Guest Blog by Susan Price
Susan Price is one of 20 people who have submitted an essay for Let’s Talk Grief II: Success Stories From the Real Grief Experts. I need 30 more essays to publish this book. If you’d like to submit an essay, please contact me by filling out the “Get In Touch” Form on the Let’s Talk Grief website's Home Page and I will send you the instructions and guidelines. Click on "Get In Touch" above the photo.
Wading Through the Waves of Grief by Susan W. Price
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been drawn to the ocean. There’s just something so majestic about the vastness, the unpredictability… ferocious and wild and then turning calm and peaceful. I relate my grief to the same ocean temperament. The ebb and flow of the tides, the ups and downs of the swells, mirror my life over the past four years since I lost my husband, Mike. My safe, predictable life suddenly became unpredictable, like the ocean. My grief comes in waves, sometimes changing as quickly as the tide.
Mike died in May 2022. It was unexpected, unforeseen, like that big wave that forms out of nowhere and knocks you down and spins you around. My life, as I knew it, was turned upside down and tumbled around like a seashell drifting onto the sandy shore.
We went to bed on a regular Tuesday night, our usual goodnight kiss and an “I love you”, turned over to our sides of the bed, and fell asleep.
In the morning, I woke up to an empty space beside me. Sometime in the early morning hours, Mike must have woken up for an early workday. I assumed he was in his home office, but he wasn’t.
After searching every room, every floor, calling his name… each minute, each room, I couldn’t figure out where he was. His truck was still in the driveway, so I knew he was home, but where? I walked across the yard to our garage. I found my Mike. He took his life.
There had been no warning signs, no red flags, no inkling of depression. If it weren’t for the note he left, I would have thought an intruder killed him.
That day, that moment, I was knocked down, and my life was churned up. My life, as I knew it, would never be the same. I was now a widow.
I still cringe every time I have to fill out a form that requires my marital status. Don’t they know? Don’t they realize the emotions that question stirs up?
Not only did I lose my husband, but I felt like I lost myself. My identity was wrapped up with his. We were inseparable, together 24/7, my best friend, my partner, my true love.
The first year was numbing, a blur. I was going through the motions of “getting by”.
The second year was worse. My fog had lifted, and it seemed that I was experiencing all my unsettled feelings all over again, cutting deeper into my already broken heart. I was existing, not living.
I felt as though my life ended when he ended his life. My grief wasn’t just for Mike, but for all the domino-effect losses, as well. I grieved for our home. I couldn’t stay there and look out my kitchen window to see the garage every day. I grieved the life we had together, the dreams for our future, and the thought that we’d grow old together. I grieved memories I had no one to share: our inside jokes, our banal, trivial chit-chat, and sharing our day. I grieved not having someone to share ideas with, someone to spoil and shower with love. I missed not being loved and spoiled.
Some days, I don’t feel the grief or the sadness. I feel numb.
Before I became an overnight widow, I never thought much about my feelings. I was content, happy with my life and my husband. I felt joy and excitement, sometimes anger …. now, in retrospect, usually over something trivial.
Perspectives and priorities change when tragedy strikes. But I never “thought” about my emotions; I just felt them. Now, it seems that every feeling, every emotion, every thought is being analyzed for me, by me.
Why am I sad today?
Was it from a dream I had?
Why did I feel ok yesterday but not today?
Grieving is tiring and draining. My brain is overloaded, and a broken heart just adds to the weight I carry. My brain is weary. I’m tired of the waves, the ups and downs. I’m emotionally exhausted. I forget how it was to be on an even keel. Maybe I’m numb because it hurts too much otherwise. Sometimes, I wonder how I made it through these past four years.
Looking back, I know I’m in a better, more emotionally stable place than I was four years ago. I pray that in another four years, I’ll look back and see again how much more I've healed.
My life as a widow is certainly different from what I imagined my life would be, or could have been. I’ve accepted that my life changed, that I had no control over the circumstances, that I needed to live my new life as best I could.
Moving forward with my new life isn't always easy. There are setbacks, and some days are better than others. Some days I feel like myself… not just a grieving widow but someone who can smile, laugh, and find a little joy in simple things again.
People say that I am strong. I disagree. I’m not strong. My faith in God is strong, and because of Him, I became more resilient than I ever imagined possible.
I have had to learn to live a life without Mike. The grief and the sadness are all part of still loving my husband. The love, the missing him, the profound ache that will never go away- it’s always there, as it should be.
God created those majestic oceans I yearn for. I trust Him in creating the new life I’m living. And I am grateful for this life I’m living now, even if it's not what I planned. It’s a full life with new friends, my growing family, new opportunities, and a wonderful new Church.
I’ve spoken publicly about Mike’s suicide. It was difficult, but I don’t like the thought of it being stigmatized, kept quiet, or treated as something not worth talking about. In so doing, surprisingly, yet not surprisingly, so many people have come to me with their own hidden family stories to share. And most of them had kept their stories to themselves for decades.
Although talking about Mike doesn’t bring him back, it helps me know that sharing my experience with honesty and candor can help others going through similar devastating losses. Whatever it takes to help me cope, I’d still rather have my old “married to Mike life” back. But this new life that God had planned for me isn’t all that bad, just different.
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