Somewhere to Stay

Earlier tonight, I fell asleep in my living room chair for about 2 hours. While I was asleep, I had a dream that I was alone on vacation somewhere warm, walking from house to house and hotel to hotel, trying to find a place to stay. Every place I came to looked special in some way - fun or beautiful or comfortable - but I could never find a person anywhere who could help me. At once place that looked promising and peaceful, I looked into the window of the closed door to find that it was empty inside, vacant as though it had closed or gone out of business.

I have no idea what a dream like this means, but I do know that when I fell asleep in the early evening it was still light outside and when I woke up later alone in my living room, there was darkness all around me. I was disoriented and lonely. It took me a minute to remember what time of day it was.

My dream was like living disappointment over and over. Every time I'd see a place that looked great, I'd have hope that it would be somewhere I could stay. I'd happily walk up to it to discover that for whatever reason, I could not. Disappointment would hit. Then I'd move on to the next place. On and on and on.

I am so close to the end of this first year of grief. So ready for transition and happiness and new beginnings. No disappointment.

I have a terrible, terrible headache, so I think I'm going to go back to sleep...this time in my bed.

Sleeping with Myself

When I was a little girl and I went to sleep at night, I lived with my parents, so they were in the house.

When I went away to college, I always had a room mate (or room mates) every year, so when I went to sleep at night, someone was asleep in the same room, in a bed just feet from my own.

When I finished college, I moved back home for almost a year. I lived with my parents, so when I went to sleep at night, they were in the house.

When Rick and I got engaged, I moved out of my parents' house and began living with Rick, so when I went to sleep at night, Rick was with me.

For the next 7 years, when I went to sleep at night, Rick was there.

Which means once Rick died, shockingly enough for the first time in my whole life, I was alone at night. I learned to sleep alone in a quiet house.

Until Rick's death, my life was comprised of transition after transition, where I had somehow moved through 29 years of...never living alone.

Like a little frog, I hopped from lily pad to lily pad...always sharing space with someone else. But for the last year, I've lived alone and I've slept alone at night. No parents. No room mates. No significant other. No kids of my own. Just me. And the nights.

And you know what I realized? It's not so much that I've learned to sleep alone. It's that I've learned to sleep with myself.

Every night, no extra stuff going on around me, no human interaction, no breathing somewhere else in the house... but the house isn't empty, because I'm there. Me. So much of me. Emotions to untangle. Words to write. Songs to sing. Thoughts to hear. Dreams to dream. Tears to cry. Lessons to learn. Me. So much of me.

Literally hundreds (320+ so far) of days of learning... of having the new experience... of sleeping with myself.

Grief on Sleep

Grief on sleep is better than grief on no sleep. I finally slept a long time on Friday night. I went to bed at 11:45 pm, woke up at 7 am to feed the catkids, and then went back to bed and slept until 11 am. It was so needed. I woke up feeling like a new woman. For the first time in months, I felt awake, rested, and ready to take on the day.

Last night, I slept for almost 7 hours, which is much better than what had become my usual 4-5. I am hoping this is the beginning of a new pattern. Grief on sleep is still grief...but it's more manageable.

Muscle aches, pains, shortness of breath, an empty stomach, tightness in the throat or chest, digestive problems, sensitivity to noise, heart palpitations, nausea, headaches, appetite changes, tension... these are the physical symptoms of grief and I have experienced them all. I still have tightness in my chest from time to time when I am caught off guard or thinking of something to do with Rick. I still have a sensitivity to noise - extra jumpy and easily startled - though it's much improved. I am definitely still overly tense. I feel it most in my neck and shoulders. I feel so stiff. So tight. Like I am carrying a constant burden. I can't seem to lessen that tension. Thankfully, these are the only physical symptoms left as the months have passed.

I'm hoping that with more and more sleep, these symptoms will dissipate too...

Grief on sleep is a different animal entirely. It's still grief, but it has yet another face. I can feel my energy coming back little by little. I can feel my desire to do things like cook homemade food or do crafting and other creative things building up again. Before, I couldn't imagine giving anymore energy than it took to put in a work day. I let my laundry pile up... cleaning my house was no small feat. I sense a shift... and I credit sleep.

I pray this trend continues... I am ready to breathe a full breath. I am ready to wake up refreshed and have it be the norm. I am ready.

