Waking up Again... Dopamine, Debridement and Healing

So many feelings churning throughout me these days...looking for a new home, a new way to be.  It's all stirred up, but in a good way, a healing way.  It feels horrible, it feels painful, but I can also feel the healing happening.

I worry that I repeat myself in this blog.  I know I repeat myself constantly in my journal.  Some of the same things come up again and again.  Some of them lie quiescent for a time and then resurface.  Some I push down, not wanting to feel them, doing my best to avoid them.  But the feelings are always present.  Yesterday I was very aware that I needed to write.  Instead, I spent the whole day avoiding facing them head on.  So they wait.  And when I try to go to sleep, they pounce, leaving me sobbing and wailing.

Sometimes I have so many opposing feelings happening at once, I feel like I'm in a tornado, spinning wildly.  Metaphors race through my brain, trying to make sense of the chaos within.

Part of me, the critical, controlling, judgmental me, thinks that after almost two years I should be farther along.   I'm sure many people think so, luckily no one says it to my face.  One person did and he was quickly history.  Luckily for me, so many of the people I've been fortunate enough to surround myself with tell me "It's a process.  It's different for everyone.  There's no wrong way to grieve.  It never fully goes away." and many other loving things that I can tell critical me.  And I remind myself that I had a year and a half of major losses, compounding the grief.  Intellectually I realize that I have sustained almost every major loss one can have.   So I try to be as gentle and loving with myself as I would be with someone else.  I give myself credit for getting out of bed, getting dressed, walking to meetings, putting my hand out.  I'm taking care of myself physically - probably better than I ever have in my life.  I go to grief support groups, I go to church, I go wherever I can find what I need to keep moving through this.

I think I spent the past six months in numb despair.   I was in the same sort of zombie place after Jim and then my Dad died.  Both times it took the same thing to jolt me awake.   And I feel embarrassed about it.  But I now understand the Sleeping Beauty story.  Because both times, it was a kiss that woke me up.  I don't want to be the kind of woman that needs a kiss to wake up.  I "should" be strong and self sufficient and not need a man, blah, blah, blah..... but it is what it is.   And then I read my friend Jill Hamilton's blog post "Dopamine, the Cruel Bitch Mistress".  I have another friend Ethlie Ann Vare who writes about Love and Sex Addiction and talks about dopamine.  But the other day, it hit me when I read this quote (quoted in Jill's blog) by Sheril Kirshenbaum in The Science of Kissing. 

Spiking during a passionate kiss, dopamine is responsible for the rush of elation and craving, and can also result in obsessive thoughts that many of us experience in association with a new romance--almost like an addiction.

So the kiss woke me up and jump started me.  Since I'm totally an addict, I want to dive right in and get more.  Added bonus, the grief recedes.  I know it's still there, but the pain is gone.  I was trying my best to be a little wiser than I've been and take it slow (admittedly something I have little experience with.  The only time I took it slow was with Jim and that was because at the time we wouldn't see each other for several weeks in between dates because we were both doing art shows and in different places).   And then the man decided after 2 dates that we shouldn't see each other.  I'm still confused & unclear about the reasons.  But it was good in a masochistic, hurts so good kind of way.  Because although my addict self wants the dopamine rush, the escape from the grief;  my sober self knows I need time alone and time and space to heal.   And I know through experience that once the dopamine rush wears off,  the grief comes back, but in an unhealthy way.  God did for me what I could not do for myself.  So it is best this way.  BUT....

It triggered all of my abandonment issues.   Followed closely by Anger.  And on Anger's tails, Guilt, Regret and Remorse.  I'm fucking pissed at Jim for leaving me, for not taking better care of himself.   I'm angry that no one, myself included, thought that maybe there was a physical reason for his mood changes.  I feel guilty that I didn't know, didn't have more love and patience when he acted like an asshole.   He fucking promised me that he would never leave me and he fucking died on me and left me forever.   (I really thought that we'd split up, have some time apart and end up back together).  I'm angry at my father for falling and discovering he had cancer.  It wasn't even a week after Jim died.   I didn't even get a chance to absorb Jim's death and I had to deal with my father dying.  I'm pissed at God and myself for Athena's death.  I feel so horribly guilty that I was distracted and she died a painful death because of my negligence.   I feel like I let Jim down, one of the final things he wrote entrusted me with her care and I fucked up.   And I feel like I let Jim down because my store failed.  He wanted so much for it to be a success for me, he wanted me to be happy.  And I couldn't make it work.

