The Ditch

In the first few months after Rod died, I recall someone describing grief to me as like falling into a ditch.  You are not sure how far you have fallen, or sometimes even that you have fallen at all, but at some point you realise that you are in the ditch and you are going to need some help to find a way out.

That is what happened to me around August in the past year, and I am writing this in January because I feel like I am making my way out of the ditch and back to the surface.  I have not written for months because I have not felt like writing.  I have pushed myself to keep going, I have done counselling, I have given myself space to actually grieve, and now I am starting to feel more confident and sometimes even joyful.

So, what happened at the 18 month mark to make me fall into a heap for a few weeks?  I don’t think it was one particular thing, rather a mixture of events that all seemed to happen around the same time.  I think it started when I took my first solo holiday to Bali and spent a few days entirely on my own.  As the plane took off from Sydney airport there were tears in my eyes.  I was doing this without Rod, without anyone.  Lots of people travel solo (and I have before) but this felt different.

The holiday itself was great, and I was not entirely alone.  I knew people who were holidaying in Bali so I caught up with them, and generally had a lovely time.  However, the 3 days I spent entirely on my own, going to places Rod and I had found special hit me hard.  I had not cried in ages, but the tears flowed often on that holiday.

I returned home to my new grandchild Myla.  The absolute joy of being a grandparent for the first time was tinged with the sadness that Rod never got to meet his granddaughter.  He would have adored her.  I adore her.  Without doubt she is the best thing to have happened last year.  Moving into the new normal of having a baby in the house, trying to find my role as Nanny Jo, while giving Jarrod and Charley their space to be parents was a little disruptive and possible contributed to the way I was feeling.  Seeing a new life come into the world and watching her grow is something we would have marveled at together. 

Then I went out to see some friends of Rod’s who I had not seen for more than a year.  You don’t always know what is going to trigger strange emotions.  People telling me how well I was doing, asking questions I didn’t want to answer, being interested in me – all with good intentions, but that was not what I was wanting that night.  It is difficult to put my finger on what it was that tipped me up.  I think it was the realisation that I am different to who I used to be. The next few weeks were marred with anxiety attacks, bouts of crying and just general unhappiness.  I was in the ditch.

When you are in the ditch you are going to need help to climb back out of it.  I have been incredibly fortunate to make some beautiful friends at my gym.  The women at Fernwood North Rocks are my constants.  I see them most days, and we all look out for each other.  They started to notice I was having trouble and they jumped in to help pull me out of the ditch.  To all of you, a huge thank you.

Sophie, you are one of the smartest and caring people I have met.  You recognised I was struggling, talked to me about it, introduced me to your friend Bianca and encouraged me to do some coaching with her.  This was enormously helpful and no doubt the thing that helped me to get better.  Coaching made me realise that my issue was not just grief, but the loss of confidence.  It never occurred to me that confidence could be associated with grief, but for me it was interwoven.  Walking into a room, not just as a single person but as a widow takes courage.  I didn’t always want to be courageous, sometimes I just wanted to be invisible.

Slowly I noticed that I was feeling better.  There was one significant turning point when Bianca asked me to tell her what I loved about Rod.  I had not thought about that for so long.  My images of Rod were stuck in those last few months, when he was so sick.  It was like they were burned into my retinas; they were there when I closed my eyes, haunting my thoughts.  Describing what I loved about Rod helped pushed those memories to the side and I could remember the good things about us.  When you remember good things you start to feel happy.

Those horrible memories will always be there but I have made room for the lovely memories too.  It seems like such a simple thing but it had a massive impact.  I do feel like I have turned a corner.  I think my family and friends are noticing this too. There will always be times when I am sad about losing Rod but I can also feel my heart expand with love from my granddaughter Myla.  The cheeky smile she gives me when she sees me is the most precious thing in the world, and I know that Rod’s legacy lives on in her.

This is the probably the last article I am going to write about dealing with losing Rod.  I am sure some people think it is strange that I write about grief, we often want to turn a blind eye to these difficult topics.  For me, I wanted to know about the process, I wanted to hear the story of others, I wanted to feel that I was not alone in this.  If you know someone who is going through this, please feel free to share my stories or read them to get an insight into what is going through their mind. 

We all grieve differently, and it is a very personal process but if I can offer one piece of advice it is to talk about it.  Talk about the person who has died, share the good memories, and take your time.  There is no quick fix but you can open yourself up to happiness again when you are ready.