I hope this Monday finds you all well today. Today, I’d like to share with you all my views on grief and how grief has changed me. We read about grief every day in the news, we watch it in the movies, we hear about it in song, and yet, until this year I never truly understood it. If you had asked me a year ago – I may have thought I had a small understanding of it, but until April, that understanding was equivalent to a raindrop in the ocean. I hadn’t even begun to understand the true depths of despair and grief – until it happened to me.
If you are reading this and understand exactly what I am saying, then I must say I am genuinely sorry for your loss and for your pain. I would never wish this upon anyone. And if you are reading this and have not had such sorrow, be thankful, and use this opportunity to learn more about how grief may shape others in your life, without you even realizing it.
I liken the journey of grief to evolution because it helps me to use concrete examples to further understand the extent that grief has moved into my life. It is a part of me, but I would by lying even today if I told you I still truly understood it.
Now I believe man and earth were created by God the Father, but I also understand that the world today is much different from the world of Adam and Eve. Humans have had to adapt to changes in order to survive. And that’s what we, the grievers, have to do as well. As our entire world has shifted, we either adapt and grow stronger, or we remain the same, lost in a world that can no longer be, slowly dying ourselves. And to me, that’s no way to live. Even with the pain, our lives are worth living, they are a gift; wonderful and great we are made in the image of God. And how better to honor him, than to use our lives to bring others to Him, and to live each day joyously worshiping him in every moment.
There are few topics I wanted to write on today regarding how I’ve changed. Each of these could hold their own as a post all to themselves. For now, however, I will just touch on each. And perhaps in the future I will dedicate more to them.
On how I have changed:
I could almost write a book on all the ways I have changed. Who I am today is a new me, someone I did not ask to be, but when Nate died, I died too. I no longer was who I had been. I couldn’t be. He was my other half, joined in marriage. Someone told me once that when you get married, you take 2 and it becomes 1. And when one of those persons is gone, you have a 1, needing to be split back in 2. – Well it can’t suddenly become a 2 again. Instead, you take your 1 (the 1 that was formed by marriage) and split it in half. So when a spouse dies, only 1/2 of the other spouse remains. Almost like mixing two paint colors together. You add green to yellow and suddenly you no longer have 2 colors, you have 1. So what happens when you need to take half away? The size may have doubled, but the contents are now combined fully into 1. If you take half away, you can no longer split it up between green and yellow, you can only take half of the blue away, and be left with the remaining half. I know this analogy may sound a little farfetched, but the implication I am getting at is that when Nate died, half of me died too. And so I must now find a way to live with only half of who I was.
One major way I have found I have changed is how I perceive the world. To put this concretely – I once scored the highest you could score as an extrovert. Social gatherings energized and encouraged me. I hated being alone. I recently retook the test and I was very much an introvert now. I feel drained during any type of social interaction and I hate going out and doing new things. I prefer to just sit at home, where its safe and comfortable. I understand it may be hard for my friends and family to grasp how much I have changed, but I have. I don’t like making conversation and when I am in a group I feel incredibly lonely. I could be standing in a crowd of 100 and without Nate there with me, I feel as if I am in a hole all by myself.
For those of you who knew me before April 1st, you would have known that my two favorite days of the year were Christmas and my birthday (St. Patrick’s Day). Let me tell you, I loved Christmas. I listened to Christmas music year round (because as Christians shouldn’t we always be celebrating the birth of Christ?). I couldn’t wait to decorate the tree, to put up the stockings, to go to Christmas mass. I loved the traditions and family and everything that came with it. And my birthday was always one of the first things I mentioned to people when I would meet them – Hi, my name is Jennifer. And my birthday is St. Patrick’s Day. Not even joking. I seriously loved my birthday.
