She'll be okay... <3

It's been a minute. It has been an incredibly busy year with big decisions and movements. I decided to immigrate to another country. Be closer to family, a support system, and start my life "fresh" again. A clean slate, for me. I will always carry Bernard in my heart, for the rest of my life. That will never change. He is a part of me, a part of my life story. But, I need to carry on with this crazy, beautiful life - and I need to do it for me if I'm going to live again. "The Lord Himself watches over you! The Lord stands beside you as your protective shade. The sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon at night. The Lord keeps you from all harm and watches over your life. The Lord keeps watch over you as you come and go, both now and forever." - Psalm 121:5-8.

Although I have moved past this phase in my grief journey, it was still something I wanted to document and write about.

It is a lot easier to choose to ignore grief. Suppress all the heavy feelings that come with it, the messiness of it, and try carry on with life as 'normal'. As though none of it never existed. But they say that is like driving a car with the handbrake up - you will only be able to function at a certain level, and only get so far before breaking down. Unresolved grief can start to manifest in unhealthy ways both emotionally and physically. The feeling of numbness, of just existing, surviving, isolating yourself, severe depression, anxiety, chronic pain, extreme anger, substance abuse. I knew I had promised myself that I would deal with and process this tragedy the best that I could. I promised myself this because I know I am the type of person who usually suppresses feelings and goes into autopilot mode, and that hasn't always worked out in my favour very well. This was also the biggest loss I had experienced in my entire life. Something I couldn't ignore, something I couldn't suppress, something that I couldn't put a plan in place for. I was stuck. I was stuck in a storm of emotions, and the storm was only starting...

I hadn't realized how far removed I had become from my own self in life, until I had to become my own best friend and protector through this loss. Now that a lot of the debris had cleared from the storm, the fog had lifted and I was able to see the light again - I needed to look back and reflect on everything, everything I've journeyed through. Go back to any part of my self that may still be emotionally stuck, scared to move forward from certain places in this journey, take her (my) hand and let her (me) know it's going to be okay.

Let's start at the beginning...

Sunday, 5th December 2021 - the day before the incident. Bernard and I were not in a great place and we had, had a huge argument that morning. Later that day, he sent me a message from work to ask how my day was going. I was asleep and by the time I read it, it was almost time for him to come home from work. So I thought I'd wait for him and talk things through in person and didn't end up responding. But he never returned home. For that argument to have been our last conversation we'd ever have, breaks my heart. I blamed myself. This was all my fault. I was a terrible person and a terrible wife. I carried a lot of guilt and shame with me for a long time afterwards. Maybe that one reply would have changed his decision, the course of life. I was stuck here, wanting to turn back the hands of time.

Monday, 6th December 2021 - The next morning, when the police contacted me, I remember receiving the call so vividly. An Afrikaans gentleman (Detective) called me to inform me of the incident - that my husband had taken his life and had passed away. I don't remember anything else he said after that, but I do remember him telling me I needed to make my way to the restaurant, where the incident had taken place, and collect all Bernard's belongings. I was in a state of absolute shock. I didn't even shed a tear in that moment. But when I called my mom to tell her, I cried out to her, "This is all my fault". My brother soon arrived to pick me up and drive me into the city to the restaurant. As soon as he saw me, he wrapped his arms around me and I completely broke down. I don't remember much of the drive to the restaurant, I only remember tears continually falling down my face. I remember arriving there and it was like a crime scene from a movie. The restaurant was blocked off with barrier tape, police vans were there, and the staff were standing outside together in a huddle. I walked in and the detective greeted me. He explained what had happened, where Bernard was and what needed to take place next. I so desperately wanted to go to Bernard, to hug him and pray over him - but my brother wouldn't allow me to see him in the state he was. We collected Bernard's belongings and went on our way before the mortuary transporter arrived. That phone call was such a turning point that changed my life forever. I didn't know how I was going to carry on. I didn't want to carry on. I was stuck here, in this horrible day.

7th December 2021 - As the remaining spouse, I had to identify Bernard's body and have him moved to a funeral home within 48 hours, otherwise the morgue would start charging me a storage fee. I wanted to scream so loudly when I was told this. In what world, can you be so insensitive to tell me my husband is taking up space which you will charge me for? In what world would any remaining spouse be ready to identify their partner's lifeless body and then choose a funeral home? I certainly wasn't. Maybe it's good that they have you do it whilst you are still in so much shock, but I felt pushed to my absolute limits. To the point of a breakdown. I was still grappling with what had just happened only yesterday.

