Hello Darkness, My New Friend

Today marks the two month anniversary of George‘s passing. I can’t wrap my head around how life has changed in such a short time. As I watch the Grands grow, I mourn their grandpa’s absence from their young lives. The baby grabs George’s rings, worn around my neck, at every opportunity as if she’s holding his hand in her chubby baby fingers. My almost three-year-old energizer bunny has begun to refer to “Gigi’s house,” omitting Grandpa from the description. As sad as that makes me, I am equally delighted when he spots any and every picture of Grandpa and joyfully recognizes him. And Max still asks questions. “Do you miss Grandpa?” is his recurring query to me. He asked his mom the other day, “If you wish upon a star, will your wish come true?” When she asked what he’d wish for, he replied, “I’d wish Grandpa didn’t die.” Oh, Max. How I long for your wish to come true…

Hello darkness, my old friend. That line from a Simon and Garfunkel song has been in my head since the 60’s. Come to think of it, so has George! I’ve sung those words for years but this week they’ve taken on a whole new meaning. The darkness is real, not just lyrics to a song. I am in the throes of the nastiest stage of grief I’ve encountered so far. Depression has wrapped a heavy cloak around me, and I’m fighting not to stay in bed all day, holding the one piece of clothing that still carries the musky scent of my Big Kahuna. “They” say grief has no time limit, yet I really wish it had a “use by” date that gave me hope for emerging from this black hole. For now I live under a shroud of emptiness and can’t find a way out.

I’ve been forcing my sadness back to the cheap seats for weeks, filling the void with one distraction after another. Since That Day I’ve had a lot to keep me insulated from this feeling of utter loneliness. The Celebration of Life. Closing George’s law practice. Erasing his name from our financial existence, and all that comes with taking over that part of our life he had always managed. They are welcome diversions, and I’m proud to say this old gal still has it when it comes to learning something new!

Grand fun!

Slimy fun

Other distractions are pure joy. Play dates and sleepovers with my precious Grands. Lunch and dinner with members of my amazing village, where every meal includes a side order of tears. Talking always helps, and the conversations become a lovely moment of normalcy in my otherwise abnormal existence.



I really felt as if I was getting my emotions under control. Until...

The first Father-less Father’s Day got the depression train on the tracks. Tearful moments with Son and Daughter. My attempt to add a Dad-worthy note to the cards I gave Son and SIL that evoked too many memories and caused additional sadness.

The following day the Depression Express was rolling, and I was on board. I retreated to my Kahuna size bed at the untimely hour of 5:30 pm, feeling the weight of my sadness and looking for comfort in unconsciousness. I fought the urge to sleep, and made a bargain with myself to stay awake by watching a favorite old rom-com, When Harry Met Sally. I’ve watched that movie hundreds of times - who doesn’t love the famous Katz’s Deli scene. This viewing, though, took an unexpected turn with the “interviews” within the movie. As the octogenarian couples shared their wonderful long marriage stories, I felt cheated. How dare they have so much time with their “one true loves” when I lost mine too soon? I turned off the TV to retreat to the inner sanctum of slumber.

Charlie, my alarm clock

By morning I forced myself out of bed to feed and water Charlie. Determined to get the day started on the right “foot”, I buckled Charlie’s leash and set out for a long morning walk. The weather was perfect, and the much needed exercise felt great. Later as I undressed to shower, that damn unwelcome visitor reappeared. As I stood in “our” closet, the sight of George’s clothes was the unexpected trigger. Without warning I felt the now familiar rush of grief-induced emotion that rose, for the first time, to primal screams - with my head buried in his still-neatly arranged suits.

I retreated to the shower and under the steamy stream of water, screamed again and cried even more. I called out George’s name and begged him to come back. I sobbed - an ugly, snot-nose cry - and told him I can’t face life without him. I felt utterly helpless. When I started hyperventilating, I realized there was nobody to rescue me if I passed out in the shower, and a little shred of common sense (and the fear of someone other than my Kahuna seeing me naked!) took hold. I let the shower spray comfort me and dilute my stream of tears, as the involuntary post-cry gulps reminiscent of childhood put the finishing touches on my worst meltdown to date.

The bed beckoned me as I dried myself, but I pushed through, got dressed, and took Charlie for a ride. I canceled a lunch date with my dear friend, and opted to let my OCD love of vacuuming be my companion. No speaking required. I was alone with my thoughts, and now have the cleanest car interior since it rolled off the showroom floor!

Articles on the subject offer clinical descriptions of the depression stage of grief, along with advice for coping with it…

• “See it as a visitor, perhaps an unwelcome one, but one who is visiting whether you like it or not.”
• “Make a place for your guest. Invite your depression to pull up a chair with you in front of the fire, and sit with it, without looking for a way to escape.”
• “Give yourself permission to “feel your feelings”. Don’t let anyone tell you how you should feel or that you should “get over it” or “move on”.
• “As you grow stronger, it may return from time to time, but that is how grief works.”

The last suggestion for coping seemed right up my “over-poster” alley...“Create a special and unique post for Facebook to let your online community how much you love and miss that person.” Bingo!

I know what feeds my grief induced depression. Longing for something I’ll never have again. Wishing I could turn back time. Feeling so alone, and missing the love that filled my heart for so many years. My unwelcome “visitor” has settled in for a while, and I’m feeling its presence – like that house guest who just won’t leave. Hello darkness, my new friend. Please don't get too comfortable.