And now – these two dates are two of the dates I am least looking forward to this year. Because how in the world am I expected to “celebrate” them without Nate? He knew how much I loved these days and always went above and beyond to make sure they were extra special. Last year, on my birthday, I blew out the candles and I made a wish. I wished that this year would be the best year yet. Two weeks later my husband was murdered. I don’t think I will ever be able to blow out the candles again. I can’t say I ever even want another birthday cake again. I have no idea how I am going to spend my time on my birthday this year. While every other year I start a countdown to my birthday out of excitement, this year it is out of dread. I hate it this year, and I don’t want it to come. And Christmas – how do I celebrate Cecilia’s first Christmas at the same time as my first Christmas without Nate. I want to enjoy it for her sake, but at the same time, she really could care less this year. Most days I want to go all “Christmas with the Kranks” and skip Christmas. I don’t want to decorate the house, or put up the tree or listen to Christmas music. I want to pretend it’s not happening and to focus on what we all should really be focusing on anyways – the birth of Christ. But in today’s society, you can’t “skip Christmas”. The music will still play, the decorations will still be up, and the passerby’s will still wish you a “Merry Christmas” even when you aren’t feeling so merry.
On why I can’t always respond to you:
Many of you, both friends, family, and strangers, have written to me in various forms. I want to first say, thank you and please know your letters, Facebook messages, emails, texts, phone calls, voicemail, etc… never go unnoticed. They often are what get me through the day. And I know that many of you do not often expect a reply (and for those of you that do, I am incredibly sorry). I wish more than anything that I could respond to each and every one of you. Honestly, half of the time, I don’t even know whats stopping me from doing so. However, I am going to try my best to explain it, to put it into words.
The most basic answer I have for why I don’t always respond is that I am purely exhausted. If you have never suffered this kind of grief, than it is almost impossible to describe how exhausting it can be. Many people asked me this past summer how I did school on top of having a new baby. I wanted to laugh every time that question appeared – because that was such a small part of what I was going through. If anything, Cecilia brought me energy to counter the exhaustion and distraction of grief. While the rest of my classmates were going through a rough semester, that was trivial compared to what the rest of my world looked like.
Another easy answer is that often times I will see a message on my phone or computer, but because I am holding Cecilia at the time I only have one hand available. You can imagine that this makes it very easy to read a message, but often impossible to type back. Especially with my little crazy active girl who never sits still for 10 seconds. I do my best to respond when I have time, but if I were to add up all the messages I have received, I could spend the next month doing little but that. Please, do not get me wrong, I truly wish I could respond. I want to let you know how much you mean to me, how important your words are, but I just simply can’t.
And then there are the other forces at work, such as a change from being extroverted to introverted (as mentioned above) which also contribute to my difficulty in responding. It takes so much out of me simply to garner up the energy to make a phone call, let alone to actually do any talking while on the phone. So often I get a message and simply stare at it, unable to get the energy to converse, even though I want to. It just drains me more than words can say. And of course the phenomena they call widow brain does not help either. I will be discussing that next.
So my request to you, is even when I don’t respond, even when your attempts to reach out seem futile, know they may be the strength that gets me through that moment. Just a little reminder that you are thinking of me can go such a long way.
On widow brain:
I am already working on completing a post dedicated just to widow brain, but because it corresponds entirely with how grief has changed me, I wanted to introduce it here. There are several articles out there discussing what widow brain is and why it occurs. To put it simply, it is a side effect of grief caused by your brain trying to protect you from the pain.
Widow brain can be frustrating. It can bring on more pain. Because you finally try to move forward, try to pick up the pieces, and you’re stuck forgetting where you left them. You want to get organized, to start making decisions, but find yourself absolutely incapable of doing so. I guarantee you talk to any widow, and they will confirm that this is real. It is a psychological state. One that is overlooked, but so impacting to those of use who have to live through it. I used to be so good at remembering names. If you introduced yourself to me once, a year later I could tell you what your name was, where we met, and what we talked about. Suddenly, I have found myself in the category of being “bad with names”. And that is just a small effect. To me the largest effect is this “fog” I find myself constantly wandering in. It’s as if I am present but not. Because in my mind, I belong somewhere else – somewhere with Nate – in the future we had planned. This life that I am living, it doesn’t make sense. So you can imagine where my brain gets addled and confused.
Now I don’t want anyone to be concerned for me, like I said, this is extremely common among those who experience profound grief. But this is part of why it took me 5 months to drive after Nate passed. I wanted to make sure mentally I would be safe. (So far, I have not had any problems driving.) But us widows and widowers, we live in this fog, we glide through life, just trying to survive. And our brain has figured out its own way to do just that – it survives by shutting down, by putting us in a daze so that we can simply function at least partly.
