Ask those that have suffered loss and they will tell you about a period of grief commonly known as “The Fog.” This mental and emotional fog, or numbness, is immense and unavoidable. It sucks you in like a black hole. While it can feel debilitating and frustrating, I’m now grateful for it’s coping effect. Before I go further, let me pause to take a moment and reflect on the amazing way our bodies were designed. We are equipped with instinctual coping mechanisms that step in without us even knowing that’s what we need. This lack of precise clarity is the only way I would have been able to make it through the first days, weeks, and months after my husband’s suicide. When the pain and shock of loss was so profound, my body was able to shut down its ability to process and remember every detail, emotion, and moment. Somehow your brain just functions on autopilot.
I remember when I got the call that something was awry. I remember that it took five hours of waiting at my house with my closest family and two police officers for the official confirmation. I remember the knock on my door and seeing a familiar officer’s face. I remember how I knew as soon as I saw his face that he was delivering the shattering news. Honestly, after that, I don’t remember much. I remember preparing myself and the words I would use to tell my three children that the man they loved, cherished, and idolized was gone….forever. I will tell you that I recall very little of this actual conversation, but they have filled in many of the holes while talking through their own grief. I vaguely remember going to the Sheriff’s department to claim his belongings, making multiple trips to the funeral home, writing his obituary, making funeral plans, making some of the hardest phone calls I hope to ever make, and even the funeral or viewing. I say vaguely because while I know that I did these things I can tell you only small snippets about these moments. These were the tasks that needed to be done. The things you forge through when you want to crumble. Had my pain and shock been so tangible, I would not have been able to effectively push through for my babies or myself. For this, I say thank you.
As clearly as I can tell you about this almost lucid state that a grieving person functions in, I can tell you about the day I woke up and it was gone. I was encouraged that this would happen when I was dealing with the frustration of my inability to remember what I once could. For a perfectionist, like myself, my inability to focus and remember was a vexation. It was another thing that had been robbed from me. My Aunt, who had also suffered the loss of her husband at a young age, recounted her experience of coming out of the fog to me. She described how she clearly remembered when it happened to her and reassured me that my time was coming. This was something I waited for with eager anticipation. I went on job interviews, prepared my kids for the start of a new school year, took my kids to their first days of school, and even taught my first days of school while in this fog. I was frustrated that I couldn’t and still can’t recall the details of these events. As thrilled as I was for this, I was not at all prepared for what actually happened when the haze disappeared. Yes, an acute clarity returned, but so did the realization that this was final and I have choices to make. This was a fairly recent happening. It was about 16 weeks out. I was simply getting ready for work when it hit me. Hard! I looked at myself in the mirror and said, “This is real. He’s never coming back. You better figure out how you want the rest of your life to go.” With this realization came an intense mixture of emotions: despair, loneliness, frustration, fear, confusion, empowerment, and hope. You read those last two correct. It’s extremely empowering to know that you have somehow managed this far and you have the ability to reshape your life in so many ways. I was embarrassed to admit that this new self-discovery elicited a hope within me. I spoke to very few people about this and the ones I did, I toned down the positive aspects of my new outlook.
It was in the days following this clearing that I started to realize that I had experienced a love that some people never do. Some people search their whole lives for what we shared. While we weren’t perfect, we NEVER gave up on each other. We grew up together. We saw each other through the erratic times of youth. We came to truly know and appreciate each other. We made each other better people. For us, this was a huge amount of growth. Notice I keep repeating we. It was when I could think clearly, rather than merely muddle through, I could see that this was a mutual process. I had attained these skills. I had offered my own abilities and assets to this relationship. I was not left with nothing. I am still me and I am now able to focus on the things I love about life. This is my time to make decisions for myself. Not because I have to, but because I can. This is also my time to be grateful for my experiences, my marriage, and the lessons I have learned through life. While my marriage with Cal does not carry on physically, his impact and what we shared will be with me the rest of my life. It is because of this love that I am a more compassionate, understanding, and purposeful person. I have a deeper appreciation for life. I am a changed person, but a better person thanks to Cal. I trust that while my life will be different and I will never be the same, I will be okay. I will actually be better than okay. I will have a greater awareness of what is truly important to me. I already sweat so much less of the small stuff. Cal will be with our children and me every day. It will be evident in the profound way we continue on in his absence. Together, we got this!
Thankfully these pictures were taken by a sweet friend that stopped by to offer support. Had this moment not been captured, I would have forgotten it happened. It’s innocence and beauty would have been forever lost. This was just three days after the death of my husband and my daughter was upset that she could no longer play outside because of the rain. This was my opportunity to show her that while life doesn’t always go as planned, we can make it something great.
