"widow brain"

I pretty much blog in my head all day long. I think of all sorts of random things I want to write about and share. I have all kinds of emotions and epiphanies. I figure out the sentences I’ll form when I start typing my posts. I think about the love and the pain, memories, grief, stories and sorrow I want to share. However when I actually sit down to write I draw a blank.

The “widow brain” kicks on in full force and I go dumb. I have so much that I want to express and I just struggle with getting it out in the way I want to. By the time I’m able to actually sit down and write I’ve literally forgotten all of the subject matter I mentally gathered up during the day. 

It’s so damn frustrating! I feel as though my memory just betrays me. Its not only with writing but with everyday living. My brain just doesn’t function as sharply as it used to.I can’t form logical thoughts. I don’t really have much of an opinion to offer on anything. I just walk around in a foggy haze. 

Is this a symptom of witnessing and living every wife's absolute worst nightmare?

At times I think maybe it’s just a coping mechanism, maybe if my mind was crisp and clear the pain would be too consuming.  At the same time there are moments when I just want to be consumed by the darkness of this grief— times when all I hope for is the pain to overwhelm me so intensely that I’ll meet my love at home on the other side.

A few days ago I had  an extra aggravating day over a seemingly small incident. I went to drive my moms car to go help my dad at work. I got in the car and the alarm started going off all crazy and I couldn’t get it to stop. I struggled for five minutes trying to put the key in the ignition, and it just wouldn’t fit. I became so annoyed and aggravated I marched back in the house and yelled for my mom. I proceeded to tell her that her car was all messed up and something was wrong with the key. Thats when she said “ you have the wrong keys Lacey.” I had gotten myself all worked up and anxious. I marched back to the car with tears welling up in my eyes. Of course I had the wrong keys anyone would have been able to figure that out. Nevertheless I stayed in the car trying my hardest to make the wrong key fit because  my brain is just mush. 

My parents live on a busy street, with lots of cars rushing by... when I stepped around to the drivers side door I envisioned myself just stepping out into oncoming traffic. I would never actually do that. but for some reason imagining doing it feels like a tiny relief sometimes.

I wonder how long this “widow brain” is going to last. I have a feeling it’s going to be longer than I’m comfortable with. I hope that my mind isn’t as permanently damaged as my heart and soul are.

grief is a thief

Grief has totally stolen my ability to make decisions.

Elliott and I had been planning to get a new pup for the last couple of years. We really wanted a large breed dog and we had done all kinds of research to figure out what breed would be right for us. Since El was killed I knew I would eventually get another dog , but I just didn’t know when the timing would be right. 

To make a long story short my sister convinced me to go take a look at a litter of pups and thats when things got complicated...

After visiting with the pups, when I got home the anxiety kicked in and my brain began to spin... 

“I really want one of these dogs, but can I handle it ?” 

“Elliott would love this dog.”

“I can totally handle it, wait no I can’t handle it.” 

“Yes I can , no I can’t, yes I can, no I can’t...” 

The thoughts run ramped I can’t make a logical decision on what to do. My brain keeps spinning... 

“ I can take good care of this dog, no I can’t I’m a mess I have nothing to offer.” 

“I can give this puppy a good home, who am I kidding my home is broken.”

“This puppy will bring a tiny bit of joy, but what if I screw the dog up?”

“What if I’m too sad? “

“I’m getting the dog, I’m not getting the dog.”

“It’s a good decision, no it’s a bad decision, wait who cares if it’s a bad decision I’m a crazy widow I’m expected to make bad decisions.” 

“I’m getting the dog, I’m not getting the dog.”

Grief has taken all my confidence not just in my physical appearance, but the confidence I had in myself— in my judgement, my reasoning and my capabilities. I used to be self assured, independent and assertive. I now question everything. I am good with animals, I already have dogs, El and I were going to get a dog anyway, Yet I feel like I’ll fail at raising a puppy. It not just the decision on whether to get a dog or not. I struggle with the most minute choices. I could stand in the isle at the store and just stare at the shelves for hours trying to decide between two totally insignificant items. I tried picking out a stupid curtain rod and and left empty handed because it was too overwhelming to make a choice. I could literally leave a store with tears welling up in my eyes because I get so much anxiety over the dumbest decisions.

The world isn’t safe anymore. Nothing is the same, nothing is how I thought it was. I can’t trust the world, I can’t trust Life... So why the fuck would I be able to trust myself.

I could trust El. He was my safety, he was my rock. I could count on him. Everything is different now.

... After all the mental anguish I got the puppy. I brought him home to my parents house and  the first night I really felt numb. It scared me because here is this adorable bundle of pure puppy love, and I wasn't completely enamored. I went to sleep hopeful anyway. The next morning I woke up and thought I made a terrible decision. I freaked out and thought “I need to take him back, he deserves better than me.” I spent a few more hours in mental anguish over what I had gotten myself into. But, by the afternoon, a calmness washed over me. I stopped beating myself up and I made a commitment to give this dog the best I could along with my other pups. Elliott would love him— and I’m totally in love with him too...

sleep

El and our nephew Baby Danny taking a little nap

It is a rare occasion when I actually want to sleep. I feel tired and exhausted all the time but sleep usually comes as a last resort. In theory it would seem like I should want to sleep all the time, to check out a bit, escape, maybe even have a dream with El in it. But in reality sleep stresses me out. It's not the escape it should be.

I need an off button for my brain ( actually I need one for my life). I have always been a night owl, and my brain has always been overactive at night. The difference is now the thoughts are unbearable. I can hear the gun shot, I can see my tall, strong and healthy husband crumpled over, I hear his last words "I'M SHOT". I think of all the things that happened, all the things we'll miss out on together, the children we'll never have, the kisses I'll never feel, the life that was supposed to be .... 

Though I can never really avoid those thoughts, because I carry them with me throughout day, I can avoid laying in bed by myself in the quiet while letting my brain run ramped. My solution - stay up all hours of the night doing who knows what ; reading, writing, staring, a whole lot of staring, maybe watching tv .... Until I am so utterly drained that I can close my eyes and drift off to sleep while saying a prayer. 

Most the time I just start the prayer because I do not know what to pray for anymore, I no longer have the words. I used to always thank God for my Husband, for my life and my family. I would pray he kept them safe. The worst has happened, Elliott is gone. I need a new prayer.

So once I finally get to sleep, all is well while while I'm somewhere in dreamland hoping to stumble across my hubby ( which hasn't really happened yet ). Unfortunately, the battle resumes when I wake up again the morning, or if your me the afternoon since I didn't go to sleep until 6am. I just think "oh crap I F****ING woke up again." Then my chest tightens and the pit in my stomach grows deeper. I am brutally aware that I must do this for one more day. I have to walk the path without Elliott by my side. The cycle of torture begins again.