When Life Does Not Go As Planned…
Folks, this past week has been a difficult one for me. I’m ramping up to the nineteenth observance of my beloved husband Michael’s day of death, something I call a “sadiversary” (a contraction of sad and anniversary). But I’ve also noticed a few other stories that I wanted to discuss, also about life not going as planned…so, let’s get started.
First off, Aaron Rodgers’ plans to be the New York Jets’ starting quarterback did not go as planned. He played one series and got sacked; he couldn’t get up. It turns out he has a ruptured Achilles tendon. This puts him out for the year.
Now, most of you are probably thinking, “What does this have to do with me? Aaron Rodgers has a ton of money, he could just retire, he goes on all sorts of jaunts all over the world, and even participated in a ‘darkness retreat.'”
What it has to do with you is this: No matter how much money you have, no matter how much status you’ve attained (as Rodgers is a sure-fire first-ballot NFL Hall of Fame pick), your life won’t always go as planned.
I mean, who wants to have to rehab a ruptured Achilles tendon? Whether you’re an athlete or not, that’s just painful. It’s more common in professional sports than in everyday life because of the wear and tear athletes put on their bodies, not to mention the other pro athletes they play beside and across, who also put wear and tear on their bodies in a different way that sometimes interacts with you. (Such as when Rodgers was sacked by the opposing Buffalo Bills’ defensive line.) But it’s painful, and because I’ve known some folks in everyday life who’ve had similar issues, I know it’s life-disrupting, uncomfortable, and unpleasant.
No amount of money makes the healing go any faster, either.
So, here you are if you’re Aaron Rodgers. You’ve made a huge move from Green Bay to New York City. You participated in all of the off-season workouts, as well as the entirety of training camp — not something that most long-time quarterbacks do as it does put more wear and tear on the body, especially as they already have a ton of wear and tear as it is. You did everything you possibly could to get ready for the NFL season with a new team, new-to-you players, and a new attitude.
Then, your season ends after Week One.
What comes to mind for me, with regards to Aaron Rodgers, is this: How much Netflix is he going to be watching? How many rehab appointments will he have? How many stints in the “warming pool” (what the rest of us would probably call a Jacuzzi) that he most likely has at home? (Many players do for obvious reasons.) Will he try to help the Jets as an unofficial coach, or will that not be allowed or wanted?
See, this was not what he wanted at all.
And in case the point hasn’t been made, another thing that came to my attention this week, but actually happened earlier this year, was Disturbed’s lead vocalist David Draiman’s divorce from his wife of ten years, Lena. Draiman has a beautiful, powerful voice, a ton of musical talent — as does the entire band that comprises Disturbed — has traveled the world, has had many interesting experiences and written great music with his band…yet even he, with the money, the status in the music field, and with all the good will in the world, still ended up divorced.
Draiman is known in hard-rock fandom as being one of the nicest guys in rock or metal music. He remembers people’s names, he honestly cares about others, and some of the songs he and his band have come with in the last ten years — including “Hold on to Memories,” “The Light,” and “A Reason to Fight” — are beautiful, powerful anthems about how difficult life is, how frustrating it is when bad things happen, and how awful it can be to mourn people who are gone too soon. (“Hold on to Memories” was written partly because of the loss of his good friends Chester Bennington, lead singer of Linkin Park, and the inestimable vocalist Chris Cornell, he of Soundgarden and Audioslave fame.) Draiman also said in various places that his divorce was not due to infidelity on either side; he views this as his failure alone, mind you, from everything I’ve seen and read, but I think that’s him taking too much responsibility for something that perhaps was going to end no matter what he did.
(I say this as someone who’s been divorced. You can love someone, care about them to the Nth degree, maybe even have a child with ’em as Draiman has with his ex-wife Lena…but sometimes there’s just nothing you can do.)
Draiman, in several videos I’ve seen of live recordings made this year that I’ve viewed on YouTube (not going to link to ’em to save space), said that he feels the call of depression himself. That earlier this year — probably, and possibly elliptically, referring to his divorce — that he almost joined Cornell and Bennington in prematurely ending his life. (Both Cornell and Bennington died by suicide, two months apart. They were also good friends of each other, and Bennington died on what would’ve been Cornell’s 53rd birthday.)
See, depression can hit anyone. Even a rock star with millions in the bank, a massive following, talent to burn, all that.
Depression is just that powerful of a force to fight.
I know this myself. Every year around this time, I have to fight my own depression much harder. I think to myself, “How could I possibly have lived nearly nineteen years without my husband? It just seems like yesterday, he was here…” Then I realize it’s been such a long time, and I know with a shock that no matter how much I want him to be here in the body as well as in spirit (as I don’t think his spirit went too far away), he’ll never be here in that way for me again.
