Thursday, September 12, 2013

It's ok that I'm not ok.

The underlying worry that surrounds me is palpable.  People who love me are concerned about me, and understandably, want me to be happy.

If I’m being totally honest, for a lot of people, (especially my family,) it makes them uncomfortable.  They want the problem fixed.  They want me to be free of the grief and pain.

It’s one thing to be on Facebook, or read my blog, and support me and the process that I’m going through…it’s entirely another thing to be in the same room as me and watch the tears gather in the corner of my eyes and feel helpless to stop it all.  I liken it all to a spouse having a cold…we want it to be over the day it begins.  “I know you are miserable, but do you feel better yet?  A little better today?  But you slept good right?  You’ll feel much better tomorrow.  Please say you’ll feel better tomorrow!!”

I understand.

But it’s important to note, that right now there isn’t a solution available to my problem.  Medicine might mask the pain…but it doesn’t negate the fact that my husband is gone.  I would consider taking said meds if my grief got in the way of my responsibilities.  If I wasn’t able to do the things necessary to get through my day.  If I wasn’t able to feel joy at all.  If my process was negatively affecting the boys.

But anyone that spends real time with me knows that isn’t needed.  I’m still silly.  My personality is still in tact.  I just freaking miss my husband.

So I reach out to all of you today and say, it’s ok that I’m not ok.  I am completely cognizant of the fact that what I’m feeling is completely normal.  I know that how I feel today, won’t be how I’ll feel forever.  I mean I look back at how I was between October and December of last year and it’s an outer body experience.  I wasn’t that person before, and I’m not that person now.  But I needed to go through the process of to make it where I am today.

I’m proud of who I am today.  I’ve come a long ass way, and I know what a milestone that is.  I also know I have a long ass way to go yet. 

Let me.

Let me take that road the way that is right for me.  Let me be angry.  Let me be sad.  Let me be crazy.  Let me be silly.  Let me try to forget the pain some days and other days let me embrace it.  Let me walk this incredibly uncomfortable walk.  I don’t have the luxury of hiding myself away until it’s all over.  I know that would be easier for you.  I know you have all moved on.  I know your family problems have taken precedent over my grief, and I know you wonder what the timeline looks like for this all to be better for me.  I hate to break it to all of you, but it may never be all better.

And believe it or not, I’m ok with that.

I had a friend call me today and say, “How are you?”  And I said, “I’m ok.”  And she said, “Liar.”  And I love her for it.  She laughed and said, “I know you’re not ok…but I’m thankful you try to be.”

I’m trying.  Let me try.

Nothing you can do can fix it.  Sure, your friendship is a balm of sorts.  Sure, your love is healing.  The best thing you can do for me is put your arm around my shoulder and let me feel it…even if it makes you feel awkward.

Let me.

Don’t pity me.  Don’t rush me.  Don’t be frustrated with me. 

Let it be.

I mentioned in a previous post that I read an article that stated the second year is always harder than the first.  I was relieved to find out through hospice, that this statement is mostly true for the widow, not for the children.  I’m so thankful for that.  They have made so much progress, and as such, I try to feel my way through this as honestly as I can with them.  They see me cry.  They see me struggle.  They know I miss him, and they know it is always safe to say how much they miss him too.  I think we’ve been handling it all in a very healthy way.

Ryan had a saying, “Every day a bit better.”  It was on a plaque around his car license plate.

Every day a bit better. < < That is me.  Sure some days I take a few steps back, but I’ve found out that is because I’m a human being.  A normal, human, grieving widow, who in all honesty lost the love of her life way way WAY too early.

It’s ok that I’m not ok. 

I will be. 

And knowing that makes all the difference.


  1. You're totally right, it's okay that you're not okay. Sometimes I wonder if our society is just so numb to feelings that when people like you share honestly they just want to fix it to that they're not uncomfortable, too. I know my mother-in-law has told me numerous times that it is hard for her to feel her grief because for so long she was told to just keep moving, I try to remind her that we are okay with her feeling whatever she feels, we may not know what to say at each moment, but no matter the feeling she doesn't have to go through it alone. I am thankful to keep hearing about the loving community you have near you, that right there is wonderful. I hope your weekend is great and you find moments to just be and enjoy with those beautiful boys of yours.

  2. Every day a bit better - I like that and something I will say to myself each morning. Thank you.

  3. I think you are doing amazballs and you have every reason to take the right time for YOU. Never worry about how uncomfortable other people are... THAT is THEIR issue to deal with. Just keep on doin Meri... cuz thats pretty damn awesome. I love you!!

  4. As you write about your struggles and pain, Meri, it only reminds me more and more of how incredibly strong you are! I admire you so. Love love love to you and the boys whom Ryan is watching over, without a doubt.

  5. We are 5 1/2 years since losing my beloved, beautiful sister(in law who was so much more than an in law) and she is still never far from my mind, I don't always feel that gut wrenching pain, when I think of her but sometime I do and I still cry. And that's ok with me... I often feel my brother raced to replace her and provide a "Mom" for their 5 yr old daughter. The relationship with his girlfriend is strained at best and my niece still isn't the same without her Mom either. Don't let anyone rush you as you go through your own process....

  6. Im happy to see that you finally blogged this all out! Ive always believed that its ok to not be ok, and its okay to have some days that we crawl in bed and hide. ((HUGS))

  7. I'm new to your blog, and new to Type daughter is 9 and we are 5 months in. She just got her pump last week, and it's been a pretty rocky road.

    Also, yesterday was the 3rd anniversary of my best friend's death from cancer. Reading your post (referred from another Type 1 blogger), I was thinking about Sandy and how she felt so pressured to be well, and about her husband feeling, I suspect, so pressured to get over her death, and the way I felt pressured during those first few weeks after she died to start feeling better. Immediately after the funeral, people would say things like "Now that's out of the way maybe things will start looking up."

    Our culture doesn't like the 'liminal state' - the way the ill or the grieving don't buy into, or fully occupy, the box of society. Convalescence is a thing in itself; not illness and not wellness, it can't be rushed or denied. But beautiful things come out of grief properly observed - I have read your most recent post, about looking right at diabetes as a friend and fellow victim, and I believe that sort of epiphany comes to us only when we have sat with our pain instead of running from it or medicating it. It takes patience and grit.

    Thanks for this post. I'm looking forward to reading more from your blog.


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