Widow brain also comes with the lack of ability to make any kind of decision. I go to the store and I can’t decide which coat to buy so I buy them both. I can’t decide on what drink sounds good, so I get both. And don’t even get me started on how difficult it is to pack now! I am so thankful to friends who can come over and pack for me though 🙂 It also affects my memory. I get up and walk to the fridge and suddenly I don’t remember why I am there. And even worse, I don’t remember walking there, or what I was doing before I got there. I watch a tv show and ten minutes later I could barely tell you what show it was. And then there’s the misplacing things. I have a letter in my hand and I am making my way from the kitchen table to the mailbox to send it out, and within seconds, I no longer can find it. I retrace what I think were my steps and no letter is found. Then the next day, there it is in my closet, upstairs, completely out-of-the-way to the mailbox from the kitchen table. I wish I could tell you how this happens. It is beyond frustrating, and often angering. Throw in being a new busy mom on top of everything and you can imagine that I feel like I am losing my mind 24/7.
Now for those who have seen me recently, or talked to me, you may be thinking – what the heck is she talking about? She seems perfectly fine to me. Well I ask you to stop that thought right now! Not just regarding me, but regarding anyone who has lost someone. We “look” fine because we have to – because we have to go out in society and we have to move forward. That doesn’t mean we aren’t fighting internal battles every day. That doesn’t mean we can’t be forgetting things constantly or feel like we’re in a fog. We survive. But that doesn’t mean we’re living just yet, or that we’re “healed” or “past it”. I don’t speak for everyone but I know that my journey is a long one, and although I move forward every day, I don’t intend for it to ever truly stop. Even if I move on one day and find someone new, Nate will forever be a part of my life and I will always love and miss him.
On difficult moments:
I wrote last week on how I was met with a profound sense of joy while visiting Sts. Philomena and Cecilia for the Tridentine Christ the King mass. I am ever grateful that this joy was present on that day. However, please note, that though this moment was without sadness, it does not mean it is permanent. I wish that it were, sometimes I wish I could fast forward through this “grieving process”. But at the same time, I know that this suffering can be redemptive and ultimately makes me stronger both for myself, and for Cecilia. And if there was no grief, then there would have been no love.
I comment on last weekend, because while finding that joy was powerful, the rest of the week brought new challenges and many difficult moments. The pain of losing Nate is ever-present. The dagger in my heart that struck April 1st may have been removed but the tissue is still creating the scars, is still healing the deep mark that pierced me to my core. The ever sharp pain that caused constant moaning in my first days, weeks, months, without Nate may have subdued, but know that I am still healing. That there is still pain, it is just an aching, dull pain, until something aggravates it and reopens the wound. Something like going to a new dentist this past week and filling out the paperwork and having to circle the word “widowed”. Something like putting my mom as my emergency contact, when a year ago I was so excited at my OB’s to put Nate’s name down on that line. Something like seeing my friends get pregnant, and knowing that Nate and I will never share that excitement again. Something like watching a father-daughter dance. Something like watching another person celebrate their birthday, when Nate won’t get one again. Something like listening to love songs, because Nate was (and still is) the person I think of when they come on.
Please don’t get me wrong, I am happy for your joyful moments in your life. But know, that I may distance myself at times because they rip open the scars my heart is trying to heal. I want to be there for you, and know that I am still in my thoughts and prayers. But I ask that you give me time and that you still invite me to things; that you make the effort. Because as I said above, it is difficult for me to communicate these days. It is difficult to reach out to others. Even if you worry that a wedding or baby shower invitation will bring more pain – know that not sending one and leaving me out will hurt even more. There were two weddings this year I had unfortunately assumed I would have been invited to and the pain of being left out (like my widowhood was some sort of contagious disease) was more wounding than the pain of seeing your joy. Because the joy you have, while although it brings sad reminders, also does lessen the suffering. Please always know that I desperately want you to be happy. And I want to see you happy. Always remember that.
I write these out so that you can better understand where I am at in this world. I am no longer the Jennifer of March 31st 2014, and I never will be that girl again. I am a completely new me. And who I am today is not stagnate, I will continue morphing as grief continues to shape me. Grief is a journey, not just a one time stop. It travels the course of the windy, hilly roads through the thick and thin of everything in between. As much as I want to go back in time, to live with Nate again. I realize the impossibility of this, and that in order to live now, I must move forward and adapt to a life without him.