I wake up every day, every single day, and want my husband. I want to kiss him good morning. I want to kiss him good night. I want to hug him, hold his hand, talk to him, listen to his wonderful baritone voice (as he said, he couldn’t sing, but man, his speaking voice was amazing), hear how his mind works, know what he’s thinking with regards to his stories…in short, I want the incredible, amazing, wonderful, best person I’ve ever known to still walk this Earth beside me. Not just to cheer me on, though he was great at that, too. Not just because he understood me the best anyone’s ever done, either. But because he, himself, was worth everything. Absolutely everything.
It’s hard to go on when something traumatic has happened. The loss of your job — even if temporary, in Rodgers’ case, depending on whether he wants to do the extensive rehab (my guess is yes, but who knows right now?) — is a huge stressor. The loss of your marriage through divorce is also brutal.
So is widowhood.
It’s easy to say, “Find someone else.” (Or as in my case, “You’re young. You can remarry,” which I heard not two days after Michael had died. I still want to throttle that person for that insensitive comment.) It’s easy to say, “You have millions in the bank. Count your blessings.”
(Not that I have millions, ’cause I decidedly don’t. But I trust the point has been made.)
It’s really hard to get up every day, do the work of living, try to find something positive when everything inside you feels like it’s crashing to the ground, over and over again. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, in fact.
Even if, someday, I find someone who understands me well enough to know that Michael being in my life was by far the most formative influence I’ve ever had, I’ll still miss Michael. It might be easier, if that day ever comes. (I think Michael wants it to happen. He wasn’t petty. He’d want me to find any happiness I could. Honestly, that’s how he rolled.) But it’ll never be easy.
Confronting “sadiversaries” is very hard. Dealing with the blows life sends you, all unlooked for (’cause who’d want ’em?), is also very difficult.
The only way I know is forward, though.
So, for Rodgers — not that he’s ever likely to read this — I hope he knows that the work he did with the Jets was valuable and may make the difference for one or more of the players this year. I hope he knows that this was just random, in a weird way, in the same way Kobe Bryant went down with an Achilles injury years ago (injured in an NBA game). What he did mattered, even if it doesn’t feel like it now.
And for Draiman — not that he’s ever likely to read this, either — I hope he knows that the ten years he spent with his wife and son were beautiful, memorable, special things. (Draiman also lost his dog, an Akita, at age fourteen recently. That, too, has not helped…I understand completely, as I still miss my dog Trouble, a Shih Tzu mix who died at age seventeen a few years ago.) The years he spent with his dog and feeling the unconditional love mattered, the love he had for his wife mattered, the love he continues to have for his son matters and always will.
Life, sometimes, is just damned hard. But we get up, we try, we do our best, we create or build or work hard on whatever it is that we feel called to do. Even when we’ve felt like we’ve failed at our deepest levels, what we’ve done matters. Even when our lives have been shattered, what we’ve done and who we’ve loved and how hard we’ve tried matters.
So, for the “sadiversary” that rapidly approaches on September 21, I will keep telling myself that my love for my husband mattered then, still matters now, and always will. As long as I’m alive, at least part of Michael is alive. And he’d want me to “go do the best things in life…make the most of the rest of your life, make a ride of this world while you can,” just as Disturbed’s song “Hold on to Memories” says.
I will keep endeavoring to do just that.
How do you handle “sadiversaries?” Do you have tips on how to get through the day? (I advise dark chocolate as one of ’em, just in case anyone’s wondering.) If so, leave a comment. (Or leave one anyway, even if you don’t have any tips or are fortunate enough not to have any sadiversaries…yet.)
Written by Barb Caffrey
September 13, 2023 at 4:26 am
Posted in Aaron Rodgers, heartbreaking stories, Informational Stuff, Michael B. Caffrey, Persistence, Prescient observations, Remembrance, Sports figures, Widowhood
Tagged with "Hold on to Memories", "Sadiversaries", Achilles injury, David Draiman, Disturbed, How to deal with a "sadiversary", New York Jets, NFL, rock vocalists
13 Responses
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Barb Caffrey's Blog 
It’s SO hard to write this, but: one of the ways I made it through the ending of a 32 year marriage was PROMISES. My adult daughter was afraid I’d kill myself, and she stood next to me, in tears, and asked me to promise her I wouldn’t. So, I promised.
Then, I used that promise on myself when my thoughts turned dark, and just refused to see what was further down that dark road.
