Please excuse my absence

It has been some time since I last wrote. At least, that’s what it feels like. The funny thing is that when I looked up my last blog post, I realized that it was only just over six weeks ago. I barely remember writing that post. Honestly, I’m not quite sure where most of 2023 went prior to late March. 

As you likely know, December 1st was the first anniversary of Charlie’s death. Surviving that first year took a lot. A lot of energy, a lot of sleep, a lot of cookies, and a lot of support from friends and family. It truly was the most difficult year of my, and James’s and Carl’s lives. Having made it through that year of firsts, I felt as though there was nowhere to go but up. At least, that’s what I was determined to believe.

Looking back at the first few months of 2023, I think that, in actuality, I was just barely holding on. But my family survived the first year. It was supposed to get easier after that!

Apparently I’m not alone in that thought. In a New England Journal of Medicine article on grief, Dr. Meltzer writes, “I told myself [after the deaths of her sister and nephew] that if I just got through the “firsts,” I would be OK and the grief would start to fade.” That was exactly what I had told myself. I think that perhaps it’s a survival tactic we both adopted  following a loss that shattered us completely. 

Unfortunately, as we have both come to realize, all that actually happens as you enter the second year is that life goes on and so too does your grief. It’s not as though you really thought it would be otherwise but it’s disappointing nonetheless.

Counting down those firsts almost anchors you. It gives you short term goals to work toward. Once that is over, you have to find new ways to get through your days, months, and years. For the first part of the year, my survival response was to stay, in the words of Pink Floyd, comfortably numb. 

Now that April is upon us, and Charlie’s interment service looming, I am feeling stuff again. The tears have returned, the stomach turning at the sight of Charlie’s closed bedroom door, another realization that this grief thing isn’t going away; which isn’t to say that this year has been all that bad.

In fact, with 2021 being the worst year of our lives and 2022 being a year of basic survival, 2023 is moving in the right direction. Carl has taken on a new role and, together with my father, I have been working on the first step toward honouring Charlie’s life. As for James, one more term is complete on his way toward completing his undergrad degree.

Even as the good stuff comes along, Charlie is always there in our thoughts and that’s why I know that there will be times when survival tactics kick in and I do like Pink Floyd. And that’s okay. Sometimes being comfortably numb is what we need to do to survive. It’s just that we can’t keep doing it forever.

Meltzer, K. "Grieving in a Pandemic". New England Journal of Medicine. July 16, 2022. DOI: 10.1056/NEJMp2204888