Two Years

Two years ago my world was turned upside down. I lost my best friend, my husband, my partner in all things. My world came crashing down, unrecognizable, unfamiliar, scary. I lived every day as if I was in the twilight zone, in a reality I could not believe nor comprehend. I could not have imagined suffering of this magnitude, and feared I would never find a life of joy again. I saw a dark cloud over my head, inescapable as if it were a shadow, omnipresent.

Andy’s death was a tragic end to a life I wasn’t prepared to let go of. His life. But also mine. I lost my husband, yes, but also myself. My identity so inextricably linked to his over years of winding our lives together, two pieces of inseparable rope. In many ways I became an infant again, learning my strengths, capabilities, and confidence. I was forced to do so much on my own, and remember my resilience. But also, accept that I couldn’t do it alone. I struggled against feeling week, incapable, needy - I saw myself as the “sad friend”. I was unrecognizable to myself, and didn’t want to be that person. It’s the closest I will ever come to knowing what Andy’s experience was like, the early stages of grief so seemingly similar to severe depression.

But I discovered that grief was not my identity, it was an experience, a rite of passage, that gave me gifts of compassion and empathy for others, and a willingness to be vulnerable. This last asset was, and remains, the most difficult to embrace but also the most powerful. It allows me to lean on others and ask for, and accept, help. It’s what has made it possible to heal, recover, and find a new life. It helped me assess what was important to let go of, retain, and cultivate. It was life affirming and opened new doors to joy and happiness.

I miss Andy everyday, and wish he was still here with us. While we can’t bring him back, we can do what he could not- embrace life and the people who enrich us; accept that life is imperfect and comes with challenges we cannot anticipate, plan for, or outsmart; and be brave with our vulnerability, deepening the connections we have with our loved ones. I hope Andy would be proud of me and the kids for how we’ve grieved, learned from this experience, and made a conscious choice to live life.