Shadows

Last night, I had a nightmare, which was made scarier when I couldn't wake myself up from it. Which was made scarier when I felt someone holding on to my shoulders and shaking me awake but still couldn't wake up. I was trying to open my eyes. I felt the pressure on my shoulders and torso, the hands gently around my upper arms, and my mind was racing with "I can't wake up! Who's touching me?! Who's shaking me?! Is it my mom? How did she get in my house? Why is she here in the middle of the night? Maybe it's a stranger shaking me awake to hurt me! Why can't I wake up?!"

I heard Rick say, "Arielle," and someone shook my shoulders harder. I woke up, sweating and bleary eyed.

No one was there.

I think Rick woke me up from a nightmare again. Like he did that night when I heard the noise downstairs and jolted awake to find the glowing photo frame. Like he always used to when he was alive.

I sat in the dark, in my bed, cats at the ready, my head still racing, but my heart comforted by the loving presence I know was there.

When the darkness settles and the light of my phone is a softness near my pillow, I contemplate so many things.

But most of all, I wonder if I will ever be loved again. The way I want to be loved. By someone who can wake me from nightmares and tell me it will be okay. 

For now, I just settle into the sheets at night, phone close by, cats curled up around me... The echoes of the empty house are like sorrowful music. The empty half of my bed is vast. I know my strength and resilience...but I feel at loose ends. The unknown is scary. The grief is an unpredictable sea.

There should be a law against widowhood before age 30. It's the agony of widowhood at any age, but amped up on drugs or something. I'm like a fish out of water. Part of a weird little club. With the added burden of suicide to follow along behind me like a shadow...

I try to imagine a window opening to flood the shadow with light. I try to feel less alone.

So I thank Rick for waking me from my bad dream, I close my eyes, and I curl up with my baggage and fall asleep. 

The First Night Alone

Last night was my first night alone in my house. Someone has stayed with me every night since Rick died. Sunday night, Monday night, and Tuesday night it was my mom. She slept in bed with me. 

On Wednesday night, it was my BFF Libes. She slept with me in my bed too. I had a nightmare related to Rick's suicide and was crying in my sleep. She had to wake me up. My dear friend Jenn was also staying over in the guest room. 

Thursday night, Jenn slept in bed with me. 

Then Friday night, it was my mom again.

On Saturday, my friends Jen and Huoi were "babysitting" me. Huoi stayed until after midnight. Jen slept in bed with me all night. No nightmares, but not much sleep. 

Sunday my friend Daniele distracted me with a lake walk at Peace Valley, a picnic, and the company of her dog Tango. 

Then last night... it was my first night alone. It had to happen eventually. And my parents live 15 minutes away, so there is always the understanding that I can call if I need them. I survived. I didn't sleep much... but I survived. Last night, I woke up every hour exactly. 12:43, 1:43, 2:43... until I woke up for good at 6:43. My sleep was fitful and it was strange that every time I woke and looked at my clock, the time was always at the 43rd minute. The cats slept with me, so technically I wasn't totally alone. But it felt so lonely.

My bed is too big for 2 cats and a cat widow.

I slept with an emergency lantern on all night - the kind that's around in case of power outages. The darkness just seemed too oppressive.

I can hardly sleep and I can hardly eat. One day this week, I was awake for almost 24 hours straight. I'm forcing myself to push through the sleepless nights and choking down food I know I need. I just feel like I'm living in the twilight zone. You know, like...Rick should be home any minute. Or He's just in the bathroom. Maybe He's already asleep upstairs. Or if I'm out doing something, he's just at home waiting for me. 

I survived last night somehow and it occurred to me this morning that today is Monday. So I wrote one of my anonymous letters to a stranger and left it with some wedding china place settings at Bed, Bath, & Beyond.

I'm trying to focus on survival. I made it through the first night alone, which it would stand to reason is probably the worst. My friend Amanda brought me lots of food to freeze so I don't have to cook for a while. I had dinner with my friends Jennifer and Matthew. They distracted me with kittens and humor. I powered through and didn't cry once in their company, though I did tear up a few times. Tonight is night number 2 all alone. I cry on and off. I'm trying very hard not to dread tomorrow: my first day back to work.

My heart hurts so badly. Nighttime is so hard. I miss the nights when Rick used to get out of bed to pee, then reach for and hold my hand when he got back in bed. It's never going to happen again and there is a permanent lump in my throat. The house is too quiet. I'd give anything to hear him snoring again.