Thirteen Years Later: A Journey Through Grief and Healing

Every morning this week, when I woke to a new day, my mind instantly went to what the date was as the countdown to the thirteenth year of Mike’s deathiversary approached. The reality was usually followed by some tears being shed before getting out of bed and starting my day, pulling myself into the present moment. Each year, I think that it will be different, that my heart won’t ache. And yet, the scars run deep; with each stitch healed on the outside, a raw and tender spot remains below the surface.

History has taught me that the days leading up to Mike’s death will always be worse than the actual date. That is because I’m reliving past events, even if they are deep within my subconscious. There’s a relief on the actual date that I will never have to live through the shock and horror of that day. The day after is harder, knowing I’ll never see Mike in physical form again. I recently read about the importance of reaching out to others for support during emotional anniversaries. I’ve already planned lunches with two friends, one on March 10th and the other on March 13th.

Just like every relationship, we had our ups and downs. He struggled with addiction and mental health issues, and I had my own difficulties with mental health and trying to control the uncontrollable. I never put Mike on a pedestal after his death. I saw him as a fallible human, just like me. It took me time to be able to process the anger and guilt of his life cut way too short, and with it, the dreams of what our life could have looked like. Thirteen years on, I have a more compassionate perspective on Mike’s suffering. No one is born with the desire to deal with these afflictions, but society adds such shame to these conditions that some people never get the help they need. I always went for counseling and was finally given proper medication after my second bout with postpartum depression, which changed my life for the better. Still, Mike had a harder time asking for assistance.

If Mike walked in the front door today, I don’t think he would recognize the woman I’ve become. Sometimes, I don’t recognize myself when I look in the mirror. I remember the first year, whenever I saw my reflection, I thought I had never seen such a sad face and wondered if this was how I would look for the rest of my life. With time, the light returned to my eyes, and times of deep joy as well. I learned that I would forever live in the world of both/and, where these emotions coexist. I’ve gained confidence in my ability to walk through the world and still miss the companionship of having a partner. Creative endeavors that I never dreamed I would have tried have been healing as I continually attempt new activities out of my comfort zone. Each of these has helped build new friendships and communities, which are vital in my healing.

I was reticent to watch the film “We Live in Time,” fearful that it would be too sad. I finally built up the courage to watch it. I was fine until the final credits rolled, and then I lost it. The reality of the pain of grief is not the big moments you miss but the little moments that we shared together in this messy thing we call love and life.