This is going to be a long post – or possibly a series:
Let’s talk Widow’s fog. Yes Virginia, there is a thing called Widow’s Fog.
All humor aside, this is a serious subject, something I wasn’t prepared for at all. I spent about 2 weeks with this post, constantly re-reading it and editing it and then adding to it. I could write so much on this topic, so I’m going to start small and work my way through:
I spent the first few hours in shock. I didn’t have to be alone for long, my closest friends called me to let me know they were on their way, and not long after that, my youngest stepdaughter and her boyfriend also called to tell me they were on they’re way. My mom was on her way over as well, but she had to work late. So I wasn’t alone, my eldest stepdaughter and her husband were coming the next day. With all that support, I just rambled. My mind reeled, but there’s not much I could process.
Late into the night, my support group broke up, family and friends had to go home, and I knew more would be there in the morning. I tried to go to bed, but it was all in vain, I just tossed and turned; I didn’t sleep that night. I got up and walked through the house restlessly. I thought a shower might calm me, but I found myself weeping under the soothing water. No peace was to be found in my mind.
At some point, the shock wore off and the fog had taken hold. It became difficult to remember what I was doing 5 minutes ago, or recalling important information that was needed to complete any tasks. I slowly found myself disassociated from the people around me. I was a walking zombie, dutifully fulfilling my responsibilities, but mentally absent, numb and apathetic to everything. I was an emotional black hole, my listless existence exacerbated by a fatigue that was never quenched no matter how much I tried to rest. Lost in this fog, I couldn’t concentrate – work was tedious and I was constantly re-reading every email or document that was in front of me. I tried writing journals and making lists to help me, but I couldn’t even finish those. I would start a list and then abandon it – coming back to it days later as if it was the first time seeing it and having to start it all over. I spent hours lying in bed, trying to read, listen to a podcast or audio book or just simply watching a TV show (an attempt to distract myself), I could not follow it. My mind was a confusing place, desperately trying to catalogue all the memories I had with my spouse and organize them, while also trying to navigate this horrifying reality with which I was abandoned to.
I spent a lot of time isolated, which is something that is discouraged for those experiencing grief – but it was in the middle of 2020, in the midst of the CoVid Pandemic. So I sat alone, in the dark, a grieving mess, and a scattered mind.
There’s not an “A-HA” moment when you come out of the fog, more like a gradual realization of not having to struggle as much in mental activities. Or at least that was my experience. After the 6 month mark, I begin to regain my short term memory, and able temporarily to keep my focus. I stopped wandering around the house trying to grasp what I needed or intended to do. I finally regained the ability to make coffee and breakfast for myself in the morning. I started to retain information after I read it and could begin to process and analyze. Somewhere between the 8-9 month anniversary, a clarity began to surface, helping to clear my thoughts. Instead of the hazy numbness I had felt encompassing me. In this state a stark truth hit me – He was not coming back – I had spent months in the cocoon of that fog, shielding me from that painful realization, my body’s way of protecting me, and finally I could bear it. And then the barrier broke, it broke with deluge of tears that washed away my numbed apathy, leaving me raw and vulnerable.
And that is just the summarized story, dear reader. I honestly don’t know how to end this post. It’s been one of the most difficult posts to type out, and I constantly had to reread it over and over. So I will leave you with this:
