My heart is breaking. I thought when my life mate/soul mate died that the organ had shattered beyond repair, but it must have healed because I feel as if it is breaking again.
When I first entered the world of grief, I was stunned by the constant assault of emotions, physical reactions, mental conflicts and torments because I’d never heard of such grief. Well, there was that one old woman who wore black the whole of her life, celebrating her widowhood, and occasionally there would be talk of someone keening in agony at her husband’s funeral. I thought those were isolated cases of unbalanced women, but I am not unbalanced. (And probably they weren’t, either.)
I wrote about what I was going through so I could try to make sense of the onslaught, and it helped. Blogging about grief also helped because I met many others on the same journey, which brought me comfort, and a few who were years ahead of me, which brought me hope.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought this fathomless grief set me aside from everyone else, and perhaps I even thought I should have special consideration because of my situation. Then others I knew lost someone they loved, and I realized grief didn’t make me special. It just made me . . . bereft.
After three years, I am still sad. I tend to think I’m not making any progress, but then I hear from women who just lost their husbands, and I am drenched in tears, remembering what it was like when grief was new. And I can see how very far I have come. But I also know what these women are feeling and how much they will have to deal with in the coming months and years, and my heart breaks for them.
How is it possible that so many of us have lost our mates and soul mates? It’s like a bizarre dance of butterflies, where those we love flit into our lives, bringing wonder and color and joy, and then they flit away, leaving us devastated. How can the world survive when it is so awash in grief? (Perhaps that’s where the oceans came from — the tears of the bereft. After all, throughout the ages, billions of people have mourned for their dead.)
Sometimes I see a photo of or an article about a couple who has been married for forty or fifty years. They always have helpful advice about how they stayed together for so long, but the truth is, despite all their ways of keeping love alive, the reason they were together so long is that one of them didn’t die. Not every loving couple gets that opportunity.
And my heart breaks for the ones left behind.
Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.
April 29, 2013 at 3:15 pm
Oh, Pat, I do understand. After doing therapy for 40 years and working with dozens of people in grief, I still did not comprehend how difficult this journey would be. I wish I could go back to each of those people and tell them I did my best but we know that until we have been there, we just can not comprehend. Now we know and I agree…tears are always just ready to overflow the rims of my eyes…not like in years 1 and 2 but surely the pain is right there. And I feel so deeply the pain of the newly bereaved also. How I wish Bill and I had 60 years together… Peace to your heart, Pat.
April 29, 2013 at 3:26 pm
Maybe it’s good that we cry for the newly bereft. At least it shows that our grief didn’t harden our hearts.
April 29, 2013 at 3:41 pm
Yours and mine both Pat :(:(
April 29, 2013 at 3:43 pm
I like what you said about the ocean Marcus loved the ocean. I feel i could overflow an ocean with my tears for him 😦