"The Second Year is Worse"

The following is a post on what has become a series.  If you have been through an illness or death of a parent/loved one, consider this what the young'uns call a 'trigger warning' as it deals with the raw emotions of an unexpected death which may include cursing, dark humor and not holding back my feelings about my experience.  If that's offensive, go elsewhere as this post isn't likely going to benefit you.  If you are new here and want to see the posts leading up to this one, you can start with posts on July 7, 2023 and go forward.

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When Mom passed, I can't tell you how many people told me "if you think the first year is bad, just wait for the second year!"  Uhh, scuzi??  Sooo the abject terror, panic attacks, things that need to be settled estate wise, the trauma if they died suddenly or unexpectedly, distribution of their stuff and not finding things you know there's no way in hell they ever would've gotten rid of, and drowning waves of emotion are like, easier somehow?!

Well, not quite.

The Mr and I were basically in survival mode for the first six months.  I say that to mean we did the absolutely minimum to get through the days because doing anything more wasn't in us.  That's not to say at the 6 month mark things got better.  We had legal issues looming as I was going to try to make the people who significantly contributed to her death including her horrible family doctor who completely dismissed all symptoms that should've rang 100 bells, the hospital who let her bleed out 2 liters of blood from them nicking her lung during her biopsy and the rehab center who starved and dehydrated her before having to call the squad to get her out of there.  I had to relive all of her traumatic death all over again through that paperwork, video, etc and in the end because of my people pleasing bullshit to not rock the boat until after a family member was married, it was too late to prosecute.  Even if you don't have all of that to deal with, that year of firsts is basically you just white knuckling through life.  You feel guilty for living, for laughing at something on TV, seeing their favorite food at the store can drop you to your knees as the signs they send you to let you know they're still with you swirl around which are reassuring but not the same as having them here.

You think somehow there will be a relief there getting through that year.  There's a sadness in that too because now you're supposed to be "healed" by society's standards.  If you're sad, someone thinks something else bad happened... your person's death isn't on their radar anymore.  For us, her hospital admittance hit smack in the middle of major house renos.  There was no way we could shower or brush our teeth some days so picking up where we left off on that front was not even fathomable.  About 8 months in for me, I started thinking about opening the Etsy shop and that was a coping mechanism to get me to have something to focus on after our spring vacation to ready myself for the trauma that would be July.  I threw myself into it so I was busy practically 18 hours a day which meant I couldn't think about her even though I still talk to her every night.  Then one day the unfinished baseboards, the half removed balusters and boxes of new balusters with a year's worth of dust on them felt suffocating.  I wanted it done.  I wanted to look around the house and not have these unfinished projects which also reminded me of what happened to her  taunting me anymore.  It felt like the right time to work on them which was also still a distraction.  Essentially, year one is all shock, your brain using any method to protect you it can conjure up and numbness.

Where I think the second year sentiment people share comes in, is then your person isn't there anymore to share the completion of those things.  Mom was excited to see the finished product of our stairs and now she'll never see it.  When I had to strip the paint from the rails and stuff, I felt like I was stripping her away too when I got into it.  She touched those.  She used the post for support and now she was going to be gone.  Same with the carpet on the stairs; some part of her was still there and we were throwing it away - and it hurt.  The bathroom we were remodeling, well, we couldn't have done the conversion without the settling of her estate and while she would be thrilled to know she could help us, I'd shower with a hose and use a 5 gallon bucket for a loo if it meant she was still here.  It feels dirty almost to benefit from someone's passing and it feels just as bad to never be able to show them the end result.   Year two is coming out of the numbness and being slapped with the reality that the previous year was not a nightmare you can wake up from.  This is your reality now whether you want it or not and you're going to feel the loss deeper as year two solidifies it all.

