it. It took me about 3 weeks to see one and I’m glad that I did it. It meant that they were aware of my situation and it was on record for any future reference.

During our appointment, we discussed how I was coping mentally, emotionally, and physically, and we also discussed the options of anti-depressants. I told her the truth. If you decide to see a GP, please be honest with them. Tell them exactly how you feel- They’re there to help you and the only way they can help you is if you’re 100% honest with them.

I am here to share my story and how I have dealt with my loss. I cannot stress that enough that everyone grieves differently and that there is no right or wrong way to go about it and that any advice that I give is not a “professional opinion”.  But what I do know is what I have learnt, and looking back now, what I wish I may have done differently.

The long drive home.

My parents picked me up from the hospital. I knew they didn’t know what to say, and neither did I. Those two little words made another appearance when they wrapped their arms around me. I was surprised that I still had any tears left to cry.

A cold breeze greeted me as the hospital doors opened. The clean air was amazing, and much different to the ‘hospital smell’ which I longed to forget. I sat in the back seat of the car, and buckled myself in. The silence was deafening. My parents picked up on the awkwardness and fiddled around with the radio to try and find something to listen to. I appreciated the fact that my mother kept changing the station if a love song or a sad song was playing.

I sat with my head resting against the window the entire way home, looking at the colours of the headlights fly by. The further we got away from the hospital, the worse I felt. I was screaming to myself in my head saying “TURN AROUND, TURN AROUND, I WANT TO GO BACK!!!”. I knew that mentioning it would only make things more painful. And ultimately, I knew there would be no point… as much as it hurt.

Occasionally when I looked up at the rear view mirror, I’d catch my father’s eyes meeting with mine. As soon as our eyes met, he’d look away. I didn’t blame him. I’d hate to think what he would have been looking at. Not a single word was said for the entire trip home, between anyone.

I don’t remember walking from the car to my bedroom, but somehow I made it there. I called out to my parents and said goodnight, and closed my bedroom door. There was no such thing as sleep. There was no such thing as tiredness or lethargy. There was nothing. Numbness perhaps, and not much else.

I passed the time by re-reading text messages that he’d sent me, and going through some photos on my phone. It didn’t take long to regret that decision. My phone was constantly buzzing with messages, and missed calls. I only replied to one person, who was in contact with me throughout the entire ordeal. I left her in charge of contacting everyone who needed to know what had happened.  It was one less thing that I had to think about.

A few hours had passed, and it was about 4am. I’d not eaten anything, or had anything to drink since 1pm of the previous day. I stumbled out of my bed to the kitchen, where I poured myself a glass of water. I think I managed to swallow a mouthful, if that. I saw that the light was on outside, and as I peeked through the curtains, I was surprised at what I saw. My parents were sitting outside with their arms around each other. Even more surprising, my father was smoking cigarettes. Something he’d given up years ago. I decided to let them be.

They say a picture paints a thousand words. As I walked down the hallway back to my room, I wandered what the look on my face must say. I could summarise it with one word. Hollow. From that moment on, I knew I did not like the person I was becoming.

Two little words… (part two)

It was a hard thing to do. It was a few little steps that I longed to take, but at the same time, I wanted to hang back for as long as I could. Only to avoid the inevitable. I wanted to see him so desperately. But I didn’t want to see him in that state. I knew it would hurt, but I never knew just how much. I understood that he was gone. But seeing it… it would be different.  Hearing bad news is one thing- Seeing it for yourself is certainly another.

I followed behind his family and I tried to find something else in the room to focus on, trying to avoid what I knew I’d see soon enough.  After a few minutes, we came closer and stood around him where we each had our own little space. With his parents on one side, and his brother and I on the other, we all took a seat. There were moments of silence. There were tears- and plenty of them. It was hard to believe what we were seeing right in front of us.

I tried to think about what he would want. I didn’t think that he’d like to see us scared of him, and not wanting to get close. With that in mind, I took his hand and held it between the two of mine. His skin was still warm. I would have sold my soul just to have him squeeze my hand back. To look at him, and see his eyes open. I would have given anything. I wanted nothing more than for him to sit up, and talk to us. Explain that somehow, there had been a mistake, and that this was all just a dream. Much to my disappointment, nothing happened.

When I wanted to step out for a breather his brother would hold his hand, and when I’d return, we’d swap again. It was a system that needed no explaining- It just came naturally. We both gave each other enough time and space to have our moments. Moments of which, were held with the utmost respect.

We all took it in turns, stepping aside and letting each other have some time alone with him. After a few rounds of that, his family stepped outside and I knew that it was my time to say my goodbyes alone. I was lost for words. I tucked my chair in closer, and still held his hand in mine. I told him so many things. I told him that I loved him, and I would have said that countless times. I thanked him for the wonderful years that we shared together. I praised him for making me feel the way that he did. He was my everything- and I made sure I said all that I wanted.

A considerable amount of time had passed, and it was now time for me to leave, and let his family say goodbye to him. With that in mind, I held him in my arms one last time. I told him that I loved him one more time. I ran my fingers through his hair for the last time. I leaned over him and gave him our very last kiss. I never said goodbye.
I said “I love you” and left it at that. It was too early to say goodbye. I walked out of that room still as numb as I was when I had entered.

Two little words… (part one)

I knew that a lot of time had passed since I’d seen the surgeon last. I knew because I didn’t take my eyes off of the clock. It was one of those situations where no matter where I looked; I’d be met with people’s equally as concerned and saddened faces. Everyone that was there was there for the same reason.  They wanted answers, and they wanted to know that their loved ones were alright. Eventually, after a long wait, the surgeon made an appearance. As soon as I made eye contact with him, I knew what he was going to say. I think without even saying it, he could tell that I already knew, too.

Two little words was all it took. Two little words that broke my heart. Two little words that changed my life forever.

“I’m sorry”

The thoughts that ran through my head at that moment were unlike anything I’d ever felt before.
I felt as though I was drowning. I was drowning in sadness, anger, frustration and disbelief. The emotional pain that I felt was more intense than any physical pain that I’d experienced in my 25 years of life. There were literally no words for how much it hurt. It was incomparable.

I immediately felt ill and excused myself as I ran to the bathroom. No sooner had I pushed the door open and I had already laid my fist into the nearest wall. The anger that consumed me at that moment was toxic and I didn’t know how to deal with it. I decided that punching the closest thing to me was a good idea. I remember looking down at my hand and seeing how much it was shaking, and watching the graze appear across my knuckles.  It hurt but it didn’t bother me. In a weird sort of way, it was warmly welcomed, as it created a brief distraction from the real pain that I was feeling.

After I had a good scream, yelled a little, and managed to stop crying for just a minute, I made my way back to the room where I was once again with his family. We managed to splutter out a ‘thank you’ to the surgeon, and the surgical team who tried their very best to save his life. I know that they worked tirelessly and did all they could. There were no bad feelings towards them, whatsoever.

We walked down the hallway with the surgeon, until we came to a point where a curtain was drawn shut. He stepped aside and told us to take our time saying goodbye.

It was then that I realised that I would never again hear his voice. I knew that I would never again be held in his arms. I knew that there would be no more beautiful memories made. I knew that the journey that he and I had shared, was over. There was no more ‘us’. There was no more him.There was quite literally nothing else.

I knew that as soon as I walked behind that curtain, I would never be the same again.