Trying to make sense of the incomprehensible, 10 weeks after the tragedy and trauma of losing my beloved to suicide

A strange, new world

Today marks 10 weeks since my beloved left this world. Things have changed some. The shock, denial, and horror aren’t as prominent in my daily mix of emotions as the were at first. There’s more pain and longing now, I think. 

Trying to parse out my emotions has often been a bit of an endeavor, and right now is no exception. I know it’s different, but I can’t quite put into words all the ways it is different. Some aspects of my emotional landscape are more salient than others, I guess.

There’s been desperation – the kind unscrupulous people prey upon. Having been through some shit in life, I know I need to watch out for that. But I’ve been desperate for connection. Connection only my loved one could give, connection with him. 

Our daily interactions were such an important part of the fabric of my life. I’m trying to keep weaving this tapestry of my existence, but a whole lot of the important threads have been severed. Trying to find a way to continue the pattern, or weave it into something new, has been disorienting.

I’ve added things to my life that have been inspired by my loved one. Activities of the sort he did or might do. I’ve continued to learn new things, even after the memorial. So many ideas and plans and good intentions. But my energy is limited and I get overwhelmed or derailed often, due to the ever-present strong emotions that are part of grieving. 

Makes me feel like a patient recovering from some major ailment or surgery. And I’ve plenty experience with hospitals and surgeries, so I mean what I say. It’s like going through some sort of physical and emotional recovery and rehabilitation after a major trauma to the system. I suppose because that’s actually what it is. 

The trauma keeps hitting me, though, again and again. I’ve got to learn to lean into the waves when they hit, move with them, so maybe they won’t knock me over as often.

I feel like a crazy person because I’ve started talking out loud to my departed loved one. But it turns out that is quite normal behavior for those grieving a loved one. It’s always weird for me when I find out something I’m doing is “normal.” I’m so used to being the weird one, an outlier. 

But it’s also a bit comforting to not have everything about this traumatic time be also weird and an outlier. Being different can get exhausting. It’s nice to read people’s posts in various groups for the bereaved and be able to relate to what people are saying. 

10 weeks. 10 weeks of no chats, phone calls, visits, texts. 10 weeks of running into more and more things that will never happen again, more and more memories, more and more daily life and dreams and thoughts I can’t share with my beloved the way we used to share everything.

10 weeks of trying to find ways to keep a sense of connection, meaning, and purpose for this part of myself and my life, the part centered on, thoroughly entangled with, my beloved. 

The vastness of this loss I still haven’t discovered the limits of, if such a thing is even possible, is enormous. It’s overwhelming. It doesn’t seem to have an end. It feels like standing on a precipice, staring into a limitless void, where once was a world, a universe, where once was my beloved.

It’s a whole new frontier. One I didn’t ask to explore, nor would I have ever wanted to. But the only thing for it is to go ahead and boldly go. Out, into the unknown, to see what we can see. Learn what we can learn. Be what we can be. Maybe risk is my business, now. I guess we’ll see.