AND I KNOW intellectually that I couldn't control, that I did the best I could, they did the best they could, yada, yada.  I just can't get what I know and what I feel to be in harmony.  But I do know what I need to do, more writing (privately) and share it with someone.  I've found someone I think will be able to help me with it.   I still have hope that one day I'll heal, I won't be one huge, gaping wound.  Right now I feel like a burn victim being debrided.  Dead tissue removed, exposed nerve endings, but necessary for healing.

I have so many fears and insecurities.  Jim and I had thought we were like two trees.  We began as individuals and were so close we entwined around each other, but we were still two individual trees.  Now I wonder, because without Jim here to entwine around, I've flopped over onto the ground.  I keep wondering if maybe I'm just a vine....not a tree.  But first I have to clear out he anger, guilt, the things infecting me and keeping me from healing.  Then I can move on from there.  At least now, I'm awake and I see the path directly in front of me.

A Glimmer of Hope

My therapist from grief group wanted me to write this story in my blog.  When I told it in group it didn’t seem like a big deal, but that’s why it’s good to have other people - sometimes they are able to point things out, that I would completely miss.  So here goes...

Several weeks ago my friend Katy and I went to the FIDM (Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising) Fashion Show.  It’s a showcase of the work by students from the Advanced Fashion Design and Costume Design programs.  Twenty five years ago, Katy and I were both part of the fashion show.  I could go on and on about my friendship with Katy, but we were bffs at FIDM.  Our styles were about as different as they could be - she was twin sets and pearls and I was fishnet with holes and lots of black.  But, we were both perfectionists, both graduated Summa Cum Laude and were both invited to be in the small group for the Advanced Fashion Design program.   It was a wonderful night and we got to see several people who were part of our FIDM experience.

As I watched the show, it brought back memories of school, memories of our show 25 years ago.  That night was one of the highest moments of my life.  I got to see the creations I had conceived and created showcased on a runway, modeled by professional models in a top notch fashion show at the ballroom of the Bonaventure Hotel in downtown L.A.  It was the night of my 30th birthday, my friends and family were there and to top it off, I won the top award of the show.  As I sat watching the current young designers, it brought on the flood of memories.  I remembered the excitement, the joy, the hopes for my future.  It was bitterweet.  And I am so grateful to have had that night, that experience.  

So how does this apply to my grief?  I realized that the feelings I had that night are what I someday hope to have about Jim.  Remembering with gratitude the joy that was, with a slight sadness that those days are gone.  

The therapist pointed out that I now have a vision of what life can look like for me.  So I’m visualizing a life, where I can think of Jim without the accompanying wave of grief, loss and sorrow.  With just a tinge of sadness, mixed with gratitude.  Bitterweetness.

I actually experienced a tiny bit of that last night.  It was the Lunar eclipse.  Jim was my science guy, my mountain man.  He taught me how to sit with nature, how to observe the subtle changes.  I remember early on, watching the Perseid meteor shower together.  I remember sitting by the window in our house during a lightning storm.  We’d turn off all of the lights and watch as if watching tv.  When we first met and were camping out full time, we would watch what Jim called “Pet TV” and just watch Misty, the coyote/husky and the cats do their thing.  He taught me how to pay attention to the solstices and equinoxes.  He taught a city girl how to slow down and be.  Just be.  

Whenever I look at the sky, I picture Jim’s energy zipping around our Universe, exploring all the things he wanted to know about when he was here.  Gravity, black holes, anti-matter.  He would often come out of his workroom with “I’ve been thinking” and we’d end up in some weird discussion about gravity.... It’s weird the things you miss when someone is gone.  

