I had to complete a form today that included filling in our old herd number. As I typed it in, I felt waves of grief wash over me. Who would ever think that a herd number would have me bawling?
This month marks 15 years since John died suddenly. The man I fell in love with when I was just 15, and was married to for nearly 30 years, died just an hour after I gave him a kiss goodbye one morning.
The pain of losing him overwhelmed me. There were days when I could hardly breathe, mornings I didn’t want to get out of bed and face another day without him. It took a long time but I’ve learned to live again and to wake up every morning without dread. Along the way I’ve learned a lot about myself, about life and about grieving. Here’s what I know now.
It comes at you from nowhere
Like earlier today grief hits you sometimes out of nowhere. I have stood looking at a display of fig rolls and been filled with sadness that I’m not buying a packet for John.
Grief has made me pull over while driving to sit and weep at the memories of dancing to a song on the radio. Grief sneaks up on you over little things, big things and the in-between things. There is no time limit on grief, so yes, even after 15 years, it hits me.
Living alone is ok
After we married I could never envision living on my own. When he died the loneliness was overwhelming. Our home felt empty and oh so quiet without him. But I have learned the difference between loneliness and being on my own. I’ve learned to be happy in my own company and to live in a quieter home. I’ve learned to pick up the phone or meet a friend when I’m feeling lonely. I’m happy in my space and I have to admit that I love having control of the remote!
It’s different for everyone
It took me a while to realise that grief is as unique to each of us as was our relationship to the person who died. Mine was different to our children. They were missing their father – I, my husband. Each of them grieved differently just as they all had a unique relationship with John. There is no one size fits all. There are, for many, more than the so-called five stages of grief, and few grieving would experience them in a linear way .
I don’t judge
Whether you stay at home, travel the world, remarry in months or run away to find yourself – it’s up to each person. Some stop wearing their wedding ring shortly after the loss, some – years later and some never take it off.
After a loss we all get through each day in whatever way works for us. It’s not for me, or in fact, any of us to judge how others deal with their loss, and their pain.
Margaret Leahy and John McWalter on their wedding day, March 1983.
Trust my decision making
John and I discussed things a lot and teased out the pros and cons before we made major decisions. When I had to start making decisions on my own, I floundered. I tied myself up in knots with ‘what ifs’. I procrastinated so long on getting a new car that the one I had broke down one day. I nearly didn’t get home in time to bring my daughter to her Debs. That taught me that I needed to do my research, trust my gut and make the decisions.
I should do what I need to do
I got a lot of – mainly – well meaning, advice. I was constantly told what I should do. You should go back to work, take more time off, rent the land, start dating again etc, etc, etc. I learned to smile, nod and then do what I thought in my heart was right. I didn’t always get it right, but that’s ok too.
You find who your friends are
While it was very gratifying how many came to the funeral or sent cards, it’s the friends who kept checking on me that I value.
The friends who dragged me out for a walk when I wanted to wallow in my grief. The friends who encouraged me to go out for an evening, to go on holidays and importantly – encouraged me to do what was right for me with no judgement.
John McWalter on a weekend break a week before he died suddenly in 2010.
Memories can make me smile
But just like grief can make me sad, memories can also make me smile. A song on the radio can make me laugh at the memory of John being romantic and singing to me. He hadn’t a note in his head so, I smile now at the memory of him doing his very bad impression of Elvis. I smile at memories of his practical jokes. I smile when I pass his photo on the wall thinking how very handsome he was.
I can be happy again
I’ve learned to enjoy spending time with friends, meeting new people and in the last few years starting my own business. There are moments and sometimes, days, when I am so sad that John is not here to share this life. I’m so sad he didn’t get to see our children grow into beautiful adults or that he never got to meet their partners or any future grandchildren.
On the day he died, a friend of his, who himself had suffered a terrible loss told me, “Some day it will hurt a little less”. That gave me comfort on a day when I could hardly breathe with pain. He was right. It will always hurt that John left but it does hurt a little less. I can be happy, laugh, dance around the kitchen to one of our songs and jump up and down at a live concert.
I will always miss him, and always
love him, but I’ve learned I have to live and love the life I have created without him.