Jennifer Trapuzzano
Patricia Lang
November 3, 2014 4:22 pmPlease consider putting up a Christmas tree and decorations. If you do not feel like you can, have your friends do it. I promise you that you will love Christmas again. Take your time —I promise you that you will love being with friends and family again.
You are certainly correct –if you had not loved so deeply, you would not be grieving so deeply.
I, along with many others, will do my job and keep praying for you.
A stranger-a friend in Christ,
God Bless!
Pat
Sent from Windows Mail
Julie
November 3, 2014 6:10 pmThank you for sharing this. It made me cry in spots. And though my grief is different, there was so much familiar in your words. And that makes me feel less alone in mine. Love and Christ’s peace to you.
michelle
November 3, 2014 9:36 pmLove you Jen ♡♡♡
Deanne
November 3, 2014 9:56 pmJennifer – thank you for your raw authenticity and truthfulness. As I was reading your words, I kept having the the image of God tenderly taking you into His hands, molding you so precisely, and lovingly transforming you into exactly who He created you to be. There is no immediate answer to the question WHY? While everything is different, God remains the same – all loving, all powerful, all healing. In your unimaginable suffering, you are steadfast in your obedience to moving forward for His purpose. In a word, you are INCREDIBLE. Prayers for you and sweet Cecilia continue to be in full force.
“And we all, who with unveiled faces contemplate the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into His image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.” 2 Cor 3:18
Autumn Sprecher
November 3, 2014 9:57 pmJennifer– There are really no words to describe how amazing you are; how touching your bravery is in the face of devastation. There is just no way possible, because of the healing process you are going through and the effects of widow brain that is so very real, that you can even begin to imagine or understand how much you are impacting people by sharing your most intimate and personal thoughts and feelings. I’ve read your entire blog tonight and this story alone three times and tears are just flowing from my eyes and it evokes an immediate level of healing in my own wounded, grieving heart, like no one or nothing has ever been able to do before. I am so touched by your love for Christ and by the love that you and Nate share and although I hate that it has come out of such evil, heartbreaking tragedy; I am so beyond thankful for you and for your willingness to be so open and raw in your emotions and your new, unsteady reality and for sharing it with us– right as you tread through it– it is simply amazing!! There is not a day that goes by that I don’t think of you and Cecilia and how I wish I could just wrap the two of you in my arms and make all of this go away for you!! If I could do such a thing, I would in a split second. As much as we all hate what has happened and cannot understand it; just as you said in one of your posts, God has a reason for all things and He will carry you through this… and this most excruciating tragic pain could be the very thing that is God’s launching pad for the purpose for your life… because you are already having such a healing impact on so many people… and I can only begin to imagine how many people have come to accept Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior because they have watched you or heard your story… you are truly a blessing, Jennifer. Truly a blessing.
One last thing— Please don’t ever, ever, ever, apologize for feeling ANY of the feelings you feel. EVER. From one moment to the next. Allow yourself to feel the rage, anger, sadness, happiness, joy, numbness, forgetfulness, stiffness, eagerness, love, pain, hurt, pride, pity, peace, fear, resentment, contentment, healing, etc. You have to allow yourself those emotions– all of them, and everything in between— in order to heal– to the extent that healing is possible– from this loss— until you are able to see Nate again. The pain will always be there, undoubtedly, but with time– and as much time as needed is what is needed- the pain will ease- and you will find a way to enjoy the things you enjoyed before and be able to do so and celebrate with Nate as well. It just takes time to re-discover those joys again and knowing what you have taught us about Nate, he would not want you to be in a state of sadness and sorrow on two of the days of the year that were once your most favorite days of the year. So, I will be praying that somehow you are able to find ways to channel positivity from Nate on those days to add toward your journey of healing. <3
With love, prayers and a million thank you notes–
Autumn S. <3
Patty
November 3, 2014 10:16 pmDear Jennifer, thank you for helping us help you, and others who are experiencing this grief. I wish I had read these thoughts from any source year’s ago when I could have understood my mother’s grief better. But it is never too late.
God bless you!