So last night as I sat there with my Mom, watching the wonder of nature, the beautiful Blood Moon.  Mars nearby and bright.  I missed Jim.  I was sad he wasn’t there to share it with.  But I was grateful that we had so many times like that together and grateful that I cared about watching the Lunar eclipse.  Jim’s gift to me.

Journey Through the Wasteland

This one's a little different.  But it's been floating around the past several nights as I tried to go to sleep.  So I wrote it.  And today rewrote it.  There's probably a few more rewrites, but I thought I'd just put it out there and not obsess too much.

JOURNEY THROUGH THE WASTELAND

Lost in a fog, unable to see anything, wrapped in a murky cloak of grief.  The cloak was simultaneously a cloud swirling around her, blocking out any light, and heavy as lead, weighting her down so that it was difficult to move.  It squeezed her tight, she was only able to take shallow breaths.  She struggled to take deep breaths, the voices outside kept telling her to breathe.  Sometimes she would manage a deep breath and the grief would pour in, a mist of fine black cinders burning into her bringing her to her knees from the shock and pain.   She was unable to loosen the cloak, it had its job to do.  It protected her from the miasma of despair, the pain reminded her she was still alive as she blindly wandered through the dense, gray fog, unable to see any light, any way out.  She often stumbled and fell, the breath knocked out of her, all she could do was lie there sobbing.  Eventually she would get back to her feet, weighted down by her mantle,  and begin to walk again.  She walked and she walked, unable to see, no landmarks to refer to, she often was not sure if she was going anywhere or just walking circles.  In the distance she heard the voices of those who loved her, calling to her.  Muffled by the fog, she was unsure where they were, where to go.  But she continued to move, because even if she was going in circles, there was still hope that she could find her way out.

Eventually, the cloak began to loosen.  Just a bit, but enough for her to breathe normally again.  Sometimes she would still inhale a cloud of burning cinders and still it would bring her to her knees, sobbing from the pain.  But it happened less and she had become accustomed to it.  She would rest a bit and then struggle back to her feet to continue walking.  And either the cloak had become lighter, or she had become stronger, or maybe a combination of the two, but she no longer felt like she was being crushed.  She tired easily and had to frequently rest, but getting up and moving was no longer such a struggle.  

The fog began to lift, just a bit.  At first she felt relieved.  At last there was something she could see.  Then despair set in, all she saw was a colorless, desolate wasteland, as if a volcano had erupted, burning away all life.  Tree stumps stood eerily throughout and everything was covered in a fine gray ashen dust.   Disconsolate, she collapsed.  Hope for sunshine and life had kept her moving, she had thought if only the fog could lift, she could find her way out.  Grief blanketed her as she lie there, curled up crying, the gut wrenching sobs of heartbreak and anguish, of hopelessness.  She remained there for a very long time, sapped of hope, sapped of strength, exhausted to the core of her being.  She rested and slept dreamlessly.  One day she heard faint calls, once again the voices of those that loved her.  They had not given up on her, they called to her, doing what they could to guide her back into the sunshine.  

Once again, she rose to her feet, something inside her would not let her quit, would not let her give up.  So she stood, her legs shaky.  She began a slow walk.  This time, without the fog distorting the sounds, she could hear the voices a little more clearly.  She was able to see the obstacles and walk around them or climb over them.  She left footprints in the ashes and knew she was not walking in circles, although sometimes she had to double back and circle around to find her way out.  And little by little, her inner guide came back to life, whispering in her head where to go.  She walked.  Up hills, down valleys, up mountains.  Sometimes the fog would return, but it was just in spots and she was able to keep moving forward.  The landscape remained bleak, mostly dead and lifeless.  But every so often, she could hear birdsong, feel a warm breeze, she would spot a small green sprout and she knew she was moving closer and closer to the land of the living.  She wore the cloak of grief more loosely now.  It would always be with her.  Sometimes she still inhaled the burning cinders, they still caused pain and tears, but it no longer caused the shock.  Most of the time she could breathe normally and even deeply without the burning pain, but when it came, she knew she could survive it.  The voices of those she loved, those that loved her, became louder and clearer.  The journey had stripped her down, forced her deep within, made her stronger and she knew that when she returned, she would have stories, stories that could help others when they were forced on the journey through their own wasteland.