I had to complete a form today that included filling in our old herd number. As I typed it in, I felt waves of grief wash over me. Who would ever think that a herd number would have me bawling?
This month marks 15 years since John died suddenly. The man I fell in love with when I was just 15, and was married to for nearly 30 years, died just an hour after I gave him a kiss goodbye one morning.
The pain of losing him overwhelmed me. There were days when I could hardly breathe, mornings I didn’t want to get out of bed and face another day without him. It took a long time but I’ve learned to live again and to wake up every morning without dread. Along the way I’ve learned a lot about myself, about life and about grieving. Here’s what I know now.
It comes at you from nowhere
Like earlier today grief hits you sometimes out of nowhere. I have stood looking at a display of fig rolls and been filled with sadness that I’m not buying a packet for John.
Grief has made me pull over while driving to sit and weep at the memories of dancing to a song on the radio. Grief sneaks up on you over little things, big things and the in-between things. There is no time limit on grief, so yes, even after 15 years, it hits me.
Living alone is ok
After we married I could never envision living on my own. When he died the loneliness was overwhelming. Our home felt empty and oh so quiet without him. But I have learned the difference between loneliness and being on my own. I’ve learned to be happy in my own company and to live in a quieter home. I’ve learned to pick up the phone or meet a friend when I’m feeling lonely. I’m happy in my space and I have to admit that I love having control of the remote!
It’s different for everyone
It took me a while to realise that grief is as unique to each of us as was our relationship to the person who died. Mine was different to our children. They were missing their father – I, my husband. Each of them grieved differently just as they all had a unique relationship with John. There is no one size fits all. There are, for many, more than the so-called five stages of grief, and few grieving would experience them in a linear way .
I don’t judge
Whether you stay at home, travel the world, remarry in months or run away to find yourself – it’s up to each person. Some stop wearing their wedding ring shortly after the loss, some – years later and some never take it off.
After a loss we all get through each day in whatever way works for us. It’s not for me, or in fact, any of us to judge how others deal with their loss, and their pain.
Margaret Leahy and John McWalter on their wedding day, March 1983.
Trust my decision making
John and I discussed things a lot and teased out the pros and cons before we made major decisions. When I had to start making decisions on my own, I floundered. I tied myself up in knots with ‘what ifs’. I procrastinated so long on getting a new car that the one I had broke down one day. I nearly didn’t get home in time to bring my daughter to her Debs. That taught me that I needed to do my research, trust my gut and make the decisions.
I should do what I need to do
I got a lot of – mainly – well meaning, advice. I was constantly told what I should do. You should go back to work, take more time off, rent the land, start dating again etc, etc, etc. I learned to smile, nod and then do what I thought in my heart was right. I didn’t always get it right, but that’s ok too.
You find who your friends are
While it was very gratifying how many came to the funeral or sent cards, it’s the friends who kept checking on me that I value.
The friends who dragged me out for a walk when I wanted to wallow in my grief. The friends who encouraged me to go out for an evening, to go on holidays and importantly – encouraged me to do what was right for me with no judgement.
John McWalter on a weekend break a week before he died suddenly in 2010.
Memories can make me smile
But just like grief can make me sad, memories can also make me smile. A song on the radio can make me laugh at the memory of John being romantic and singing to me. He hadn’t a note in his head so, I smile now at the memory of him doing his very bad impression of Elvis. I smile at memories of his practical jokes. I smile when I pass his photo on the wall thinking how very handsome he was.
I can be happy again
I’ve learned to enjoy spending time with friends, meeting new people and in the last few years starting my own business. There are moments and sometimes, days, when I am so sad that John is not here to share this life. I’m so sad he didn’t get to see our children grow into beautiful adults or that he never got to meet their partners or any future grandchildren.
On the day he died, a friend of his, who himself had suffered a terrible loss told me, “Some day it will hurt a little less”. That gave me comfort on a day when I could hardly breathe with pain. He was right. It will always hurt that John left but it does hurt a little less. I can be happy, laugh, dance around the kitchen to one of our songs and jump up and down at a live concert.
I will always miss him, and always
love him, but I’ve learned I have to live and love the life I have created without him.
SHARING OPTIONS