Pathetic. Sometimes this is how my life feels. I had one of those days last week.
- I might as well be dead.
- I regret giving away my cats, that I loved and adopted for life, so I could live on the road (only to fail after 2 months).
- I was an idiot for giving away everything to live “forever” in a micro camper.
- If I was dead, nobody would notice or care.
In my grief after my wife died, I made some big mistakes. At the time, I felt like I had no choices. I had to move forward or kill myself.
With the benefit of time, I can see how I was not thinking clearly back then.
The first 6 months were a whirlwind of activity. I just kept doing project after project – give away her clothes, sell the house, prepare for a road trip, give away all of my belongings, rehome our cats, buy an off road truck and camper. I tried to work every hour I was awake because whenever I slowed down, I was dropped to my knees by waves of sadness.
The next 2 months were a blur. I drove 10,000 miles back and forth across the country. I camped in rest areas, Walmart parking lots, deserts, mud flats, national forests and mountains. I drove up to 16 hours a day searching for a “good” spot and never finding one that was good for more than a few days. I thought I wanted solitude in nature, but longed for companionship and kindness and human contact.
Then I broke. I gave up and realized I belonged in society – not living in the woods in my truck. I drove cross country from California to North Carolina in 3 days and bought a house two days later.
Fortunately, I made some good decisions.
- The house and neighborhood are perfect for me. I was lucky that real estate agent steered me well.
- I replaced the floors in my house before buying any furniture.
- I made upgrades to my house that made it really comfortable for me
- Installed lightweight shades
- Replaced doorknobs and cabinet handles
- Added Keypad locks
- Installed a pull-up bar and mounted my rings
- Stained and distressed bathroom and kitchen cabinets
- Replaced leaky faucet and old toilet valves
- I started swimming at the City Pool
I was grateful to have a bed, a kitchen, a garage for working out, a place to leave my dog safely, a grocery store, a fridge, a stove, a clothes washer, and a place to get out of the weather.
I would say the best thing to come from my road trip was an appreciation for these basic comforts I had taken for granted for much of my life.
I was still grieving. During that first year, the grief still hit me in waves. I felt a stab in my stomach and a pain in my chest when I saw married couples walking together holding hands. But somehow, I plowed forward.
The 2nd year after my wife died I felt like I was building a new life.
I started playing the drums after a 35 year hiatus. I learned how to paint landscapes. I swam. I walked the dog in the park. I had 6 months of rebuilding before Covid hit and shut down the world.
In a week it will 3 years since my wife died.
I have a new life as an early retired single man. It’s pretty good most of the time. Sometimes it is fantastic.
But occasionally, it feels empty, meaningless and without purpose. Occasionally, it feels like there is no point to going on. Occasionally, I miss my wife and the life we had together so badly it feels as if I am dying inside.
At those times, I wish I had died instead of her. But, I tell myself, by surviving her, at least I spared her the grief of my death and having to rebuild a life alone. And she never had to watch me suffer and eventually die the way she did.
I’m not suicidal. I have no plans to kill myself. Not even tomorrow.
My pathetic days are just not that bad.
Doug Swenson (yoga guru) once said, “The hardest part is stepping up to the front of the mat.” He said when you felt like not doing yoga, step up to the front of the mat and see what happens.
I apply this to everything in life. When I am feeling particularly bad, I step up to the front of the mat, do the first pull-up, call the surgeon, walk the dog, swim the first lap, call someone, vacuum the house. I take the first step and usually, I feel better pretty soon.
Those days when my life seems pathetic are rare. Even when I have one of them, I know what to do. I keep moving. I plow forward.