It's beyond weird not to recognize yourself. I look in the mirror and have no idea who the sad girl is staring back at me. There are bags under her eyes, she's lost 20 lbs but not in a good way. In a sick kind of way. Even the bright color her eyes used to be are now dark blue and always welling up with tears. Her skin looks so pale. The lump in her throat is almost visible. Even the resting shape of her mouth is now sad, instead of blank. The light that used to shine through her of dreams and possibilities has been dimmed and is almost out.
Here's what my days look like now. (note: the following is super depressing. I am documenting current horror in the hopes of notable future growth) I wake up a few times but don't get out of bed until about 3pm. Then, I usually pull myself up and stumble into the bathroom where I see that sad girl looking at me, with her sad eyes and dim light. Today I put on some of his cologne. I then try to eat something or at least have some water. I cry a little, sometimes a lot. Seven tissues later I'm numb and a bit in denial. I stare at our wedding pictures on the wall. I watch a few music videos about people who have lost people. Then, at around six or seven people show up, different people every evening. And they take turns trying to get me to eat something, playing with my hair while I sob, letting me rant about how unfair this is, showing me a funny video or telling me a distracting story. They leave around midnight, I go to the office. I stare at Mitch's computer and his phone we still can't get into. The chair he always sat in when I'd come in and bug him to stop doing his homework and hang out with me. He'd smile, tell me to sit on his lap. We'd talk for five or ten minutes and then I'd let him get back to it. I sit at my computer, looking up more sad videos or sad songs. I play the ukulele for a bit. I chat with widows online. And somehow, I'm up until 5am. I then force myself to go to bed where I stare at the same ceiling I used to stare at during my late night discussions with Mitch. We'd talk about our days, how crazy some people are, our dreams for the future. And we'd laugh. But not anymore. Now I always have the same thoughts staring up at this ceiling. How did I get here? How long before I can hug Mitch again? And tell him how much of a nightmare this all was? How long before I can tell him to his face that I love him and I am so glad we were sealed? How long before he can laugh at the pathetic mess I've been, and he can tell me what he would have done in my position? How long before our dreams get to come true? The dreams that didn't die with his last breath because they live on in my heart, and in his. And then I pray. Hard. Tell Mitch I love him and miss him so so much. Tell him to comfort me and help me sleep. Please ask him if he can stay a while with me, until I can eat and sleep and breathe. Help him send me messages. Please let me have a dream about him, if I can't be with him here at least let me be with him in some way. And then, somehow. I fall asleep. I wake up a few times to let out a few tears, but mostly I sleep. Last night, I did have a dream about him. We went on a date to the ice rink. Afterwards, I held him so close and told him every idea I had to save him. He kept shaking his head, I'm sorry Britt. That's not going to work. But you can't die, Mitch. I can't do this without you. He just hugged me close and said nothing. So I woke up, feeling hurt and abandoned. And I start all over again.
My sister in law recently gave me this mantra to help me keep going through these dark days:
God is real.
He loves me.
He has a plan for me.
Everything is going to be okay.
And I add:
Mitch loves me.
He wants me to be happy.
What I can do today is enough.
Mitch is proud of what I can do.
He'd suck at this, too.
"Each of us will have our own Fridays—those days when the universe itself seems shattered and the shards of our world lie littered about us in pieces. We all will experience those broken times when it seems we can never be put together again.
We will all have our Fridays. But I testify to you in the name of the One who conquered death—Sunday will come. In the darkness of our sorrow, Sunday will come."
Elder Wirthlin
Britt,
ReplyDeleteI don't know if you remember, but we met at the São Paulo North Mission Reunion last month. Mitch was my District Leader, and we would walk the street singing songs while he played guitar, and almost kept me from fighting my companion. I have been reading along the past month and silently praying that you pull through. Thank you for your posts, I find sincerity in them, and can feel how much you and Mitch loved eachother.