I transitioned into survival mode (that may or may not have been the few tranquilizers I took that morning). My sister drove me to the morgue where we met with my brother-in-law and sister-in-law. I walked in and was taken to a waiting room. There I waited for that dreaded moment - to be called to identify my husband's body. It felt like eternity sitting there, but that was fine because I didn't really want that moment to arrive, ever. I can still see myself sitting there. I remember exactly what I was wearing - blue jeans and a black top with yellow and white flowers. Black sandals and pearl drop earrings. My engagement ring and wedding band. I remember the way the room was laid out. Twelve wooden chairs and a wooden coffee table. Three other people were in the waiting room with me. I remember the smell of the room. Somewhat of an old fashioned, musky smell; mixed with a hospital, sterilizing smell. Eventually, an officer called me through to a private room with a glass window which was covered by a drawn, emerald green curtain. She asked if I was ready. "What kind of question is that? No I'm not ready to view my husband's lifeless body!" But I nodded, politely. As she pulled the curtain open, there lay my husband and best friend. He was right there, within reaching distance - but I couldn't get to him. It broke my heart. I went cold. I stared for awhile, trying to make sense of what was happening in my little world. Trying to connect all the pieces of this horrible puzzle I had been given. I nodded to the officer that, that was my husband and signed the document acknowledging I had identified his body. That evening, I broke down. It was 6:30pm and my husband should be walking through the door to join me for dinner. I cried and cried, my heart ached so much for him, it physically hurt. I didn't know how I was going to move forward from this. I was stuck at that glass window.

8th December 2021 - My Dad and sister took me to two funeral homes. I found this to be probably the most heaviest decision to make in my entire life. It was such an important decision to make, for me anyways. I wanted my husband's body to be honoured, to be treated with such care and respect. He was golden to me. I sat at the table with each funeral director as they started to explain the process and ask me questions. Husband's full name. Husband's ID number. Date of death. Reason for death. Do I want him to be buried or cremated. Do I want to view his body one last time before the funeral? Did I have a specific outfit in mind to dress him in. I sat there so numb as tears streamed down my face. I was 36 years old. What young(ish) woman, who had just gotten married, wants to be answering these types of questions? I was stuck in this moment of wondering if I chose the best funeral home. One Bernard would have been happy with.

12th December 2021 - It was my first wedding anniversary and my husband wasn't there to celebrate. The most important person. My family had arranged to celebrate it with me at the venue Bernard and I were going to get married at before COVID hit. I woke up, started getting ready but I didn't want to go. I didn't want to celebrate a day that was meant to be filled with joy, love, happiness, but now was filled with emptiness, sadness. But, we went and shared a meal together and lit a candle in honour of Bernard. It was a day filled with love, but in a different way.  I was stuck at that restaurant table, staring at the candle that represented my husband. He should have been there with me.

15th December 2021 - Today was the day to say goodbye to my beloved husband. It was the day of his funeral. I had prayed so hard the entire week leading up to this day for my Lazarus miracle, but it was not in God's plan. And so I stood up at the pulpit and spoke fondly of my best friend, my love, my husband - Bernard. I cried, I laughed and I honoured him along with friends and family. It was all a blur. I don't remember getting up and speaking, but I watch the video back again and again. I know that is me, but somehow I feel disconnected from the woman standing up there. I was stuck at the pulpit, not wanting to let him go and say goodbye. To take the next step forward into a life I didn't want.

So much of her (me) was finding it hard to comes to terms with everything. She (I) was so incredibly sad. She (I) found it hard to breathe at times. She (I) found it hard to live on some days. She (I) wanted to change everything, but couldn't. She (I) didn't want to let go of her husband. She (I) didn't want this new life. She (I) was scared as to what was to come. She (I) was stuck, in a trauma paralysis.

Now that I am emotionally strong enough to reflect and go back to these parts of my journey where I felt part of me was maybe stuck and scared to to take a step forward - I can now take her (my) hand and let her (me) know that she'll be okay. See, physically and mentally I have moved forward, you have no other choice but to. But the heart sometimes takes a little time to catch up. And so the parts of me which have been able to walk this journey, move forward a little more each day, see that I've survived and that life can carry on; those parts can go back and let my heart know it's okay to move forward from these places that once held me in paralysis and fear. This is healing, this is finding peace again.

And so today, I live in peace... Putting to rest the guilt, the shame, the fear, the unknown. Accepting that this is now my life. It's not the life I dreamed of, or asked for, but it's the life God has written for me and I trust Him that He will always be with me. By my side. Holding me in the palm of His hand. Having peace in that, I know we (her and me) can keep walking on in faith and that we'll be okay.

Love always, Melissa

xxx