The decision to continue

Sandy was (and is) a major force in my world, the central thread of my life. It seems inconceivable that her heart stopped and mine kept beating.

I don't have survivor's guilt. My grief is largely selfish.  I don't think "I shouldn't get to enjoy this because Sandy can't." Instead, I find it difficult to enjoy things without Sandy to share them with me.

Immediately after her death, I felt disconnected with the world. Everything was wrong, and I was waiting for the universe to correct itself, to bring her back. I managed to accomplish things that absolutely had to be done, but I felt no passion, no investment. Life was on hold.

I've rarely actually been suicidal these past four months, but I've frequently thought death would be welcome. At least, the universe would be a little more balanced if my heart had stopped beating, too. And maybe - just maybe - my energy would find Sandy's and I'd be able to share in her experiences again.

I recognized early on that at some point, I'd have to make a decision about whether to continue or not. That is, I'd have to consciously decide to continue living, consciously commit to engaging in the world and pursuing goals and envisioning a future. At the time, I couldn't imagine doing any of those things, but I believed that I would eventually make the decision to continue.

I have made that decision. In fact, I've made it multiple times. What I didn't foresee back in August was that it wasn't a one-time decision. I make it; I begin to engage; I begin to see a future. And then the grief resets, and once again I can't imagine how I'm alive without her. Once again, my goals are mainly to catch up on things and get enough organized that I can die without leaving a mess for anyone to clean up when I'm gone. The decision to continue is one that I have to make anew repeatedly.

In A Widow's Story, Joyce Carol Oates talks about suicide a lot. She considered it much more than I have; I don't relate to her taking comfort in a cache of pills, for example. When I think of dying,  I just imagine my heart stopping on its own one night, not even from the pain or effort of grief, but just because eventually the impossible must give way.

Oates wrote that the widow's task is to stay alive, that she's been successful if she's alive on the first anniversary of her widowhood. I probably will be. But there are likely to be a lot of decisions between now and then.