Nietzche

 

"That which does not kill me makes me stronger."

Friedrich Nietzsche

 

My late first husband, Rich, and I practically lived and breathed that quote all throughout our marriage.  We had our own favorite take-offs and variations.  It kept us sane when the going got rough.  We’d have some financial disaster or another, usually financial, and he’d say “Well, that which doesn’t kill us only serves to make us stronger.” 

 

I would answer with a smile, “But it makes us wish it had.”

 

Sometimes Rich would re-phrase and say, “That which does not kill us builds character” and that was my cue to say something like, “And boy, we sure are a couple of characters” or “how much more character can we get?”

 

I saw the quote on a message board for widows and widowers.  Many were deeply offended by it, as if to say it took the death of their loved one to realize how much strength – or weakness – they actually had. 

 

Someone said:  “Nietzsche was dead wrong. That which doesn't kill us most often leaves us maimed and broken.”

 

Maimed and broken?  Not permanently – not for me.  If it doesn’t kill me, it makes me stronger.  Hmmm… well, I guess so.  If I could survive the loss of my soulmate, I suppose I must be strong.  That is absolutely the worst pain to endure. 

 

It’s hard to describe the pain if you haven’t experienced it.  But looking back, Rich’s death didn’t kill me but it left me maimed and broken.  It’s like surviving the amputation of half your heart. There is an initial anesthetic (shock and numbness) so that you don’t always feel the agony of this gaping wound.  After about 12 weeks, though, the anesthesia is abruptly withdrawn.  Unexpectedly, you are assailed with the worst pain you can imagine until you learn how to manufacture your own anesthetic.

 

Every widow and widower carries heart scars from the deaths of their loved ones.  Some of the scars heal pretty well, so that you can hardly see them.  Those survivors aren’t left permanently disfigured.  You can’t really tell that there’s been such a tragedy unless they tell you.  Other scars heal badly or not at all.  Those survivors are permanently maimed, and everyone can see the disfiguring scars by the survivors’ behavior. 

 

I made a conscious decision not to be permanently broken by losing Rich.  He wouldn’t want me to suffer and mourn for him the rest of my life.  We’d discussed it a couple of times over the years, and he always insisted that if he died first I had to go on living.  I couldn’t imagine myself ever loving anyone else but I always agreed to appease him.  After he died and the worst of the shock and pain abated, I realized the best way to honor his memory was to go on with my head up. 

 

I don’t want to make it sound like Rich was such an inspiration, he gave me the courage to go on.  Much of that came from within.  Many times in my life, I felt like I was out in rough surf.  Big waves would knock me down, carry me helplessly onto the shore, throw me down on the sand and then try to suck me out.  I would always struggle to get up, even if it was to see yet another wave coming.  Eventually, I would anticipate the waves coming and as I came up, I’d hold my nose and dive under the crest.  I didn’t feel so helpless then.  I couldn’t control the wave, but I could control me. 

 

I was hit by a tsunami wave and that was Rich’s death.    I was terrified because I had absolutely no control over what happened to us.  I felt stunned upon being thrown onto the sand, and I had a lot of trouble standing up again.  The undertow would pull my feet out from under me and I’d feel myself being pulled away.  I couldn’t breathe; the ocean waves roared in my ears; the sand scratched my skin roughly every time I was thrown down.

 

That wave didn’t kill me.  Eventually I got my footing and stood up.  Now I could see the approaching waves.  They weren’t as scary or as big.  I didn’t always need to duck myself under the water.  Many times, I could stand up straight and, because I was stronger now. 

 

I hated what had happened, but I could manage.  I’d taken care of myself before I married Rich and I would do so again now.  I kept working to help support our kids.  I took us on outings and even went down to Florida for a vacation.  I’d never been able to drive over bridges before without suffering these debilitating anxiety attacks but now I was stronger and I had coping strategies.

 

I didn’t think I would ever meet someone and fall in love again but it happened.  My husband Ted and I have been married 20 years now.  We’ve had our own opportunities to say “that which does not kill us” and we’ve become all the stronger.