Fall Is Here

Fall is here. I woke up one day and summer had ended. I drove to therapy and saw the leaves have changed colors. The sun still shines but there is a crispness in the air. It happened overnight. 

I used to love fall. I looked forward to it every year. After a busy summer and constantly on the go, fall usually meant some peace and solitude. It meant snuggling up with Matt watching football, it meant weekend walks in the rain with coffee, comfort food, and listening to the rain at night. I loved that it meant our family had to slow down a little bit. I mentioned before how losing Matt has meant losing every part of my life that I once knew. Even seasons changing brings new heartache. Finding enjoyment in my favorite season is gone now. Fall now brings me pain. It brings the beginning of another year without Matt. It means seeing reminders on my Facebook of the days and weeks following Matt's passing and feeling it all over again. 

I wish I could hide. I wish I could take the kids somewhere and escape what's coming. Unfortunately, the anniversary of Matt's passing isn't the only day that will bring sadness. It's the days leading up to it and the memories in the hospital. It's the days following and remembering the moments at my mom and dad's, wearing Matt's clothes for days, the inability to function yet somehow still planning his Memorial Service and writing his obituary. It's remembering the day of his service and the celebration we had. It's the following day when we had to bury him in the pouring down rain. It's not just one day. 

My depression has been low lately. I know what's coming. I see the reminders everywhere. As recently as yesterday, I experienced another panic attack. This hasn't happened in a very long time. But with my depression feeling heavy, my anxieties are higher. I had a dentist appointment and had to have two fillings replaced. While there, I was informed of a new type of bite block they would be using. It enables your mouth to stay open and also suctions at the same time. Great theory. However, when they started up the suction, the sound instantly brought me back to sitting in CVICU with Matt. It reminded me so much of the sound of his respirator. I started crying. Unable to talk, feeling trapped in the dentist chair, I laid there and cried. Doctor finished with half of his work, took everything out of my mouth, and let me explain that I wasn't crying because of anything he was doing. I had to tell him about Matt and why the sound was a trigger. We took a moment to regroup, and then he proceeded to finish the work. I thought after taking a breather I would feel better, but the moment the machine started again, the flashbacks came with it. I was having physical signs of anxiety; shaking, sweating, blurred vision. I tried taking my mind elsewhere but it always went right back to Matt. 

I think it's important to be able to recognize the lows. Over the last 11 months, I'm learning that grief is lifelong. And with that comes phases of lows. Usually, after a period of feeling really, really down, the light will shine a little bit again. I know that over the next month I can expect to feel down. I know I'll feel like I'm drowning beneath the waves of sadness and grief. But I also know it won't last forever. I know that today feels really heavy but tomorrow might feel a little less burdensome.