I love you, and this.
Love you too! So thankful I have you.
Love you Autumn! You really will get through this ?
Wow, Autumn! This made me so sad/happy/proud of you! You’re amazing. I’m lucky to know you.
I’m pretty lucky to have you. Thanks for being my photographer. Can you tell me why the parents of these children left them in my care? In that state?
I remember this day. I stood in the big bay window of my house watching you all dance in the rain. My eyes filled up with tears. Not tears of sadness, but tears of happiness because in that moment I knew you all would be “ok”. Even though we are not close friends, I admire your strength as a women, a mother, and wife.
Thank you, Tashua. You’re not the only neighbor that has admitted to watching this event and saying almost the same thing. I had no idea we were being watched or even photographed. I hope that these little humans got the same message the adults did. And after everything that we have shared through this experience, you and your family will have a special place in my heart.
Autumn your words bring back so many emotions and I know they are spoken from your heart because I feel what you are sharing all over again after 33 years. I am amazed by your courage, resilience and ability to create what your life will be. You are an inspiration for many and an example that your children can learn and grow from. Love You
Thank you! Thanks for all of your love and support. Also, thank you for sharing your own experiences with me. They have been so helpful. It’s encouraging to know that you felt the same despair, but you picked up the pieces and reclaimed your life. I’m grateful that your life led you to us.
This truly a masterpiece. What a beautiful tribute to Cal , you and your children. Very well said. I’m so very proud of you. I love you with all my heart.
Woot, woot!!! You did it!!! So proud of my “little friendl!” You amaze me…thanks for sharing your experience, strength, and hope. I love you.??
Autumn this is beautiful. Thank you for being so candid, open and vulnerable. The pains of your heart and the glimpses of hope. You are so strong and such an anchor of hope and love for your kiddos! I’m proud to call you my best friend and have you in my corner. Even though this is just the beginning of your journey and there will be struggles along the way, I know there are great things in your future!! Love You!! M?
Autumn,
Thank you for sharing those thoughts. I am reading them as I sit in an airport ready to fly home and be back with michele and the kids. I admire your strength and honesty in your writings.
One day closer
This was beautiful; thank you for bearing your soul. I look forward to reading more.
Truer words have not been spoken. The Fog… Look at you now! You got this!???
You, are incredible and absolutely inspiring. Your vulnerablity is beautiful and appreciated, Thank You! The last three word’s of one of the sentences “my husband’s suicide”, I couldn’t stop staring at those three word’s and knowing how real this all is for you, seeing it in word’s has a profound effect. I am thankful to be able to learn so much from such a beautiful soul like you. Love you!
I love you too!
From the day I met you, you were inspirational and continue to be! I can’t imagine what you have been through and you are an amazing woman to share your loss with everyone! I loved every beautiful word you wrote and it makes me respect and cherish you even more! Thank you for sharing your story of loss and hope! Wish I could give you a big hug, maybe some day soon! Can’t wait to read more?
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You are simply amazing, I am so glad that my little Charlie Bean led me to meeting you. You are a beacon of light. There is something I always think of when I think of you and that is this:
“Though she be but little, she is fierce!
William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Thank you, Autumn, for little me into even just a glimpse of your life.
Jami, I’m the lucky one to have been able to love on your precious boy AND meet you. Seriously, Mr. Charlie provided a lot of smiles during a very scary time in my life. I can’t imagine my year with out him. Thanks for sharing him with me. I love that quote. It’s in Ardin’s room. I love that it makes you think of me.
As I sit here reading your incredibly emotional journey, it’s hard to fathom exactly how you have continued on day after day. The way you explain the “new you” is beyond inspirational! That strength you have found is admirable and commendable and we are so proud to know you. I love the pictures you have shared of that rainy day. I remember seeing all the kids scramble from their lemonade stand to the garage. I remember thinking “good grief- can’t they have a day without clouds or something bad ruining their day?” And then seeing you all come back outside (no- I promise we aren’t stalkers- we just have a very clear view of your home and driveway), the girls giggling, the rain pouring down, your arms and face upward as the rain drenched you. I couldn’t hold back tears, I no longer felt “poor thing– she was rained out”, but rather I saw a woman and her children who will from now on, embrace the small things rather than “sweat” them. Rain? Bring it!!…..you can handle it. Your words are motivational and empowering. I will always feel sad for the deck you have been dealt, but now I have a huge amount of respect and admiration for your courage and strength and power to take your newly adjusted days as they come. Thank you and huge high fives and hugs!! We love you and those kiddos!!!!
I’m crying! Seriously, I am. I love you Sara Winslow and I love your family. Thank you for always having our back.