I really didn’t know what to expect or prepare for after I (we) passed that one year anniversary. After the grueling work of these past weeks and months, would there be an inevitable “crashing” immediately afterward or some sort of let down when the 25th wasn’t suddenly and magically different? Now granted, I realize I am not VERY far past March 24th at all, and I absolutely know that there will be some incredibly hard days coming. But I have been pleasantly surprised at how, well, liberating it has felt to be on “this side” of things.
Guys, I did it. I made it through each and every one of those horribly difficult days, not just living them the first time, but revisiting and processing them now. Facing every last memory and detail. It was so SO hard and so SO awful. (I so like using the word “so,” don’t I….) I know I’ve mentioned before that for most people the second year post-loss tends to be a lot harder than the first year. That may end up being true for me, but it has been gratifying that my therapist thinks the very worst is probably behind me. My hard work is going to hopefully now pay off. I feel so much lighter, and hopeful, and well, happy (certainly helps that spring is here – it’s my absolute favorite time of year).
It’s almost like getting through this year of “firsts,” I now have permission to simply grieve Kenny, without all of the other mess to keep wading through. (OK, I know that I still have work ahead of me, and there will be triggers of course, although I hope that over time they will continue to be fewer and farther between.) It actually feels good and “cleaner” somehow to be able to now grieve the loss of Kenny himself, not focusing so much on healing from the trauma surrounding his illness. Because those experiences in that hospital, or with him so very ill at home, they weren’t really him. If that makes sense. It felt like my main role was that of a caregiver, rather than a wife. And his main job was merely trying to survive through each difficult and painful day.
Even so, there is a sense of holiness that comes when you are given the opportunity to so fully serve another person. It’s hard to describe the sort of bond that creates with them, although I think it is one that anyone who selflessly cares for a family member with a disability or physical limitations can understand. I loved Kendall fiercely before he got sick. I did. But it did feel like going through that experience with him, for him, brought our love to a new level. Looking back I can see how it felt more Christlike in many ways.
I don’t know if my time spent in the hospital with Kendall could be totally considered selfless, since I was also working toward an outcome I desperately wanted, one that would of course benefit my life immeasurably. I wanted Kendall to come home to our family so badly. But I can say that I have never experienced anything quite like that, even with mothering. It feels like such a privilege that I was able to devote myself so wholly to him and what was happening in that hospital. It is pretty remarkable that I was given the capacity to do so, that things were able to work out at home so that I could be gone all day, every day. That my clients were so understanding when I was unable to work. That physically I was able to keep going, even though I shouldn’t have been able to at the pace and level of intensity that I did. It honestly feels like such a privilege to have experienced that. Really, I mean that sincerely. I look back over the past nineteen months, and I do feel honored that I was allowed to have these experiences. I wouldn’t have chosen them initially, but I don’t think I would change them now. I feel like I keep reiterating this, but I would not trade the lessons I have learned, the growth I have experienced, even knowing that Kendall would die. Is that funny for me to say?
It feels like such an accomplishment to have gotten through these past few weeks and months, these past nineteen months even. I’m proud that I did (or as one of my friends would say, “well-pleased” in myself). It just feels good that perhaps the “worst” may actually be behind me. I want to believe that. Time will tell?
