My friend Alise recently recommended a podcast to me. I listened to it yesterday and was amazed at how applicable it was to my life. It was an interview with a young woman who saw so much tragedy in her lifetime. Some of which included infertility, miscarriage, and losing her husband at a young age. But the part that struck me the most was the sound of hope she had in her voice. She knew that just because she had faced horrible times, it didn't mean she had met her quota and would never suffer again. But it also meant that she could still have hope.
During this last month I have, again, learned so much in therapy. One of the biggest happened when I sat down at therapy one morning and couldn't stop crying. "I just don't feel like myself," I said. My therapist quickly started asking me questions. Are you helpless, hopeless, do you ignore your baby when he's crying in the other room, do you think about killing yourself, do you get out of bed, do you do your laundry and go grocery shopping? She knew the answers to all the questions. But hearing me answer them aloud told us both something. I am not depressed. Since losing Matt I have been treated for depression when really I need to be working on tools on how to cope with anxiety. Am I sad? Absolutely. Are there days when I spent the majority of the time crying? For sure. But I am not depressed. I have hope for my future. I have laughter and bright moments. I deal with a great amount of anxiety but I am learning how to control it from spiraling out of control. Coming to this realization has lifted a small weight I was carrying. I think the medication I have been on was necessary to keep me level while pregnant with Rylan. But knowing I am in control, that the medication isn't needed, makes me feel so much more capable.
During periods of isolation, I have wondered how I will ever put myself out in the world again. With family, friends, and even relationships. I have hated hearing "oh, I hate telling you about my problems because you have it so much worse than I do." The reality is that we all carry struggles. We all have problems. Losing my husband is horrible and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. But so is infertility. So are drugs. So are troubled relationships with your family or your spouse. Maybe your struggle is that your child has special needs. Or maybe you're carrying the financial load for your family. The point is, I know I am unique being widowed at 29. But I can empathize knowing that everyone I talk to has something they carry too.
Next week is Thanksgiving. I have thought so much about Matt the last few days knowing the holidays are fast approaching. Matt's favorite day at work was the Turkey Fry. Everyone brings food and they deep-fry turkeys in the parking lot. He loved the traditions, the food, and the time spent with family. This year the fog has lifted a little and I hope I can keep the old traditions while making new ones. I hope that I can share with Olivia and Rylan about their daddy more clearly and feel his presence as we reflect on all that we are thankful for.
I am certainly suffering but I also have so much hope. A year ago, I couldn't have said that.
