You fear that your mourning will
be less interesting, even annoying
to those around you as time passes.
Even as the explosions in your heart
continue to erupt, the loss hitting harder.
“When someone you love dies, … you don’t lose him all at once; you lose him in pieces over a long time—the way the mail stops coming, and his scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in his closet and drawers. Gradually, you accumulate the parts of him that are gone. Just when the day comes—when there’s a particular missing part that overwhelms you with the feeling that he’s gone, forever—there comes another day, and another specifically missing part.” adapted from “A Prayer for Owen Meany,” by John Irving
It feels true that you lose someone in pieces,
You see a river where you might have wandered with him,
just walking, hanging out together. And suddenly, you’re
pulled into a quicksand of sadness, sinking uncontrollably.
You have no idea how to be without him.
The realization surprises you.
How did you get so dependent?
or maybe, How did you get so comfortable?
so comfortable with how things were, until they weren’t, and
you’re roughly tossed into this broiling confusion: who are you now?
Thank you for sharing your process, Barbara. Your process is ringing true with my process and I appreciate remembering it. I most appreciate being through it. I remember everything you are sharing and it makes me realize time really does heal. I never would’ve believed that could happen to me. It was wrenching at the time. I thought I would always be aching. I lived long enough to have happy moments again, even days and weeks. Let’s see how it goes for you. I want to hear about it.
You are in my heart every day! I hope you know that….
Your capacity to share brings everyone closer to you, dear friend.
I know. I AM. That’s it. Mirrors help. I see myself crying. I see myself afterwards. My external bodily Self. The comfort is the most painfully seductive part as it lures me into wanting to be dependent and to lean. “Walking on tiptoe, we cannot be steady” Walking on egg shells, we cannot be brave. I have kept searching for the real me ever since Dad died 12 years ago. Brett’s leaving and Joseph’s dying have re-energized my searching. Oddly enough, I don’t need as much time to get present in my body and be in the Presence of God as I once did. That spaceless timeless room in me is always there to manifest my consciousness. It only takes a minute or a nano second to get back to my Essence of Presence. I hear Joseph laughing/cackling outrageously and saying, “Lee Ann, it’s always us doing it to ourselves. Hence, back to take a look in my mirror. I love your courage, Barbara. Keep the mirrors clean and the shiny side up!!!!!
What a gift you have, Barb, to put your grief into the shape of exquisite words.
When I was in oncology social work, doing a lot of bereavement work with people, I remember how the grief intensifies after the first few months, when the shock and denial have worn off. Just when grieving people need support the most, others unwittingly expect them to be “over it.”
With an energetic hug and love, Deb
Ahhh, Barbara, your courage, your exquisite awareness of subtle details, your willingness to capture them for us … what a gift. Thank you.
I am thinking of you and sending you love. Thank you for allowing us to touch into your powerful experience.