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Love and grief


Kealoha
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OMG... I think that one article contains virtually everything I've been trying to say for months. Thank you for posting it. So much truth, at least for me...

 

Lately I've been worried that there was something very wrong with me. Someone told me that I was "over it"-- my dh's death, I mean. That hit me like a ton of bricks. Is that the impression I give, even to those with whom I open up completely? That I've gotten over it, past it, beyond it? How would that even be possible?

 

I was crushed by those words, because they felt like a judgment: You're over it. Your love for your husband has ended, your grief has been put aside-- the implication being that said love and grief are finite, that they can run out. But surely we all know that's not true?

 

I'm not over it. I will never be over it. I may be over the screaming, clothes-rending, flesh-cutting phase, but the love and the grief never end. And please, please, may I never be the person who suggests or implies to someone else that they should be over it, because I know better.

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OMG... I think that one article contains virtually everything I've been trying to say for months. Thank you for posting it. So much truth, at least for me...

 

Lately I've been worried that there was something very wrong with me. Someone told me that I was "over it"-- my dh's death, I mean. That hit me like a ton of bricks. Is that the impression I give, even to those with whom I open up completely? That I've gotten over it, past it, beyond it? How would that even be possible?

 

I was crushed by those words, because they felt like a judgment: You're over it. Your love for your husband has ended, your grief has been put aside-- the implication being that said love and grief are finite, that they can run out. But surely we all know that's not true?

 

I'm not over it. I will never be over it. I may be over the screaming, clothes-rending, flesh-cutting phase, but the love and the grief never end. And please, please, may I never be the person who suggests or implies to someone else that they should be over it, because I know better.

 

I know, JJ.  Me too.  Whenever I see an article that says what I know to be true from personal experience - that there are some losses that you just never get over, that you'll never be at peace with, and that it's okay to feel like that - I feel so much saner and far less alone.

 

I think that's the main reason I'm still hesitant to tell people that I'm getting remarried next year, even though I've been engaged since Christmas.  I think others assume that it means I'm all better now, that I'm not still sad and that I don't still wish with every fiber of my being that Tim was still here with me.  People tell me how lucky I am, how good I look now...I get the impression that they think I've moved on with my life and am over my loss.

 

I'm not all better.  I still regularly examine my new life and - even with all the good in it - want my old life back.  I'm not moving on, I'm not over it.  I'm going forward and trying to live my life the best I can because what other choice do I have?

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I came upon the article at work and had to close my door because I was tearing up. 

 

On a lot of fronts it looks like I am "ok", I guess-- I can carry on conversations, lead my team at work to be successful on our big projects, think about the future and even be productive on some really big things (in 6 months got term life insurance, disability income insurance, set up will and trust and associated bank accounts, etc.).

 

But I've been describing my state from almost the first month out as just being a different person...  Feels like I had an entire former life that I know like a favorite book or movie, but from a distance.  I thought it was the new widow fog but now am more of the opinion that this is just how it will feel.  It's a little disconcerting (well, a lot).

 

Glad to know that others liked the article too.

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Guest mawidow

So many wonderful posts here - I am nodding along. Yes, there are some losses I won't get over. Some losses grow in magnitude rather than shrink. That's not a complaint, it's just true for me. And yes, I am a different person now. The former me died, too, and I will never be the same as before. You guys get it.

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  • 1 month later...

Passing along another article i found through a number of links...  Never would have imagined this depth of an interview to be in a fluffy magazine.  Make time to read to the end, it's not light.

 

I've been a big fan of Colbert's for some time but this just really added a whole new dimension.  He talks about his bereavement (dad and 2 brothers) at age 10 and how he and his mom were impacted. 

 

"I love the thing that I most wish had not happened." 

 

His nuanced take on "love" here really helped me think about how I've been processing loss and also how that might show up with DD.  Baby steps.

 

http://www.gq.com/story/stephen-colbert-gq-cover-story

 

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Guest TooSoon

Boy does Stephen Colbert really nail it (again!).  Practicing gratitude, rejecting cynicism and seeking joy have been extremely helpful tools in my tool kit these past nearly 5 years of caregiving and grieving.  I've treated their practice like work, like learning a foreign language, and it is not always easy.  Sometimes I feel like a pollyanna when I say this but I am grateful.  I've learned a lot and gained some important perspective because of my husband's illness and death; I'm not a believer but I like the "Be Here Now" mode of thinking - this time we have is precious and borrowed so be here now. 

 

Truly, this really resonated; thank you so much for posting it. 

 

PS - "learn to love the bomb" is a Dr. Strangelove reference and also a lyric from one of my favorite songs of all time (The Temptation of Adam by Josh Ritter, a beautiful love song). 

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Guest TooSoon

Over analytical as usual, Stephen's childhood response to loss is also spot on.  The worst has already happened - there is a certainty in death and, for me, a kind of invincibility borne of that level of loss - the loss of someone I loved but also of all of my plans, everything I counted on.  What could possibly be worse?  Not much.  Yet, from that loss I have found a certain freedom.  Does raising a child alone suck?  Yes.  It sucks every single hour of every single day.  But I simply cannot be bothered by petty annoyances anymore, hence the liberation from so much of the noise of life.  It took time to come to grips with this but friends disappearing?  Who cares?  Family not understanding?  Get on board or move along.  Kid with dreadlocks because she won't comb her hair?  Judge me if you want to.  What is important seems crystalline now which is peace, which is finding ways to connect meaningfully, which is loving in new ways, stretching my heart and my mind.  I am humbled by what I have seen and done and gone through, mistakes and all.  At this point it is all so real, I cannot imagine the time when I didn't know what I know now.  Weird.  It is so, so weird but also wonderful in a dystopian way. 

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