Pretty sure it’s a real thing for a widow, even if she/he doesn’t witness the death.
On the morning that Mitch died, I called him, probably 10-15 times. It rang and rang and went to voicemail.
Now, any time I call Megan, and it goes to voicemail, I have a panic attack, and call again and again.
My heart races.
Tears well in my eyes.
My mind goes to a dark place.
I am not sure it will ever go away. The feeling of panic. The anxiety that overwhelms me, each time. The urge to leave wherever I am, and get to the place of the person I am calling (Megan, Brady, my mom) and make sure they’re still alive. The anxiety doesn’t fade until I hear their voice, or see them, alive, well breathing.
The loss of Mitch has hit me, like a ton of bricks, but, not all at once. It’s like a ton of bricks, thrown a brick at a time, one after the other, until I can’t take it anymore. Then I break down, and start it all over again, taking each hit as they come. Each pang of the heart. Each catch of my breath. Each new step.