What I REALLY needed that first year

Four months after Steve died I wrote my version of a letter titled "How You Can Help Me". It was structured around the many I saw on different widow/er websites explaining what I understood (at the time), as needing. Looking back at that first year, that letter didn't even begin to cover what I needed so I'd like to give this another shot. Maybe another widow/er out there can use this second version to help themselves in some way.

Hugs:
I need a hug. Not one of those stick-your-butt-out-so-crotches-don't-touch while you sorta pat my shoulder hug. I need a real hug. A grab-me-by-the-shoulders and wrap me in suffocating bear arms hug. An I'm-never-gonna-let-you-go hug. I need a hug like our parents gave us when were were little and woke up screaming in the night from nightmares. I need to be hugged so hard it squeezes all my tears out in huge gasping sobs. I need a hug that when we finally separate I'll apologize for ruining your shirt. I need you to give me the hug my husband would be giving me if he were here and saw this pain in my heart and on my face. I need you to do this in his place. My husband needs you to do this in his place.

Crying:
When I cry, I need you to hand me tissues. When I cry, I need you to hold my hand. When I cry, I need you to put your arm around me and pull me into your shoulder. When I cry, I need you to rub your hand up and down my back. When I cry, I need you to give me one of those hugs from above and not stop hugging me until I can breath normally. When I cry, I need you to touch me. Unabashedly and without fear or nervousness, just reach out and touch me. Nearly two years in and I can tell you, there aren't words. You won't find them. But that touch will speak to me directly from your heart.

Touch:
And you need to know that with my husband gone, no one touches me anymore. I've gone from being touched with love every day, several times a day, to not being touched at all. That physical disconnect from humanity is going to send me over the edge. So hold my hand even when I'm not crying. Hug me hello and goodbye. Take or send me to get massages. Just touch me.

Food:
I need you to look in my fridge. In days gone by people would bring food to widow/ers. I bet if you look in my fridge you'll find I haven't gone shopping and that I'm not eating. Take me to the grocery store. Help me pick out food that will be easy to prepare. Frozen dinners may be all I can manage for the next year if I have to cook for myself. If we go out to eat, remind me to take home the leftovers. I'll eat them the next day if they're waiting for me in the fridge but I won't think of that while sitting in the restaurant. You see, I don't want to even be alive with my husband dead. So I'm certainly not thinking about the basic necessities to keep my life going.

Pets:
This is the one that embarrasses me the most but... my dog needs you too. Those weeks where you can hardly get me to answer the phone so you stop by my place? Please check on the dog. If I'm not eating and answering the phone, I may have forgotten the dog as well. Check that she's getting fed, doesn't have fleas, or needs to go to the vet. I love my dog. I do. But I'm sitting in an empty house fighting for a reason to live. And I hate that it's gotten this bad, I hate myself for being a bad doggie-mama, so please check on my dog. I'll thank you later for it.

Brain Damage:
I have no clear way to explain how my mind is (not) working except to say: think of it as brain damage. You're going to tell me something that I'll turn around and ask you about two minutes later. You're going to ask me simple questions and I'm going to look at you like you're speaking a foreign language. I'm going to tell you the same things over and over; not hearing when you remind me I've already told you this. It may be months before I remember to ask you about your life. It may be several more months before I can remember what's going on in your life.

I'm not doing these things on purpose. I'm not "wallowing" in my grief. I'm not being a widow diva. I've experienced a trauma. A trauma of the heart, soul, and yes, brain. Every part of my life has been turned upside-down and inside-out. It's going to take me a lot longer than you think, a lot longer than I think, to get my head fully wrapped around this.


And all those things I wrote in that last letter? They still apply as well. I need you to tell stories about my husband. I need you to help fill my time. I need help around the house. Just wish I'd known to ask for these other things that first year, too.