guilt

Reconciling the dissonance between having lost a really good life to have then received another really good life in return is… tough.

I refuse to waste even a drop of this pain, this phoenix-like uprising. I am somehow acutely aware that this is the most transformative thing I have ever gone through in my life. It’s like the Mary Oliver poem; I may have been handed a box of darkness, but just as she said, it, too, is a gift.

It feels heavy and guilt-ridden though, sometimes. I see accounts from other women in my position and they’re all so laden with despair, they’re always trying to muster the energy to even give a shit about being alive. It seems unfair that I skipped that step. I worry constantly that it’s just coming for me later down the line. It probably is; I’ve heard that grief can be even worse in year 2, and that it will only continue to grow and swell with time. That’s why I don’t focus on avoiding or controlling the waves; I focus on how to make sure I am strong and ready to handle them.

It’s not that things have been easy. It’s not that I am unscathed and untraumatized. I have been wrecked from my head to my toes on the inside; I am rebuilding every last piece of my identity and my heart and my purposes in life from the ground up. In the 6 months since Pete died, I’ve not missed a single day of getting out of bed in the morning and caring for my kids until they go to bed at night. I’ve had help here and there, my family are all super involved with raising my kids and Pete’s family are so supportive and helpful as well, but I’ve been parenting my kids completely on my own and I’ve barely missed a beat. I say that not to pat myself on the back, but as an example of how finding my purpose has been easy even on the worst days. I’ve never gotten too close to drowning, because my feet need to be firmly planted in order to take care of my kids.

But even beyond that, in the silent moments while they’re asleep and I am alone, I am not despondent. I am working and making lunches and writing and reading books and getting our lives in order bit by bit. I am… happy. I am doing well. I am taking care of us and providing for us, and continuing to climb this mountain of loss and things to be done and parts of us to heal. Some days I am exhausted by it all. Some days I cry a lot. Some days my anger and resentment and sadness are almost too much to bear. But that’s when I concentrate on righting the ship. I take deep breaths and force myself to think about all the things Pete brought into my life–the lessons he taught me, the honor of being his wife, his last name, my 2 kids, our house, our car, his wonderful family, teaching me how to have self-worth… they’re all things that I have him to thank for, and none of our accomplishments together as a couple or as a family are lessened at all by his death. I am so grateful for the time I got with him, and I would choose those years together over and over and over again despite the heartbreak of having to lose him. Those are the kinds of thoughts that right the ship.

I just keep letting the rapids take me wherever they do. I have to. What other choice do I have? Fighting against them, fighting back against the grief or being bitter about my situation, it’s fruitless. I don’t see why I would waste my energy wallowing in how terrible this all has been. Yes, it’s been terrible. Traumatizing and life-altering. Heartbreaking. But… parts of it have been really beautiful. I know that sounds crazy. But that’s part of getting me through the day; appreciating the beauty in literally every aspect of life, even the ugliest and thorniest parts helps me. I know what happened to us was terrible. But why would I let that make every day for the rest of our lives terrible, too? If anything, we deserve triple the joy in each moment after what we’ve been through. So I try to make sure I am always mining for joy.

But I worry this outlook I have comes across as heartless. I recoil each time I accidentally answer “how are you?” truthfully with a gleeful, “great!” I see the look of confusion cross the fact of each person who asks. They all expect me to burst into tears or say, “hanging in there,” but I did that for months. I am proud of the life that I am building for us, and the boys and I are truthfully doing very well for ourselves right now. I want to be able to share that with people. But it feels so wrong to talk about. It feels too soon to have this much goodness around us.

But Pete would want it this way. I believe Pete’s energy is sending these good things our way. We’ve had great opportunities here, and so many signs that we have chosen the right direction. Pete led me in life and it feels like he’s still leading me in death. He would never want me to feel guilty or sad over my life being good. All he ever wanted was to give the boys and me the best life, and we have that right now. Not because of his passing, but in spite of.