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.)
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