Memories slowly emerge from grief fog

“

Do you really want to remember “?

That was a question posed to me by a close friend in a recent conversation. We had been talking about grieving in the early days of loss and about the memory loss that goes along with it.

I’d been telling her of the minutes, hours, days and weeks that I couldn’t recall right after My Favourite Husband (MFH) died. I wondered how I functioned: made funeral arrangements, answered phone calls and messages, showered. How did I drive? How did I get dressed? Brush my teeth? Remember to put pants on? How did I make any decision really? Conversations lost or repeated, multiple times. 

I remember — very clearly — the night I went to the hospital and sat with MFH for the last time. After that, a lot of time was lost. Not only could I not remember what I did in the moment (moments after I did it) but I couldn’t recall memories with MFH. I remember panicking and telling an aunt that I couldn’t recall holiday memories, day-to-day memories — really, any memories with MFH. She gently told me that I was in shock; that my body was protecting my mind because, if I was able to remember, it would be too much for me at that time. She told me to be patient. As time would go by, I’d be able to remember. She was right.

The snippets I remember from those early days are interesting, to say the least. I vaguely remember making funeral arrangements the day after MFH died but I very clearly remember the funeral director making me sign off that there would be no firecrackers or popcorn or anything else in MFHs body cavities that could “explode” during the cremation process and damage the crematorium. 

I remember telling my Mom and one of my brothers that I “bought land” after I purchased a grave plot and the look on their faces wondering what the hell I was talking about. 

I remember — very, very clearly — the graveside service for MFH but I don’t remember much of the celebration of life after. Apparently I kept my shit together, talked to people and paid the caterer. I do recall one of my nieces sneaking in a vodka cooler for me because I just wanted to have a sip of something a bit stronger. I also remember thinking it was Sprite.

I remember feeling pain but the pain of loss being dulled for a bit. My pain release began after the funeral, once I knew that what I needed to do to close the MFH chapter was done. The intensified pain of my grief started to unleash in waves and, while I didn’t remember everything,  I remembered some things. And it hurt.

A little more than a year later, most of my grief fog has subsided. I no longer have to double and triple check most things that I used to do automatically. I can also recall memories from our past and they generally make me smile; so many good times for so many years.

What I have not been able to recall fully, for the most part, are the days right after MFH died. I thought I wanted to remember them but, after our conversation and the question of “do you really want to remember?” being asked, maybe it’s all right if those memories remain locked away. According to my trusted circle, I did what I needed to do to get done what needed to be done.

Maybe remembering what I do is enough.

❤️