I am into the second year after losing my husband Ron to a sudden heart attack and the way I thought I would feel - well, I just don't. I am still constantly sad, I constantly miss him and always think about what he would say or do in any given situation. I have not moved on - although I have taken steps to attempt that part of the process. I am not healed - although I find some solace in less pain deep in my heart. I am still grieving nonetheless.
The second year, some say, is supposed to be easier. I have already been through all the "firsts" so the second year through should be easier - right? I think in some ways the second year is worse. I liken the experience to that of a new parent. Strange to think of new life being so much like end of life, but in some ways it is similar. When a baby is brought home from the hospital, it is new, strange, with many adaptations to the addition. There are many long nights awake with much crying. This crying is the newborn of course, but after loss, it is the grieving whose tears fill the night. Those first long nights and days with a newborn are spent trying to figure out this new life and how it fits in to the old routine, and in grief it is spent trying to figure out how to live without the one you love so deeply and create a new routine without them. Most of the first year with a newborn, parents are in a fog, dazed by lack of sleep, worry and confusion. In grief, the shock creates an anesthetic effect that numbs you to all but the most vital. Life is a fog, almost unintelligible and processing is slow to any activities or just life in general. As you approach the end of the first year with a baby, it is with wonder and amazement at how well you did, how you managed, excelled even as a new parent. The one year also marks the crossing point to end the firsts. All the first holidays, events, activities experienced with a new child in the home. The end of a year with a new baby is a time to celebrate and pat each other on the back at what pros you have become. In grief, the approach to the year marks a no turning back point. The place where you can't say "it's the first without..." It is not a time to look back with joy at all the changes and accomplishments, even though I know I have accomplished much as a newly single mother and woman, celebration is the last thing on the mind of the grieving. For me, the year anniversary was a date I dreaded for weeks. It meant I had to DO something different because I was different. I wasn't counting my loss in weeks any longer - it was now months or years. I've been a widow for a year. It makes me shudder to say it out loud.
When a child approaches their second birthday, people stand back with knowing looks and a bit of reminiscent terror in their eyes "Terrible Twos" they whisper. Oh, just you wait - those terrible twos are coming up! In grief - I believe the second year deserves those hushed warnings as well. The second year, you are without the comfort of anesthesia and shock, you must now wind your way through all the "seconds" without the protection of not feeling each bit of sadness, pain and anguish as you relive the death and all that follows. The terrible twos of grief mean you feel EVERYTHING.
365 days. 525,600 minutes. How do you measure a year in a life? How do you measure it in death? Each day means another 1,440 minutes go by. Do you know how many heartbeats that is? For Ron, it would have been 77,760 heartbeats. I counted them often at night as I lay my head on his chest, listening for any changes or missed beats. The sound of his heart beating beneath my ear was comforting and gave me hope that he was thriving. I can remember the feeling of his warm, hairy chest and the strong arm that held me. But the heartbeat was most comforting to hear and feel.
As I move into the second year without Ron, I will strive for health, happiness and to retain the memories of a man I loved deeply. Terrible Twos - you can't take me down. I am one tough chick and I do not fall easily!
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