-Skylar
Hi Britt,
ReplyDeleteYou don't know me. I'm friends with Nicole. I'm so sorry for you loss. I haven't lost a spouse, but I lost my father about 6 years ago. My mother shared something with me that I remembered as I read your post. She would often pray to have my dad come and comfort her when she was mourning. She always wanted my dad to come and take away her pain. She realized, eventually, that she needed to pray to have the Lord take away her pain and to comfort her during the difficult nights. I hope you can feel the Lord's love for you during this time of difficulty and pain. He loves you. He will be there for you. I hope what I shared can be of some comfort to you.
-Nichole Paul
Hey Britt, it's been a long while. I know you are surrounded by so many that love you. I know your trying to be strong. I know that you will question everything you know and look for answers where you never thought to find one...and then you will realize that you already have the answers; they just aren't the answers you seek. But they are still true.
ReplyDeleteYou and Mitch are eternal companions which makes the next part of what you know the hardest of all. You know that you will be together again. You also know that the likelihood of you being together soon is less than great. Your going to live- wi though him and it's gonna suck for awhile. Then it will suck less and then you will look in the mirror- the one you avoid at all costs-and you will see a survivor. YOU will see a future. Some days that knowledge will be the thing that keeps you in bed. Not dealing with the things you know in the face of things you hardly believe. Those are the things that keep you up at night. I know, I have been where you are and occasionally I return there for a painfully beautiful reunion with memories. I'm 45. You are not. I know I probably have another 45 in me and I will not spend them all alone. I can't. We are placed here to be tested and tried and to learn to love and then eventually we all go home. It's the great plan. I bet it isn't any easier to loose a spouse at any time during this journey. Would I have handled things better if I'd had more time? I'm guessing it would be difficult either way.
Try to stay busy. Work helps fill the days. Keep your friends and family close.
Go to the temple. You will feel heaven close and be reminded that you are infinite. That love is infinite. You are in my prayers and I want you to know that you are stronger than you know. That and also that Easter morning is real. Love you- Diana
Hey Britt, it's been a long while. I know you are surrounded by so many that love you. I know your trying to be strong. I know that you will question everything you know and look for answers where you never thought to find one...and then you will realize that you already have the answers; they just aren't the answers you seek. But they are still true.
ReplyDeleteYou and Mitch are eternal companions which makes the next part of what you know the hardest of all. You know that you will be together again. You also know that the likelihood of you being together soon is less than great. Your going to live- wi though him and it's gonna suck for awhile. Then it will suck less and then you will look in the mirror- the one you avoid at all costs-and you will see a survivor. YOU will see a future. Some days that knowledge will be the thing that keeps you in bed. Not dealing with the things you know in the face of things you hardly believe. Those are the things that keep you up at night. I know, I have been where you are and occasionally I return there for a painfully beautiful reunion with memories. I'm 45. You are not. I know I probably have another 45 in me and I will not spend them all alone. I can't. We are placed here to be tested and tried and to learn to love and then eventually we all go home. It's the great plan. I bet it isn't any easier to loose a spouse at any time during this journey. Would I have handled things better if I'd had more time? I'm guessing it would be difficult either way.
Try to stay busy. Work helps fill the days. Keep your friends and family close.
Go to the temple. You will feel heaven close and be reminded that you are infinite. That love is infinite. You are in my prayers and I want you to know that you are stronger than you know. That and also that Easter morning is real. Love you- Diana
I lost my son two years ago. I know the pain.
ReplyDeleteTime is an illusion. Mitch now understands that. We, however, won't fully understand that until we join him. Be of good cheer. In the twinkling of an eye you will be together, and what you now see as pain will transform into glorious beams of pure light, unspeakable joy, and profound understanding.
--Michael Niehoff
Very touching, Brittany. Your words are poignant. Your reflections reminded me of the song "On my Own" from the musical Les Miserables (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yWoTYJqZkpI). I can't fully understand what you are experiencing, but imagine how difficult it must be. My family is praying that you find peace and strength. I know that as you get through, you'll come to understand that you are not alone.
ReplyDelete