Grief and Imagining the Unimaginable

My grief upsurge on Christmas took me by surprise, but it shouldn’t have. I already knew that grief doesn’t stay gone. I can be fine, even happy, ready to take charge of my life, but sometimes when I embrace the future I suddenly find myself falling back into grief because every step forward takes me further away from the one I love. And each of those steps has to be mourned.

I thought signing up for a dating site would be one of those steps, but although the decision was hard — it took one entire sleepless night — it didn’t bring me grief, perhaps because I’m not looking for a serious relationship. I did think it would be fun to meet people, maybe go on a few dates, but the site turned out to be anticlimactic. Nothing has come of my fishing in the online dating pool. Not a single date. Not even a real message or connection, which I find strange. I frequently make connections over the internet. All sorts of interesting people find their way to me online. Many of my offline friends were once solely online friends. Many other online friends will one day become offline friends when we finally meet in person. And yet, on a site geared to bringing people together, I can’t make a single connection.

Still, I don’t feel bad about spending the money. The important thing for me was to make the decision. I could never imagine myself doing such a thing as online dating, and that is why, in the end, I signed up. As William Arthur Ward wrote, “If you can imagine it, you can dream it. If you can dream it, you can become it.” It’s not so much that I want to dream about meeting someone. I just need to practice imagining the unimaginable so that perhaps someday I can dream a wondrous future for myself, or maybe even dream a better me.

I thought making the decision to join would be the tough part, but the most difficult thing has been making an effort to answer the site’s questions about what I am looking for in a friend/date. The questions remind me that I once had what I was looking for. Remind me that I’m taking one more step away from him and our life together. Remind me that I am alone.

And so it should have come as no surprise that grief visited me once again.

Eventually, perhaps, I will be so far away from him that any additional steps will cease to be a cause for mourning. But there will always be things to mourn. I talked to a woman today whose husband died eight years ago, and though she has a fulfilling life, she still has times of grief, especially around Christmas, his birthday, their anniversary.

I don’t mind anymore that grief doesn’t stay gone. In fact, I welcome the tears when they come because they connect me to a time that is rapidly receding from me. I worry that I’m forgetting him and our life together, forgetting the sound of his voice, forgetting even what he looked like, and grief helps me remember that once I loved immeasurably.

Even though we want to hurry through grief as fast as possible, grief is important. It helps us grow beyond who we are, helps stretch us beyond what we can accept. Maybe even helps us imagine the unimaginable.

Grief took me somewhere deep inside that I didn’t know existed. I never imagined there could be such pain. If there is something so awesomely painful as grief hiding in us, ready for the right catalyst to bring it to the surface, it seems to me there could be other unimaginable states — wondrous states — that need a catalyst to bring them out. This is the thought I hold on to, and who knows — it might even be true.


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.

13 Responses to “Grief and Imagining the Unimaginable”

  1. Eleanor Anders Says:

    I’m thrilled you took the step of signing on to the site for dating! It was a huge step that was not an easy one. Yes, it brought the grief with the realization of what you did have, but it showed you that what you had is exactly what you would want again. This means it is only a special kind of person that you would want and desire. Bravo for knowing this and for reaching for it too!

  2. Holly Bonville Says:

    I like that last thought. Lets hope it is true. 🙂

  3. Carol Says:

    I’m sorry your venturing forward hasn’t produced what you hoped for so far, but there are still many days to come. Perhaps as long as you experience recurring grief for your mate, others aren’t ready to *compete* with his memory. Or perhaps the dating service doesn’t have a lot of men in your area looking for the same kind of companionship. Or…. There really aren’t easy answers, but I do believe in those “wondrous states”… they come when you’re least expecting them (just like grief???) and I pray there will be many in your future.

    • Pat Bertram Says:

      People tell me that even decades later, they experience upsurges of grief. These are people who are happily remarried, so I expect I will always feel some sort of ache for him. Still, despite the infrequent upsurges of grief, I am basically happy and doing well. And you’re absolutely right — there don’t seem to be many men on the site from this area who want companionship (except with their motorcycle — they all seem to have one).

  4. Uthayanan Says:

    “ Grief took me somewhere deep inside that I didn’t know existed. I never imagined there could be such pain.”
    I feel the same.
    Now it is impossible one day I am going to read all your books. Your style of writing and sincerity by heart overwhelming.
    Your last two paragraphs word by word exceptional.
    The same period the pattern of grief I started to feel similar. But you have written these words for me. Thank you again.

    • Pat Bertram Says:

      People always say everyone’s grief is different, which is true to a small extent, but they overlook the greater truth — that the patterns of grief are similar. That’s why, in writing about my grief, I also wrote about yours.

  5. Uthayanan Says:

    Today in French time it is 26 December. I try to to read your blogs the same periods of mine. It is nearly 6 am french time but I couldn’t sleep. But I am exceptionally very calm, not stressed or not anguished.
    Your writing continue to help me for the the same period.
    As far as I feel the next year might be the resilience I try to cope with my day on Christmas and the day after. Strangely I have no feelings.
    Mixing of no feelings, void, bizarre. Grief something exceptional and I try to understand with my capacity intelligent and intellectual. I hope you can understand.

    • Pat Bertram Says:

      Yes, I understand. The pain of grief fills a person, makes them feel alive in an agonizing sort of way, and connects us to the person who is gone. When the pain begins to subside, there’s nothing there, like an ebbing tide that pulls all the water away from the shore. Eventually, the sheer force of living fills the void to an extent and allows you to feel again, but that void, although it continues to shrink, will always be there.

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