The Bipolar Grief Express

“How are you doing?” “You’re so strong. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.” “I wish there was something more I could do.” My village has done so much to support me these past months. From the moment George and I returned from New York City last December and received the The News just before Christmas – a diagnosis we never expected - I have felt the presence of so many angels lifting me up. Yet the low points are almost unbearable. 

I still don’t know how to do “alone”…

Bipolar Grief Disorder. That’s the best way to describe my “condition” since That Day. Manic activity followed by soul crushing, self-induced solitary confinement in the home that never knew a quiet moment. The symptoms include overbooking myself with distractions that help me bury the reality of my new, singular existence. Thousands of travel miles, visiting relatives and sharing laughter and memories. Tuesday nights with friends, joining two very talented musicians to sing harmonies behind their exceptional voices and mad guitar skills. Concerts. Broadway musicals. Escapes to Disneyland - the happiest place on earth - where sadness is checked at the gates. Play dates with the Grands. Distractions. Distractions. Distractions. The flip-side? Agonizing alone time, in a home that holds so many memories of my Kahuna. Where the sadness I have carefully repressed envelops me. A tidal wave of loneliness takes me into its sorrowful grip. And I wallow. I feel it. I cry. I scream. I MISS YOU, GEORGE! Today is one of those days…

The silence in “our” house is deafening today. The muffled tick, tick, tick of the wall clock rings in my ears. Charlie stays close by, his gentle snoring offering quiet comfort. I sit. For hours. Ignoring the voice in my head telling me to “do something” - there is always something to do. Instead I ask myself unanswerable questions. How am I going to live without him? Why didn’t we catch his evil cancer sooner? Will I ever feel true happiness again? I’ve learned this about grief - I can’t wish it away. No number of activities can dissolve it from my being. I can’t run away from it, or take a trip to escape it. It will return. Today I owned the emptiness.

50 years ago - September 1968 - I made my way to the teacher’s desk with my transfer papers. That innocent act in my last semester of high school would change my life forever. George “negotiated” a seating change next to my desk, and we immediately became friends.

George's "friendly" note to me on his senior portrait

Our friendship blossomed into a lifetime love affair two years later. We were 17 when we met, and I whispered my tearful goodbye when we were 67. What a beautiful life we had together. We weathered the storms of marriage and family, and our love became stronger through each and every experience. We were making plans for the golden years. Now I realize our life had been golden the entire time. How grateful I am to have had my best friend at my side for so many years. After 50 years of “we”, I guess I can’t expect the (almost) six months of “me” to be an easy adjustment.

My bipolar grief disorder is going to take time to overcome. The upcoming holiday season is my next hurdle. Manic Paula wants to recreate the fun and festivities of the past...

50 years of Christmas kisses.

Christmas Eve 2016

Reading The Night Before Christmas - a Christmas Eve tradition

Adorn the house with the umpteen boxes of Christmas splendor. Decorate the 10 foot tree. Share Christmas Eve with family and extended family. Remember George with food, fun and stories of Christmases past. That’s what he would want. Joy. Yet as I sit in our home – now void of his larger than life presence – feeling the weight of such deep grief, I ask myself if I’m prepared for the flip side of that holiday joy. I have some time to make that decision. For now, I’m taking the Bipolar Express into the next station, and hoping the ride gets easier.

Filling the Hole in My Heart

Are you getting tired of Poor Pitiful Paula? Do you question why I still cry daily? Sleep with his pajamas under my pillow? Forget to eat dinner? Is my grief depression depressing you? George’s death has stolen “me”. In its place is the actor portraying Paula, going through the motions each day with smiles that hide the huge, unfillable hole in her heart. Read on if you dare…

Sixteen weeks. Yes I still count in weeks. You would think it’s getting easier. Think again. I may have adapted to the new routine of life alone, but each day brings with it a new challenge – another reminder of the emptiness I feel. Yesterday it was saying goodbye to George’s car. Another piece of my Kahuna was gone. Who knew the sight of an vacant space in the garage would evoke tears!

What happened to the “woman formerly known as Paula”? Try as I might to reconnect with her, she’s nowhere to be found. Instead I am watching my new, and until a few months ago unthinkable, life being played out by an actor. The day I became Hultman, party of one, Paula disappeared. My body double took over, going through the everyday routine of life, but somehow detached from her new reality. My life is a Hallmark movie!

The trailer would go something like this….”She was an insecure teenager who dreamed of finding her true love. He was the guy everyone knew – the cool kid – and, she thought, the kind of boy who would never pay her a second look. Until one day, when their paths crossed and their lives changed forever. A love story for the ages, until… the doctor delivered the devastating news. Their perfect life together came to a sudden, tragic end. Now she struggles coming to terms with her new life. How will she face her future – alone – without her one true love?”

With each passing day I feel George’s loss differently. More permanently. He’s not coming back. He won’t wear the closet full of clothes I can't part with - yet. No more “Opera Nights” (the subject of a future blog). While I know his absence is permanent, my brain is still programmed to include my Kahuna. I catch myself using plural pronouns – “We have a dog,” “Our house is just around the corner.” This detachment from what I know to be reality keeps the actor Paula on the payroll!  I may sound completely off the rails, and I can’t expect others to understand this double life I live – unless they, too, have been down this path.

But wait. Don’t give up on me yet. There is a glimmer of hope. I’m finding comfort and guidance in daily meditation. I’m also feeling moments of inner strength. An occasional sense of calm. They're fleeting - and welcome. Perhaps the actor depicting me is gaining confidence. She is channeling her inner Kahuna and learning to take on his strengths as her own. They are baby steps to be sure, but something is happening – S-L-O-W-L-Y – bringing my impostor closer to the authentic Paula 2.0. 

That hole in my heart? It’s still there. It will always be. But instead of sinking into the emptiness, I’m beginning to imagine it being filled with all the beauty of George’s spirit as he passes it on to me. His love. His strength. His courage. His confidence that I can live life without him. Honey, I’m trying. I really am. As long as you're within me - filling my empty heart.