Mostly, though, it was the life choices I had made BEFORE hitting that crisis. For example, I had come up with this: “feeling bad doesn’t mean doing bad.” It may SOUND trivial in the light of day, but when it’s dark, you need whatever you can hold on to, and those six words reminded me that my feelings did NOT have the power to control my actions.
And I wrote stuff down, just as you did here.
Peace be on your household,
PapaPat .Patterson
September 13, 2023 at 7:15 am
Thanks, Pat. I’m sorry you suffered during your divorce. Divorce is incredibly hard; I know. (My late husband was also divorced, and he remained friends with his ex-wife until the end of his life. I’m still in contact with her, too. She’s a good woman. Not right for him as a spouse, but still, a good woman.)
All you can do is what you did. You got out. You promised your daughter that you’d keep on keepin’ on. You also told yourself that your feelings didn’t have to define you, and that’s important.
I hope your marriage now to the woman of your dreams (as you’ve said many times) has turned out much better. (From what you’ve said over the past few years, it sounds like it has.) She sounds like she’s been an excellent wife to you, and that she understands you quite well in addition. 🙂
Barb Caffrey
September 13, 2023 at 8:32 pm
My father died a few days after Father’s Day, and I’m glad I got a chance to talk to him before that happened, but every Father’s Day is a sadiversary for me. My mother died less than six weeks later. They had been married 50 years the fall before, and that anniversary was super special to them. I’m now approaching my 50th anniversary a couple days before Christmas. I’ve already lived longer than either of my parents, but the closer I get to that 50 mark, the more I feel it. I’m working on ways to change the narrative for myself and see the positive. I’m future-focused yet have deep ties to the past. Mixed emotions on the whole thing.
Kayelle Allen
September 13, 2023 at 10:17 am
Yeah. I understand, Kayelle. I’ve lived longer by far than my late husband and my best friend Jeff. It feels wrong, yet they’d both want me to keep going and do the best I can.
I agree that changing the narrative is a good idea. I try to say to myself that I’m still here, I’ve managed to at least get a few things published now and again, and I’ve done a lot of writing. I’ve edited and helped people with that, too, and I even played quite a few concerts until the band got tired of me and put me out due to my migraines. (I had one. Only. But that did not matter to them.)
So, I’ve done what I can and I think Michael would be happy with that. I think Jeff would be, too. I’ve also met some very wonderful people over the past nineteen years, including yourself, that I wouldn’t have otherwise known, plus two great female friends (my third great female friend, I met when I was in college) who I’ve become quite close to in the past nineteen years.
I know I’ve met other friends, too, that I wouldn’t have otherwise known, and I appreciate all of them. I just wish Michael was still here, that’s all. I wanted to see what other stories he had left to tell, just as much as anyone else did. (Maybe more?)
The only thing I can suggest, if it helps, is to remember that your parents loved you and would be happy you’re alive, creative, and doing your level best. They’d be happy you’ve attained the various milestones, even if they didn’t get a chance to attain them, because I’m sure they only wanted whatever was best for you. As this is it, my guess is that they’re cheering you on from wherever The Good Place (TM) is, and are very happy and proud of you.
Barb Caffrey
September 13, 2023 at 8:39 pm
So like you to comfort others while experiencing your own depth of pain. Hugs, my friend. ❤
Kayelle Allen
September 14, 2023 at 10:01 am
You’re welcome. 🙂 We’ll both hang in there, OK? 🙂
Barb Caffrey
September 14, 2023 at 12:13 pm
my husband said to me “I WANT you to find someone else if I go first” and I told him not to be ridiculous, it took me more than thirty years to find HUIM and I don’t have that time any more. I am much like a penguin, or a condor, or a more prosaic goose – I do that once-in-a-lifetime mating thing and then I don’t have it in me to try again with someone who isn’t the person with whom I used to be. It’s going to be three years, for me, in February, that I’ve been alone. I dread the sadiversaries.
Alma Alexander
September 15, 2023 at 1:06 pm
*hugs*, Alma.
You may find someone again if you want. Right now, you don’t want, and I don’t blame you at all. It took me at least ten years to even think about it, and then when my friend Jeff passed away (not long after asking me if we could please proceed to the dating phase), it took me still another four.
The sadiversaries are the worst. I completely understand. All I can offer is more *hugs* and the hopes that somehow, you’ll feel Deck’s love continuing to surround you as I know he loved you very, very much. (As you loved him.)
Barb Caffrey
September 16, 2023 at 8:19 pm
I lost the granny who lived with us when I was 7. I lost my father at 9. I lost friends and family over the years, including all my grandparents, aunts and uncles, my mother (who was my best friend) and my sister a year ago last year. She was my third best friend (after my husband) and her birthday is in two days 9/18, her death on the 30th of this month.