As soon as September hit, which was always the beginning of my favorite time of year, I felt hollow inside.  I was weepy and was reminded we will never get those holiday gatherings that are coming up.  When I would see people who don't decorate or even celebrate much since their kids moved away, parents passed, there's an estrangement or whatever familial fracture happened, I was always so sad and thought "that'll never be me."  I never prepared myself for the day those would end.  Kids grow up and have their own lives but everyone almost always comes home for the holidays or at least has family to call.  Well, Covid changed how we could celebrate, and continues to do that for us unfortunately and because Mom and Grandma are gone- the magic of the holidays is muted.  

Unsaturated.  

Painful.

I don't want to be one of those people.  I didn't ask for this.  None of us did and I'm glad some people still have family other than their spouses to celebrate with but when you're figuratively alone for a lot of reasons, still want that magic but feel like 'what's the point', how the hell do you come back from that??  We don't deserve to, nor would Mom or Grandma want us to harden our hearts for the holidays.  It still feels like yesterday in many ways.  I'm still waiting for her to pop out and say the joke is over.  I'm still waiting for an email that will never come or a phone call that I wonder if it'll be 30 minutes or 3 hours.  I still feel like I'm sitting beside the rotting corpse of my old self in the middle of the desert waiting for something to drive by and take me back to my old life.  I don't want us to make a new life.  I don't want "post traumatic growth".  I don't want new traditions.  I want my f*cking mom back.  I want do overs on things that will apparently haunt me forever.  I want to not be afraid to have the uncomfortable conversations when we both got to a point we didn't want to step on each other's toes or whatever that ended up being.  I want to not have such a thin skin where everything was perceived as a slight and never talk to her about it.  I want to know she had a brain tumor that was starting all the way back in the early 80's and in the final 10 years of her life could've gone a long way to explain her irritability that I took personally because who the hell thinks "gee, maybe she has a brain tumor and that's why she can get snappy sometimes?"  NO. ONE.  Yet I torture myself that I somehow should've known when I know darn well I couldn't have.  I think of all of the ways she was medically failed for decades that enrages me.  

So yeah, the second year ain't no picnic.  It may not be as emotionally devastating as the first because your brain is doing so much to help you survive but those grief bombs are still there waiting for you in music, TV shows, doctor's appointments, therapy appointments, talking to family members, talking to your spouse or just your own brain being reminded of something that sets you off.  Sometimes it's a quick one that you can get over in a few minutes, other times it's a landmine you're tip toeing through for weeks with no end in sight.  I've heard a few say "oh just wait until the third year" and I want to smack them.  What, does everything just get worse every year until your own death?  I get it, okay.  You are irretrievable not who you were before.  A part of your life is always going to suck now and some can move on with the attitude of living life for those who aren't here anymore and bully for them.  Some are in a semi-permanent state of stun that doesn't feel like it's ever going to end no matter how hard you try.  I understand people wanting to prepare you but sometimes that stuff can set up anticipatory expectations for things that you may not even go through.  It ALL sucks in it's own way.  All we can do is be there for each other.  To say when someone loses someone close to you "um, this sucks hard and there are a million ways this is going to suck worse believe it or not that you can't even fathom yet.  I am here for you and I empathize.  I'm always ready to hear a story or be a shoulder to cry on so I hope you don't mind me checking in on you."  Lord knows the check in's stop way sooner by most people than you can even imagine.  Those offers of 'let me know if there's anything I can do' are just like...the worst.  No one in a snotting, hyperventilating state is going to be like "can you go get me some take out, I literally can't move?  Cut my lawn?  Do my laundry?" or whatever needs done.  The onus shouldn't fall on the griever to be a burden and take someone up on it just so they can hear that sigh of regret when they take them up on their well intentioned offer.  

This all sucks.

Period.

What was the hardest year for you after someone you loved passed?

  

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If you or someone you know is going through a grief process, you may find these resources given to me by a friend helpful:

Crisis Text Line or text 741741

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (or call 988)

Speak Grief

Heal Grief

Books I'm currently reading:

It's OK That You're Not OK (Meeting Grief & Loss in a Culture that Doesn't Understand)

How to Carry What Can't Be Fixed

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