1 Month

Trey has now been gone 1 month.  Time has never moved so fast yet so slow at the same time.  Each day seems to drag on endlessly, but all of a sudden, another week is gone without him here.

The veil of shock started to lift at the beginning of week 3, and left me fully naked and exposed by the beginning of week 4; it's amazing how the body innately and automatically goes into protection mode following a traumatic event, and how well that protection mode really works.  As that shock has faded away, though, I have been left with the overwhelming feeling of loss, grief, sadness, and realization that no, Trey is not just away on a business trip, this is it, he's gone.  At times, this realization has left me sobbing uncontrollably, unable to catch my breath, feeling like I'm on the verge of a panic attack.  Other times, I will find myself staring off into space, breathing deeply, completely lost.  

My friend, Britni, describes grief as riding a wave, and this is the best analogy I could find to describe the emotions; one minute you're ok, maybe even sharing a laugh, the next, a memory pops into your head and you can't hold back the tears and your day completely shifts.  

I feel like I've grown a thousand years in the past month; I don't understand how I was so "carefree" before losing Trey - and I put "carefree" in quotations because anyone who knows me knows that's not a word that would describe me as I'm quite serious and have never taken much for granted - but my life "before" feels carefree in comparison.  I long for the life I lived before, the life we shared before, but I know that this is in vain, as that reality no longer exists.  The time I had with Trey, and now my experience of losing him, are part of my story, and will be forever; that will not change, it is who I am, it is my new normal.  

I had been lucky enough to never really have had to grieve before; I lost my Mimi, but she was old and ready, and so her death brought sadness but not true grief.  To lose your life partner, lover, and best friend so suddenly and at such a young age brings on a level of grief that I surely could never have imagined, and I hope many of you will never have to experience.  It has also provided me the opportunity to learn a lot about myself and grief, and I thought I would share some of the things I've learned over the past month:

1. Grief sucks.  There is no way around this.  I think the worst part about it is not the sadness, but the unpredictability.  Because with grief, you really may be fine one minute, and then something triggers a memory, maybe something so deep you don't even realize it's a trigger, and you're engulfed by a profound sadness and sense of despair you did not think was possible before the loss. 
2. You will not care where/who sees/when you cry - and neither do most other people.  And if they do care, that is their problem, not yours.
3. You will have no idea what date it is, but you will know exactly how many days, hours and minutes it's been since you last spoke with your loved one.  This is your new calendar, and every new day/week/month that passes without them here stands stoically in front of you, ready to congratulate you for making it through "another".
4. Grief fog is real.  My memory is crap, I'm sorry if I don't remember speaking with you, and it takes me 30 minutes to do something that used to take 5 minutes at work.  If I don't return your phone call/text/email, it's not because I don't love you, it's because as soon as I look and the reminder disappears, so is my memory of if I've responded or not.  I've been overwhelmed by the outpouring of support, and all of your messages have truly helped brighten each day.
5. People are really good.  My friends and family have been more supportive and amazing than I ever could have asked for or expected, and I only hope I will be able to pay them back one day.  Even strangers have been extremely kind, reaching out with words of encouragement, a silent tissue to dry a tear, or just a warm smile.  
6. You will need people.  I have always been very independent.  I find it ironic that my last post was on the topic of "Connection", because DAMN, will you need to find connections in this time.  Isolation is harmful and can create a downward spiral, and without my friends and family I wouldn't have made it through the past month.  I love you.
7. Healing takes time.  There is no rushing the process, and not giving yourself the time and space to heal will just show up later with disastrous effects (or so I'm told).  It also is time consuming, because it means actually committing to showing up, whether it be to counseling sessions, group sessions, yoga, church, tea with a friend or whatever you find will help you heal.  
8. And, healing requires work.  And courage.  It would be easy - at least in the short term - to not process anything, push down all my feelings, and just detach and fill my life with enough activities to (mostly) not think about my feelings.  But that doesn't mean they're not there, and they wouldn't show back up at a later date to do even more damage.  I've shared my story and made myself vulnerable with friends and strangers alike over the past month, and in the process learned so much about myself and what I need to heal.  It's scary, and it's time consuming, but it's worth it.
9. People will say the wrong thing.  You can't get mad at them.  Until you experience a profound loss, you honestly can't understand the right thing to say.  Sometimes, someone just sitting and listening goes further than anything they could possibly say.  I know that can be hard and awkward, but sometimes it's far less awkward than some of the awkward things people say.
10. You must do things you love.  Whether it be yoga, cooking, running, reading, painting, or hugging puppies, fill your time with activities that make you happy.  And don't worry about obligations to others or satisfying others' needs, because at this time you are in survival mode and you need to find a way to fill your heart, your mind, and your time.  
11. You will feel guilty, but you must learn to let it go.  This is something I continue to struggle with, but it is the one thing that I know will be most instrumental in my healing.  Whether it is survivor's guilt or guilt for feeling happiness or joy, this guilt will eat at you.  However, it is not your fault.  It is not my fault.  We all deserve to live, and we all deserve to find joy and happiness in this life, whether it be 1 week, 1 month, or 1 year after our loved one has passed one.  

Do not let me die while I am still alive

I've shared this before, but after Sheryl Sandberg's husband passed away a few years ago, she shared a prayer, "Let me not die while I'm alive".  I did not fully understand these words until Trey's passing, and now I understand how easy it would be to fall into a void of hopelessness and despair, isolating myself from the world, the things I love, and not experiencing life even though I'm still living.  However, I am making a choice every day I wake up and walk out the door, go to yoga, meet a friend, go to work, swim, go see a show, that I will NOT die while I'm still alive.  This is a great, big, beautiful world full of amazing people and experiences that I still want to have, and even though I desperately want to have them all with Trey, since that is no longer an option, I resolve to live each day.  I understand that I may have setbacks, and I won't be too hard on myself if there are days that I just want to lay in bed all day and cry.  But, in honor of Trey, I resolve to live life to the fullest and to practice kindness along the way, just as he did.

I love you, Trey.