Recently my dear friend’s mother died. I wanted to reach out to my friend, to let her know that I was thinking about her and that I was there for her. I kept wondering what I could say to support her, ease her pain. I began to write and this is what emerged:
The funeral’s over, everyone gathered, raised a glass, laughed, cried, shared stories, held each other in sorrow, the planning is complete, the glasses put away and the flowers faded, the ritual is complete as everyone drifts off back to their normal lives……. it’s normal.
And now the grief of those who can see, feel, hear and smell the empty chair, unspoken word, untouched clothes in the wardrobe, reading glasses on the table begins in anew…. when the hole in the family stops it being whole any more, now I face the flood and famine of grief, the dichotomy of emotions which take me by surprise – the regret and the relief, the freedom and the prison that I feel from your absence. Not being able to tell, ask, share. Where are you, why didn’t you, what could I? Should I? Why, why, why? Then calm and all seems to be ‘normal’, now exhaustion, confusion, despondency nothing matters any more, numbness into or out of an outburst of tears, pounding heart, desperation, not wanting to continue without….. before, before, before. Come back, don’t go, don’t leave me, I’m not ready – and the tears run down my cheeks and into my mouth, drip to my arm. Almost as suddenly calm again.
Is it OK to laugh, to have a sense of joy, how should I behave, what do people expect? If I’m happy does that mean I never loved you? What do I care, it’s none of their business. Claiming myself back, not relying on others, not justifying my actions or reactions, it’s scary, empowering, overwhelming, liberating in turn.
It just is
And I realise that I’m alone, everyone else is doing their thing, they flinch when I mention you’re dead, the death of the one I miss the most…. how should they, could they react, what should they, could they say?
I crack a joke and laugh, they are uncomfortable, unsure, but somehow it eases my pain. I see that every family has been visited by death to a lesser or greater degree, none of us immune but I notice that those who have been a close companion or brushed with death are able to speak to me more fully and that’s reassuring, I’m not alone. I recognise that each person experiences death, as life, in their own unique way, that I can’t assume how someone else will deal with, handle or respond to death, to loss. I know now there’s no right or wrong way although our society does conduct itself by guiding principles, which don’t seem to fit with how I feel, how I want to be.
I choose to take my own path and again I feel alone.
The days roll on quickly to weeks and soon to months: the first picnic, wedding, birth, party, Easter, summer, Christmas without….. I try to include him, keep him alive, let him go….. let him go. My life continues, it’s not the same, normal, it’ll never be the same so I’m learning to find a new normal and the hole creates a new whole, a whole which includes you in my heart, in who I am and who you helped to become. Your life touched mine so deeply, irrevocably.
The separation changes shape and still the tears fall. I’m engulfed again in overwhelming sobs and cries, shallow desperate breath, a snotty, runny nose and misty, puffy eyes as I curl up into a ball. Now I’m learning to move to the centre of the storm, not to fight it, judge it, run away or reason with it. I’m learning to be gentle with myself and to allow the silly joke to erupt from my lips in the midst of these tears. I know that this too shall pass and that the tears, the inability to breathe will slow down and when it does a calm stillness descends. I’m alone in this space but I’ve connected back to the very centre of my self. I’m being shaken awake.
No one can fill this space to replace you, there’s a vacant, empty space which can’t been filled by anyone else and I like that thought….. and I know that no one can fill the place that’s mine either. So here I am, still living, still loving, showing up and filling the place that’s mine and mine alone with as much joy, spirit, kindness, understanding, play and wisdom as I can muster.
I speak your name, Johnjon, often, in wonder, sorrow, laughter, frustration, relief, memory, gratitude and in love.
And I find that these feelings and thoughts of mine aren’t linear but cyclical. And so it is.
I find peace and joy as these months to turn to years and there are less ‘firsts’ although I feel the sadness of that too as you slip away from my grasp, my experience, my life, whilst also still living inside me. The dichotomy I’m embracing.
And I know that death and life are strange, terrifying and electrifying bedfellows.
And I accept
And I am here
And I live.