Personal Blog #4 ... Finally Moving On With the Rest of My Life ... 10-19-17

After nearly eighteen months of grieving over the death of my beloved wife, Clare, I am finally able to move on to enjoy the remaining years of my life. Psychologists usually describe grieving the loss of a loved one as a process with five stages ... denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.  Some psychologists describe seven stages, differentiating pain/guilt from anger and differentiating “turning the corner” from acceptance.  All psychologists agree, however, that some individuals move back and forth between stages, and some individuals linger longer in one or more stages.  

I spent most of the past eighteen months going back and forth between pain/guilt and depression.  Even after reaching the “final” stage of acceptance, I continued to suffer from some lingering mild depression.  Perhaps that is because I had been anxious and mildly depressed for many years while Clare was still alive.  Many Alzheimer’s disease (AD) spouses experience “anticipatory grief” because there are no AD survivors.  An AD diagnosis is quite literally a death sentence.

Until recently, I would often burst into tears and cry out with gut-wrenching pain whenever something triggered memories of activities Clare and I had enjoyed together.  I’d also often loop back into that pain/guilt phase, second-guessing decisions made years ago.  Although I was enjoying time with family and friends, along with participating in some activities, I just could not see a future filled with much happiness.  But conversations with other widows, focused personal reflection, and a very special writing project ended my pain/guilt and depression about six weeks ago, enabling me to finally move forward, mentally and emotionally. 

I had brief discussions with several AD widows who had lost their spouses several years ago and asked how long it took them to get past their grief.  They all said that whereas time helps, they still feel sad and occasionally depressed.  One widow tearfully expressed how difficult the holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries are for her, even though it’s been eight years since she lost her husband.

Hearing this actually made me feel a little better and more “normal,” just knowing that I wasn’t the only one who still felt sad and depressed after “only” sixteen months.  Many well-meaning people had been telling me that I needed to “get on with my life,” but they didn’t understand that I was still “stuck” in those difficult pain/guilt/depression phases of grief.  I spent a lot of time reflecting upon what those widows told me, focusing on how I could improve my own situation.

 

At around this same time, I was given a challenge by my son.  He does not read my AD articles, finding them too painful, but he suggested a writing project that he would eagerly look forward to reading ... my memoir.  He suggested that I write about my earliest childhood recollections ... games and toys I played with, my house and neighborhood, what my life was like growing up, etc.  Not only did my son say he’d enjoy reading this, but he also thought my grandchildren would want to read it.

I thought he was crazy, but as I started recalling and then writing about memories dating back to my pre-school years, I started having so much fun that I literally was losing sleep.  I’d wake up thinking about how I forgot to write about this or that in my latest chapter!  Sharing some of my early memories with my sister and friends led to more recollections, which I then wrote about in my growing memoir. 

Those conversations with widows, my focused self-reflection, and writing my memoir became a proverbial “perfect storm” that brought me out of that black hole I could not climb out of for so long.  I am now able to look at pictures of Clare, or think about things we did together, and smile instead of cry.  And, for the first time since Clare died, I am hopeful for the future.  I’m even ready to meet “a special someone.”  I’m not looking for “another Clare” ... that would be an impossible task.  But it would be wonderful to find a special woman who could bring additional happiness into my life. 

However, even if I never find that special woman, that’s okay.  My gym workouts and my bowling leagues are already more enjoyable, and I’m experiencing happiness again with the simple daily routines of life.  For the first time in more years than I care to admit, I am also now looking forward to enjoying new experiences.  After eighteen months of grieving, I am now looking forward to a happier future.  I plan to continue “talking” to Clare every day, and know that I will miss her for as long as I live.  But I am also now able to think and talk about Clare without feeling mental anguish.  That deep pain in my gut, present for so long, is now gone. 

Clare had written a letter to me dated four years before she died when she obviously realized that she was losing her cognitive abilities.  But I only discovered this letter after her death.  She wrote about how happy her life had been with me ... and her strong wish for me to do everything I could to find happiness in my life after she was gone.  It took me much longer than I had expected, but I am now trying to fulfill Clare’s final wish for me.  I am looking to find that happiness.

I expect some sadness will always remain within me, and I also expect some tears at times.  But I will no longer experience life with gut-wrenching feelings of pain/guilt and lingering depression due to losing Clare to AD.  No more.  I am now finally moving on with the rest of my life.