Lindsay
November 4, 2014 2:24 amDear Jennifer,
Tonight, I am offering up my Night Prayer for you and Cecelia. Your courage, your faith, and your insistence on living for the glory of God and for love of your daughter are beyond anything I could begin to fathom. Know that in your most painful, confused, exhausted, and scarring moments, you have an entire community, an entire Church, praying for you and lifting you up to the Father. God bless you and your beautiful daughter.
CK
November 4, 2014 8:02 pmJennifer, I am so deeply sorry for your loss of Nate. I have been following your story and have been keeping you in prayer these past months. You are a remarkably strong person, carrying on with grace, facing this cruel, steep learning curve head-on. Thank you for sharing your reflections–your words resonate with me, especially those about celebrating Christmas. Three years ago, just before Christmas, I lost the man I planned to marry. He died of a sudden, unexpected illness at 27. I remember how very difficult it was to see everyone happy and excited for Christmas when my world had just caved in. It didn’t make any sense, and in my deep grief, I was angry and dumbfounded that anyone could be happy at such a time. I didn’t want to celebrate. A few days before Christmas, I decided to go to confession, and the priest (who knew me) gave me a rather strange penance: to meditate on the third verse of the Christmas carol, “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear”: http://www.carols.org.uk/it_came_upon_a_midnight_clear.htm. The verse is:
O ye beneath life’s crushing load,
Whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way
With painful steps and slow;
Look now, for glad and golden hours
Come swiftly on the wing;
Oh rest beside the weary road
And hear the angels sing.
I had never heard this verse (it’s usually not included in the songs on the radio–I wish they did include it more often!). In my raw grief, it was very difficult to wrap my head around the joy of Christmas. But meditating on this verse helped me realize that Jesus does not require excessively happy feelings from us in order to participate in the joy of His birth. He does, however, invite us–especially when we are feeling such deep sorrow–to sit with Him at the manger and rest. He invites us to do nothing more than rest with Him. (And sometimes, in the exhaustion of grief, that is all we can do.) This realization did not remove my sorrow, but it did grant me a new perspective. His burden is light. Sometimes just *being* is the best gift we can give.
With lots of love and prayers for peace.
ifyoukeeponbelieving
November 10, 2014 11:41 amHello – I just wanted to leave a comment of love and prayer. I have been away for a couple weeks and was unable to keep up with your blog while I was away. It was an honor to hear more moments on your healing and continued grieving. You are an amazing voice for the topic and process. Every time I read, I can’t help but think, “I could never, I could never….” and then recognize you had said these very same words and had the very same sentiment. God has brought you to touch the hearts of many, and I can only imagine the exhaustion and frustration of everything that comes with such a tragedy. I love that you let yourself fall in love with Nate over and over, even after he has left his life on Earth. I also loved your paint analogy. It was not silly at all – it was perfect. I have single friends who do not understand the joint-ness of marriage. I almost feel like they cannot understand the joint-ness like I cannot understand your grief. Your paint analogy can also account for not knowing how it feels like to be green when you have always been yellow, until you have experienced that post-adding-of-blue and becoming green (marriage). The widow brain was a new concept for me; I had never heard of it before…. but what you explain is eye-opening – almost why we cannot imagine living without our husbands or losing him in such a tragedy… Especially when your (widows’) minds won’t accept it even when you/they are forced to live in a world where you must. It was a perfect explanation and my heart is always reaching out to you.
I wish I could write as eloquently as you. What did you end up going with for costume ideas? I would love to see pictures of your little one. 🙂 I hope I did not miss a post – I believe I read them all. 🙂
Much love and prayers for you, my sister-in-Christ. <3
Stephanie
November 29, 2014 2:15 amI don’t know you and I never knew Nate, but when I first read the story online about his murder and your loss I cried so much. For days I thought about you frequently, and I was so sad for you. I held my husband and cried just imagining the pain you must be going through because you couldn’t hold yours. I still cry when I think about you and your dear husband. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am glad that you keep this blog because I wondered how you were doing. When you speak of how much you still love him and miss him it makes so much sense and my heart breaks for you because I know that, in your place, I would be saying the same things. Thank you for your honesty and for sharing your grief with me. Your love for him is beautiful. I look forward to, God willing, meeting both of you in heaven.