Back to Basics

So many of you have been asking “What happened with New Jersey?” or “How are you doing?” and I just haven’t been able to answer.  So I’m sorry for that.  And now that I’ve been in SoCal for a month, I’m just starting to be able to respond....  

I discovered the limit of my resiliency.  I tend to be the bounce back kid, I like to think of myself as the warrior Phoenix.  But I discovered at what point I can be flattened.  Just too many losses in too short a time.  And I did not realize how devastating letting go of my store and then my house would be - especially on top of everything else.  In the space of a year and a half, everything I had built my life to be was gone.  And with it, my hopes and dreams.  It’s easy to say “I am not my things” until you lose them all.  For those who don’t know, I had to close my store because business was BAD - I was down 50% from my first year.  I kept trying to hang on, but finally I had to face reality and let it go.  I already had my house on the market - I had a TON of debt I needed to take care of.  So along came an opportunity for love and change and new, and I decided to go for it.  I’m glad I did.  It gave me something hopeful to look forward to, new hopes and dreams, as I dismantled my life.  

And then I got to New Jersey.  It all hit me, and all I could do was cry.  Here I was in a foreign land.  And nothing about it worked for me.  Everything was unfamiliar.  I went from a place of nature and peace to living in a small apartment where there was constant noise.  It grated my already frayed nerves.  I lived with someone who just couldn’t understand the magnitude of what I had been through.  Truthfully, very few people can.  It seems like there’s a handful of people who have known me for a very long time and were there every step of the way - from when Jim got sick to me selling almost everything I had, that really, really get it.  And I was more scared than I’ve ever been in my life - I didn’t know where anything was, I didn’t know any people.   When I did get out and put my hand out, nobody seemed interested in getting to know me.  It all was overwhelming.  I became very isolated and almost agoraphobic.  And then to top it off, there was the weather.... I’ve been through winter, real winter, but that was in Moab.  Huge difference.   Cold and snow in city, well almost city, just sucked.  I got progressively more lonely and depressed.  My energy was gone.  And I just became unable to do anything.  

The good thing in all of it, was that I got in touch with the basics.  What are my basic needs.  I realized I need peace, I need routine, I need some nature, and most of all, I needed somewhere safe.  I am blessed to have the most wonderful mother on the planet, so I’ve moved home with Mom in Thousand Oaks.  I have so much grief, some days it doesn’t seem like I can breathe.  I cry al lot.  But I’m starting to take the actions to heal.  Itty bitty little baby steps.  I have my morning routine where I write in my journal.  I’ve found a support system just one mile from Mom’s.  So every day, I walk there - it’s a twofer, I get exercise and spiritual nourishment.  People here have reached out to me and I’m starting to feel a little at home.  The weather has been a blessing.  I’m sorry California has a drought, but on a selfish level, I really, really needed the warm sunshine.  I’ve found a couple of grief support groups.  I’ve started going to church with Mom.  I’ve never been religious (except for that stint in junior high) and luckily her church - the United Church of Christ, is very liberal and open.  But something there is speaking to a part of my soul, so I go.  Plus, it’s nice to share that with Mom.  On Sunday after church, we go to my brother’s house where I get to visit Nala.  She lives with them, because I think it’s the best place for her - I can tell it’s home for her now.  But she’s always overjoyed to see me and Mom and I take her for a walk.  And then we hang out with the family, it’s nice.  I’ve started back to the gym.  So, I’m just doing the baby steps to take care of myself emotionally, spiritually, physically and mentally.  I get tired easily - grief triggers the same physical reactions as physical pain.  Little by little I try to tackle things.  I still need to get a car and then I can go to a therapist.  Along with losing people and things, I’ve lost parts of me.  I’ve run into a huge wall on my creativity.  Jim and I were creative partners for so long, that I can’t do it right now without him.  It’s like my arms were amputated, and I have to learn to paint with my mouth.  So I need some therapy to help me.  

