The Grief Monster



August 30, 2013

I was thinking about this thing called grief and how often times it is like the monster in the closet that children fear at bedtime.  It sits, waiting for the lights to dim and the house to settle before showing its face - or just pops out of nowhere to send me in a spiral.  Since I have been on this grief journey, I notice it is most often at night where the sadness, anguish and longing for what was, creeps around in the shadows and taunts me with the unknown fears and anxieties that come with being a widow and single mom to 7 kids.  I was searching the internet to see if there was any literature or information on my made-up entity called the "Grief Monster" and found this picture of a children's book on grief.  So, it wasn't so made up after all.  The "Grief Monster" is real.


I have shifted into a new space in my journey as a widow, that of a support to other new widows.  There are far too many, and they are far too young to be on this path.  What I hear time and time again is that their bed is the place to go when all the new realities become overwhelming.  Any time of day, to run and jump under the covers shutting out the day or the night seems to bring a sense of protection and insulation from the constant barrage.  I also hear it is the nights that bring forth the scary dreams, fears, anxieties, regrets, anger and all the dark emotions linked to losing their spouse.  The night is not our friend.

It is a bit of a paradox this relationship between the safety and comfort of my bed and the predictable anxiety-ridden nightfall. I recall the nights after Ron died, my bed was a refuge at the end of the day.  I actually looked forward to the time I could be done with all the activity and I could snuggle in to the blankets and sheets and wrap myself in a protective cocoon.  All of the day's troubles were pushed away for that instant and I could pretend none of it was real.  Sadly, as the night progressed, that refuge became a torturous mess of bad dreams, sleepless nights and a reminder - he was gone and would never hold me, comfort me, make love to me in that bed again.  The Grief Monster knows how to take away peaceful moments and turn them into darkness.

I honestly thought after a year, I wouldn't be susceptible to the Grief Monster's scare tactics.  I thought by now I would be immune to the affects of sudden unexpected bursts from the shadows, but that just isn't so.  I don't always react as intensely as I used to of course but it still causes me to pause and realize - Ron is gone forever.  Today, the Grief Monster reared its ugly head and attacked full force.  I was cleaning out my extra refrigerator and saw that the infertility meds were still there.  I had been ignoring the fact they were taking up an entire drawer for the last 2 years. 

I still held out hope we would try again - even after an early miscarriage/chemical pregnancy in April 2011.  We bought the medications for our next IVF cycle and then I began to notice Ron wasn't doing so well.  He was really slowing down and was having a harder time keeping up.  I decided to put off an IVF cycle to see if things improved with him.  I thought "give it a year" - well, in exactly 1 year he was gone forever.  That baby we had both wanted so badly would never be.

Today, when I cleaned out the drawer and placed the expired medications in the trash, if felt like I was peeling off my own skin.  All the emotions just rushed to the surface and I was a crumbled mess of tears, snot and aching heart.  I miss that man so very much and letting go of the hope, the possibility of new life is excruciating.  There is nothing that will ever fill the place in my heart like he did.

That damn Grief Monster, how do I tame it?  I need a new, updated version of Grief Monster Spray like I used for my kids when they were afraid to go to bed at night.  I would make billions.