While I remember things from the first week after Erik's death so clearly, the second week is the opposite...I seem to remember very little of it at all. The first week had so many significant markers and memories, that the week took on a very specific shape. The day Erik died, the day we planned the funeral, the first day of the wake, and so forth. There was so much to do each day, that they were very filled days with many memories.
But the second week has no shape in my memory. I did not go back to work til the third week, and all of the preparations, the wake, the funeral, etc, were over. Since one of my favorite ways of dealing with stress is to sleep, I suspect I spent a very huge portion of time sleeping. I was probably the most well-rested person in America!!
At the same time, I knew I needed to try to perform some of the routine tasks of everyday living, such as cleaning, banking, and that week, writing thank-you cards.
One of the most significant and consistent things everyone had been saying to me was "take care of yourself". In spite of my haze, for some reason, I recognized that what they were saying was not just a generic wish for wellness, but rather a very heartfelt, very worried, very serious, "take care of yourself". The words weren't always the same, but the message was: this is the most difficult thing you could ever have to do, so for now, only do what you can.
And so I embraced that, and did what I could each day, and forgot about what couldn't do. However, my perceptions of that were not always clear.
The one memory I do have from that week, is my trip to the bank. The reason I remember it, is because it was my first venturing out of the house as a "normal" person to do a simple errand. I can't remember what else I was going to do, because I never made it past that first stop at the bank. I remember it had been annoying me that everyone kept saying to just stay home, don't try to drive too much, maybe don't drive at all. And I thought "how ridiculous is that?"
So, I gathered up what I needed, and headed out the door. I arrived, did my banking, came out, and thought, "see, this is going really well".
Then, I got into my car, very carefully looked into the rearview mirror, said to myself, "there's a truck behind me", and proceeded to very smoothly back into the truck. Needless to say, I had no emotional reserves to deal with this relatively small event, so jumped out of my car, sobbing and explaining to the young guy how sorry I was. He was just gawking at me, looking at his very old pick up truck which did not have a scratch on it anyway, and my relatively new Toyota which did, and just said, "Geesh lady, it's okay." That of course gave me license to start telling him how my son had just died, and it was my first trip to the bank, and so on, which simply sent him hightailing back into his truck, making as quick a getaway as possible.
Needless to say, I went straight home, where my ex-husband was visiting Jason, and blurted out that I may not drive again for a few days.
I am telling you this story as a way of saying, that while the first week is so very hard, the following weeks will be hard in different ways. When it's possible, accept help and advice from others, and do the best you can to re-enter the real world. But take your time, and accept that it may be the smallest things that are the most difficult.
If you are someone helping the survivor, again just helping with very small tasks can be greatest gift.
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