So you ask “How I am”.  It varies in any given moment.  Sometimes I have so much despair that I just wish God would let me die in my sleep.  Don’t worry, I’m not suicidal.  After the pain I’ve had since Jim died, I don’t want anyone who loves me to go through the pain of losing me one minute before they have to.  And I am so lucky to have so many people I know love me deeply.  Sometimes I think of the future - I’m not exactly sure where I’m going, but either psychology or theology or some combination of the two.  I want to take this experience and use it to help others through loss.  Because, let’s face it, we’re all going to have loss.  And knowing I can use this experience to help others is what gives me hope.  But for right now, I’m just doing the little things in front of me to heal.  And I’m grateful to have a Mom who let’s me be where I am, is there with love and patience and understanding; who knows I’ll heal at my own pace, and is providing me a refuge to heal.

Platitudes, Schmatitudes - Just be Present

I've had people ask suggest that my grief is living in the past or living in the future.  All I can say is that when I am experiencing a grief surge, I am fully in the present.  I feel the hole and the pain left behind by the loss.

It's funny how people just cannot handle pain - their own or another's.  When my husband was in the hospital, someone told me "this too shall pass".   Seriously, am I supposed to live in the future or the moment.  Because at that moment everything sucked.  So I guess I'm supposed to live in the moment unless it's too uncomfortable for someone else, then I should live in the future.  Another person blithely said "Oh, he'll be fine".   When he died a few days later, she avoided me like the plague.

What I've gotten to see this past year, is how people use platitudes to avoid being present for someone else's pain.  I know they mean well enough, but really it's just a way to minimize or avoid the raw emotions.  I was actually very grateful for the people who said "I don't know what to say.  I don't know what you're dealing with".  It was honest, it was real.  And they didn't try to put a bandaid on a gaping wound.  They recognized and acknowledged the pain.  Some of them were the best listeners.  Because what I've need is to just keep talking about my feelings.  It's the only way I know to let them flow through me.  I talk.  I write.  I cry.  There have been a couple of times where the feelings have gotten bottled up in me.  Emotional constipation.  And every time that happens, I end up in physical distress.  My IBS flares up, I have migraines, my rib went out.  So I have to talk and talk and talk.

Shortly after Jim died, a few people said "he's in a better place".  For someone experiencing the loss of a loved one, that is at the top of the list of wrong things to say.  Not just for me, but for others I've talked to going through their own grieving process.  Because at that stage, I didn't fucking care.   Good for him and fuck him.  He's in a better place and I'm left here dealing with a mountain of shit he left behind.  Grief is selfish.I had a part of my heart and soul forcibly ripped from me and it hurts.  It hurts more that you know until you experience it for yourself.

Someone I love and care about told me the other day that I need to let it go.  Well I am, just maybe not in a way he understands.  For me letting go is a process.  There is no magic "letting go" fairy.  Poof - it's gone.  There's the pain of holding onto something that makes me willing to let go.  Then there's the pain of the letting go - feeling something being removed from me with no anesthetic.  Finally there's the pain of the empty space once I let go.  Grief has been a non-stop process of letting the feelings surface.  Writing about them, talking about them, crying about them.  I let them wash through me.  Like I said, sometimes I get stuck, but I've done my best to walk the line between avoiding the feelings and wallowing in them.  Overall, I think I've done pretty good.  Sometimes the grief brings me to my knees, or I end up curled up on the floor sobbing my guts out.  And then I get back up and try to focus on what's in front of me.

