Guilt Free Obsession

Yesterday marked two months since Brad died and the day one of my closest friends officially moved far, far away.

After work, while walking down the driveway with Bailey, I contemplated the day:

It still seems so unreal – sometimes like it just happened and other times like it happened ages ago.

I thought about the funeral. A few people said they were glad I came and made comments about understanding my need to divorce him all those years ago. I sensed that they were saying it almost in either an accusatory tone as if I abandoned him or as a sense of admiration for the strength it took to walk away. Either way, I felt angered, as if they believe what I did was an easy decision to make or an easy thing to do. The mantra swimming in my head since Brad died is how doing the right thing is NOT easy. If only people knew how extremely painful it can be to do the right thing. It was painful to do the right thing then and it is still painful. I would love to ignore my hurt like I used to, push it deep down, and go about life as if losing Brad meant nothing. I would love to turn off the feelers, but that is not healthy. So, I do the hard work and allow thoughts and emotions of Brad to have free reign. My therapist has given me great strategies to actually aid in bringing them to the surface when they get stuck. I must face them and walk through them if I am going to heal.

I thought about something I almost posted on FB – but I bet people are tired of my sad posts – thinking, “Hasn’t this gone on long enough, Renee?” My self-reply, “But it’s only been two months.”

After Brad and I divorced, I took a DivorceCare class which taught me the “average” cycle for grief is three years. During the first year, all we can think about is the year before, when things were “normal”. During year two, we think back to all the firsts without that person. Then, during year three, we begin to develop a new normal. I also learned that this grief process can sometimes take shorter or longer, depending on the circumstances. So, two months into a minimum three-year process – no, it has not gone on long enough.

I remembered a conversation with my therapist, telling her of my pink polo shirt memories and the soupy conglomeration of my head and heart. I have this peaceful image of Brad with me. In death, he is the Brad I hoped for with the pink polo shirt, the man who chose me over his addiction, braved the hard work, and healed – the two of us together. At the same time, Brad can be all Michelle needs him to be for her. For a brief moment, the logical/theological part of my brain wants to argue, but my heart wins. Who says it can’t be this way? We don’t know for sure what happens in death. We are confident of some things, but we cannot even begin to fathom the rich depths of life after death. As my therapist interjected, if it brings you comfort and peace right now, what’s wrong with it? Let the heart win. I have – readily and easily.

But, man, Brad, things sure were easier when you were alive. It was easy not to be taken in by you because I saw what the addiction had made of you and it was easy to see how much better off I was being out of that. Now, in death, you can be who I needed and wanted you to be and that makes letting go and saying goodbye that much harder. In life, I forgot all the good we once shared. In your death, that’s all I can think about.

But I’m not overcome. Work has been wonderful. Strange to say considering how busy it has been – three COVID deaths in one week and a few other deaths. I thrive in my chaplain role in these situations, though. And Brad’s death has made me so much better. I have lost loved ones before, but never one that hurt like this.

I remember talking to a woman after my first post-Brad death. I began saying what I normally say. Granted, I still believe in what I normally say – and I avoid all the helpless Christianeze sayings which do nothing to truly comfort. Still, as I spoke the words, they felt hollow and wrong. For the first time, I knew the truth of what I was saying, but now I heard it from a mourner’s perspective. I stopped in mid-sentence and said, “You know what? There is nothing I can say to make this situation any easier for you or that can take away your pain. I don’t know why this happened and it’s going to hurt. But one thing I can guarantee, God will be with you every step of the way, even when you cannot feel Him.”

During another visit, all I did was rub the back of the family member, saying very little, and letting her know that it was okay and normal – when she said how bad her chest hurt or how she felt so many different emotions or didn’t know what to do or think or want. She thanked me profusely afterwards and I was reminded of something I was told early on in ministry – sometimes simply being there is enough. I get that now.

As we headed back inside, I thought of my obsession with the Good Witch, and especially Sam and Cassie. Why is that the only show I want to watch? Why do I crave it like a drug, eager to watch the next episode before going to work or after work – or all day if I’m off with nothing else pressing to do? Why do I listen to the Good Witch Spotify station so often? Why am I obsessed with a relationship that isn’t real and that I don’t believe exists in real life? Why am I in love with a fictitious man who bares a striking resemblance to James Denton? (Joke because the character is played by James Denton.)

The answer hit me quickly. First of all, I know I like the show because it is safe, sweet, and predictable – something I need right now. As far as my love affair with a fantasy man – exactly because he is not real. As long as I escape into the world of Sam and Cassie, I feel happy – it removes me, however temporarily, from the reality of my grief over Brad.

It is a safe escape, pure and simple. During one of the recent deaths this past week, two interns were involved with the patient and family. They were both amazing with the family. Afterwards, I pulled them both aside to let them know how proud I was of them. They both showed remarkable compassion, something that cannot be taught. I learned that it was one intern’s first day and the other’s last. What a way to start and end. I talked with them about the importance of self-care if they are going to make a career out of a high-stress job like this.

Doing the right thing can be painful and sometimes requires therapy – and therapy comes in many forms - some healthy and some not so healthy.Since the day I was interviewed for this chaplaincy position, I have been bombarded with reminders about the importance of self-care, a lesson I pass on often.

The Good Witch – and Sam and Cassie – are my most effective self-care strategy right now, so I will allow it – guilt free.