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Sometimes it gets worse before it gets better


The day my husband shot himself in the heart is the day that I thought I couldn't ever feel any worse. After everyone went home, the police officers drove away, and I had to step back into my home when I really just wanted to run.......that day I thought that was the worst it would ever get. I thought that my life was on fire, the shit had hit the fan, my husband had left, he was dead....how could it ever possibly get worse than that? How could I possibly ever feel any more pain than I felt that day?

Sometimes it gets worse before it gets better.

That day I thought I was feeling all of my pain, all of my grief, but I was in shock and the shock numbs you. It cushions you. It helps to protect you from feeling everything all at once.

Sometimes it gets worse before it gets better.

I cried myself to sleep the night he died. I double checked every single lock on all the doors and windows. I left every single light in the house on. I was terrified, confused, horrified, and sad.

But, I woke up the next day and there was life to take care of. There were funeral arrangements, calls from eye donations banks, finances to get in order and clothes to pick out to bury my best friend. There were children to shield from my screams and visitors to brew coffee for. All of this helped to get me through what I thought was the worst I could ever feel.

But sometimes it gets worse before it gets any better.

Over the first year after he died it got worse.

I wailed in my basement alone in the dark in the middle of the night.

I laid on my bathroom floor some mornings at 4:00am throwing up from the pure horrific visions of him hurting himself that would just not stop playing over and over and over in my mind.

There were days that I was so terribly exhausted but I'm a Mom so I have to keep going and can't lay on the couch and cry all day.

And then there were days of pure sunshine. There were days that I caught myself laughing again and it felt so damn amazing to feel something besides pain. And then the guilt would creep in. I shouldn't be laughing. I shouldn't be smiling. He's dead and I'm still alive and it must be my fault so I don't deserve this sun or this joy or this laughter.

Sometimes it gets worse before it gets better.

There were days that I was so, so deep in my grief that I wished someone would just turn the lights out on my life. The pain was in my heart, in my head, in my soul......in my bones. I could hardly stand it. I could hardly breathe and that was the worse. It was worse than that first day when I was cushioned a bit by the shock of it all.

It was worse when I had to start to really figure out..........how the hell do I live without him? Where do I go? What do I do at 5:00pm each night when he would usually be walking through the door? What do I do with my hand in the car that he would usually be holding? Where do I sit on holidays at his family's house?........I feel so awkward......I feel so out of place.

The day that he died was the worse day of my entire life.

But the days and years that followed had days that felt almost worse.

It's not easy to continue on living when you wish you could just sleep forever.

It's not simple to plan out even next week when you're used to being a wife and have no husband to care for.

The first year after he died I had a lot of up's and down's. Most of which no one noticed. Most of which happened behind closed doors. Most of which only happened in my own mind and heart.

Sometimes it gets worse before it gets better.

The second year after he died did get better. Or I got better. My grief was still there. I still sat at his grave and wailed to the God's to why the hell this had to happen to my family. Why my family? Why? But I got better. I learned how to let my emotions in and not fight them. I learned how to rest. I learned how to ask for help....a little bit. And I learned what I didn't know in that first year. I learned where to stand when I went to a party without him. I learned to stand alone and be ok with that. I learned to love myself fiercely because no rescue boat was coming to save me and if it was.......it must have gotten lost.

I know that no one wants to hear that sometimes it gets worse before it gets better. But sometimes hearing the truth and being informed is better than living in the dark. Don't be afraid of it getting worse because there are millions of people out there who have been through the worse and they survived. They are still alive. They found their hope. They found joy and are moving forward with their lives. You will get through the bad days. You will get through the worse. Just always, always keep that in the front of your mind on the days you are wailing in your basement, or crying in your car, or you can't get out of bed. Just remember that it won't always be that way. You will feel the sun again. You will feel happiness again. And yes, the grief will creep in even then. I still cry. I still hurt for what happened to my family. I still have days that are shit and are hard and I want to give up. But I remember that it does get better. I remember the days that I have laughed and felt alive again and I will always hold out for more of those days.

Sometimes it gets worse before it gets better because whoever you lost was important. They mattered. You loved them. And that means you're sometimes going to feel super crappy that they aren't here anymore. Wouldn't it be odd if you had no emotions toward them being gone? It's human....the grief we go through is human. It's our hearts and our souls screaming out that this hurts. But it gets better......or you get better. You will get better.

Hold on for the better days. They are on their way. You will know them when they arrive and you will wait for them again on the days you're feeling worse.

#widow #grief #griefsupport #death #loss #healing

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