I give myself points for not drinking this year and not ending up in a mental institution.  I'm grateful to the many people who have shared from their hearts their experiences with loss and let me babble endlessly.  The people who have read my writing and told me how I've touched them, that what I've written has stricken a chord in them.  I'm grateful for the people who have told me I'm strong, courageous and brave.  When I feel weak and afraid, I cling to those reassurances, I believe I can make it through.  I'm grateful for the people that tell me they admire my authenticity.  At this point, I don't have much of a choice, I don't have energy to keep up a front.  It heals my rawness that this too is embraced and loved.  I'm grateful to the many people with endless patience, that have told me and keep telling me that there's no right or wrong way to grieve, that we all have our own path and hold my hand  and give me balance.  I'm grateful for the many, many people who have patiently let me talk and given me the gift of listening.  Through this whole process, the greatest gift I've received is unconditional love.  The quantity and quality continues to astound me.

So thank you all.  The next several weeks are going to be difficult.  A time of reliving an awful period.  A time of reflecting on the journey thus far.  I'm feeling the grief settle into a new place.  I think it will always be with me, but it's settling.  Thank you for letting me share this journey with you.  xoxo

Lost in a Fog

It's coming up on a year since my husband died.  This is the time he started to be sick.  I expected to be in for a tough time this month, and unfortunately I was right.  Last weekend I had two meltdowns over small things.....

I've had periods where the rollercoaster ride from hell has seemed to mellow.  Sometimes it smooths out for a bit, sometimes it starts to feel like I'm going up.  But then it drops down again.  The worst is the corkscrew portion where I don't even know which way is up.

This morning started pretty good.  I woke up feeling optimistic, did my morning writing and actually did some yard work.  But then as I headed to town for a doggie playdate (a fun activity with a very nice friend that I was looking forward to) the grief miasma descended.  I showed up for a few things, but then was just so de-energized I came home.  I'm exhausted most of the time.  The rollercoaster has worn me out.

As I continue to move through the grief, I keep realizing how much is lost in addition to the man I loved.  There is no security for me in this new land.  Old beliefs have either been stripped away or are so in my face that I need to let them go.  Some of the old beliefs I intellectually knew didn't work and have tried for years to will them away.  Or I believed I had let go of them, but now, stripped to my essence, I discover they've still been there.  And now they're at the surface, not working and I can no longer hang onto them.

For the last 28 years, I believed that if I could align with the universe, tune into my higher power, everything would be okay.  I believed that everything happened for a reason.  I no longer believe that everything happens for a reason, sometimes it just happens.  I don't believe in some deity that randomly decides it's time for someone to die for some "purpose".  I just think we're born and we die and it just happens when it happens for no particular reason.  And it doesn't matter how tuned in I am, when people die, everything is not okay.  Nothing will ever be the same.  There's no reason, no sense.  It just is.

I've discovered there is nothing I can count on.  There is no stability, no security.  Jim promised he would never abandon me.  Even as our marriage got worse and worse, he said he would never leave me, because he knew how abandonment was what I most feared.  And then he died.  And left me forever.   While logically I know he didn't "leave me", emotionally I wonder if I made him so miserable, he just wanted to escape me.  If he just gave up.  If it was my fault that he left me.  Which brings me face to face with some beliefs I've carried for most of my life.  I think I can control the world I live in.  If I just do things "right", I can control the outcome.  I really thought I had accepted that there are things I can't control, but now I've discovered how deeply held that belief is.  Tied into that belief is the "nothing I ever do will ever be enough".  Because of course, I can't control the world, I can't control other people, I can't control the outcome of anything.  And of course, things will not, cannot, work out the way I want and I feel it's because I'm not enough.  For years I've said the platitude (and thought I believed it) "Just do the footwork and leave the results in God's hands".  But at a deep core level, I still tried to control.

For years I believed I was a strong, independent woman.  Before I met Jim, I was single for 12 years.  But now I keep discovering how dependent I had become on him.  We were so entwined for 16 years as life and business partners.  I keep tripping over how many small things he did for me to make my life better, to make me happy.  Now that those things are gone, I realize how much I took for granted and how dependent I was on him for my strength.  And now I feel weak.  And alone.  My business is failing.  I thought I make it work, but it's not and I don't know what to do.  I worry that the success I was able to have was because I had Jim next to me and that without him, I'm destined to be a failure.