I know loss. Intimately. Heartbreakingly.
I am so sorry for your loss, Barb, and yours, too, Kayelle Allen.
The souls that are precious to us leave enormous holes in our lives.
A. W. Exley wrote in Ella, the Slayer: “I dream of a time when there was only one type of death.
“Mother died when I was ten years old. We buried her and packed away her clothing. Father and I mourned the empty space in our souls and at our table.”
It so accurately states the experience of loss.
I’m proud of you, Barb, for having the courage to write about it. Thank you for sharing.
As for your question: One of the things to do is to make new wonderful memories that can be cherished year to year–and now for something completely different. Another, intentionally break with some traditions that might become overwhelmingly painful and cause a deeper sense of loss.
Instead, replace them with a new tradition that is not tied to the old ones. e.g. Mom used to make pecan pie for Thanksgiving. The year after, it was a time to order a special cake with ice cream cake with images of children in their happy places.
I hope you find solace in your brilliance and compassion. May you be as kind to yourself as you are to others Blessings and warm wishes. **hugs** all around.
L R Davis
September 16, 2023 at 5:35 pm
Thank you so much for your comment. I am sorry that you’ve dealt with so much loss, and agree with the quote you shared. It reminds me of the Linkin Park song “One More Light” which talks about how difficult it is to look at the extra chair in the kitchen, and how unfair it all is. Very apt quote, you came up with; isn’t it interesting that there can be so many resonances between literature and music sometimes?
I think the new memory to add to the old — because it doesn’t exactly replace it so much as enhance it — is an excellent idea. That way you can be kinder to those who remain, too, in some ways…though so long as you live, and remember, at least part of our loved ones continues to go on.
Thank you again for your kind words and thoughts. *Hugs* back.
Barb Caffrey
September 16, 2023 at 8:29 pm
You said it better. The new memory to add to the old, not replace it.
When I was counseling a woman one May, she said she felt awful every day and didn’t know why. Her husband was loving and supportive. She had a good career. She loved church and church family.
I began asking about her history. 3 years earlier, she had lost her mom, her dad, and her son in the month of May in three separate but related events. Tears welled as she told me and she swallowed repeatedly as if to try to rid herself of the lump in her throat.
I explained that every experience she had was the brain making a groove of memory. Having three such major losses in a single month in a single year made that ‘groove of memory’ like the Grand Canyon. By helping her to design some new good memories the new grooves would be like a bridge across the canyon. She could still see it if she wanted to look down, but if she needed to just put one foot in front of the other to cross the bridge, she wouldn’t be forced to look at the gaping canyon of loss. She could control the amount she did. Over the course of years, she brightened and began to regain control of her depression. She was able to see hope in her future, despite being saddled with such a horrendous loss.
New memories wove the moments of her life into a beautiful tapestry.
You weave moments and events into beautiful tapestries, Barb. Despite your loss, you find the moments of healing; and you risk being vulnerable in order to make each post a teachable moment.
Thank you.
L R Davis
September 16, 2023 at 9:32 pm
Thank you for the kind words and for what you did for the poor woman who’d lost three important people in May. That’s really difficult, to lose three people in a month that you’re so close to…I suppose if I’d have known this woman, I’d have told her that she’s a survivor. That everything she does and is and feels means what they were mattered, and how much she feels now just confirms how much they all loved one another.
I know it isn’t enough, to say that. But it’s still important to say.
Thank you again for the kind words about my writing and my willingness to be vulnerable. My view is, life is too short to be anything but yourself. I believe in authenticity, honesty, and maybe in the Brewers winning the World Series this year (hey, it could happen, and I wanted to end the post with a bit of levity). 😉
Barb Caffrey
September 28, 2023 at 6:43 am
[…] Fortunately, because those musicians did so much to acknowledge their struggles while they were still alive, other musicians have continued to acknowledge their own struggles, partly because of the memories of their dearly beloved and departed friends. Papa Roach has a live version of “Leave a Light On (Talk Away the Dark)” that is dedicated to Chester Bennington, for example. Disturbed’s song “Hold on to Memories” has pictures of Bennington, Cornell, and quite a few other musicians who’ve died too young that Disturbed knew well to get across the fact that these people’s lives mattered. (I’ve discussed “Hold on to Memories” before.) […]
Thoughts on Papa Roach’s “Leave a Light On (Talk Away the Dark)” | Barb Caffrey's Blog
May 15, 2024 at 3:02 pm