 Everything I though I could count on is being removed.  I know I can't count on anyone.  They could die at any minute.  Or they have their own lives to deal with and aren't there for me the way I want.  They have their own issues and something offered, that I thought I could rely on is removed.

Lately I've felt like I am lost in a forest in the fog.  I've wandered off my path, it's been closed off to me.  I can't find a new path.  I can't see, I can't hear.  I'm directionless.   I've always had a direction clear to me and now......

I just don't know anything.  So I'll keep doing what I've been doing.  I'll do my best to show up and do what's in front of me.  And trust.  Trust that at some point the fog will lift, a path will open.  Hope that something new and beautiful will arise from the ashes.

The Maze of Grief

Grief seems to be a maze.  A maze with different rooms in it.  Loss, Pain, Sorrow, Guilt, Regret, Remorse, Anger, Self-Pity - to name just a few.  You follow the paths.  They inevitably take you to one of these rooms.  If you keep avoiding that room, you never get to move on.  Sometimes you go into one of the rooms and want to stay there.  Anger is a great place - you can avoid feeling the pain and all the rest.   Self pity is good too.  Just crawl under the covers and escape life.  There are also the happier rooms - Acceptance, Serenity, Gratitude, Strength and even Joy.  They're a resting spot, a time out.  But eventually they kick you out, because it's time to keep moving.  There's the avoidance rooms - Busyness, Denial, Rationalization.  If you want to stay in them, you have to keep slamming shut the door that leads out.  Sometimes you think you're done with a room.  You've explored it, found the door out and moved on.   And then you move through the maze and it leads you back.

My husband of 16 years (well, we weren't technically married for that, but spiritually we were) died just over 8 months ago.  You'd think the grief would be easier by now, but it's not.  It is different.  I feel like I'm moving through the maze, but it's getting progressively deeper and more real.  At first, it all seemed surreal, with periods of "Oh my God, it's real".  All my energy went into keeping my head above water.  Sometimes just breathing was a challenge.  I've kept moving through the maze.  But right now, I feel like I'm bouncing between the Sorrow room and the Guilt, Regret, Remorse rooms.

We had an amazing relationship for 13 years.  We used to joke that we were the same person in male and female forms.  Most of our difficulties were his man/logic view vs. my female/emotional view.  And for 13 years we were able to find our way with lots of love.  Which was especially amazing since we were together 24/7.  We were not only married, but business partners working together.  We were soul mates.  And then something happened.  I'm not sure what exactly.  I had health issues and because of them started doing some emotional/spiritual growth and changes.  And since I was new to it, I didn't do it very well.  I made a lot of mistakes.  Business was tough and we were traveling a lot - so there was a lot of stress on both of us.  But we'd been through those challenges before and were able to tackle it together.  And I just have to wonder if that's when the diabetes (which eventually led to his death) kicked in.  Because he became much more irritable and the connections we had began to strain until neither of us had the energy to make our marriage work.  So there we were on the precipice of divorce and then he died.

At this point, I feel like I'm grieving the end of the marriage as well as his death.  It's a double whammy.  Lately I've had memories of the good times.  And realizations of how much he brought to my life, how many things he did for me.  I was sick recently.  When I got to the store to get my prescription filled, I just sat in my car and sobbed.  I felt so miserable and all I could think was "If Jim was here, he'd get my prescription for me.  He knew what I could eat and what food would make me happy.  He'd take care of me."  And all I wanted to do was call him, tell him how sorry I was for being unappreciative for the wonderful things he did for me.  But he's dead and I can't.  People want to make me feel better and tell me that I can tell him.  I just want to scream.  HE'S DEAD!!!!!  I know they mean well.  But I can't call him.  I can't talk to HIM.  I can't make amends.  Maybe I can, but it's not the same.  I can't wrap my arms around him, I'm sorry, tell him he's a wonderful human being, maybe heal some of the pain I caused him.  I can tell the air.  And sometimes I do feel him, hear him.  The other night I saw a fireball and I knew it was him.  But most of the time, there's just an empty space where he used to be.

So I'll just keep moving around the maze.