A dear friend of mine has recently lost her son. His death was sudden and unexpected.
It's only been a month and she is struggling as you would expect. Yet, she felt the need to apologize for her inability to "recover". And she wondered why her son, why a young man who was so kind, so loving?
This is what I wrote to her based on what I have learned so far.
I wish I had magic words.
I don't.
If I did I would tell them to myself too.
I have spent the last 3 days crying. Not constantly. Probably not as
intently as you are right now but still crying.
I can't tell you it gets better.
It doesn't.
I can tell you that it gets a little less raw, a little more
bearable.
But I would not use the word better.
I remember those days you describe - of just getting out of bed, turning
around and realizing it was night and wondering where did the day go.
Everyone asked what could they do and there was nothing they could do. The
only thing I wanted was to have John back and no one could do that for me.
I went from 134 pounds to 119 pounds in a matter of weeks.
John and I always told each other how much we loved each other, how much we
loved our life together.
We had survived step life, cancer, heart troubles, family crises, moving,
financial struggles, school.....we thought we had finally reached a point where
we could relax and just be and then in an instant it was all gone.
You don't recover from that.
And I felt the same way. John was a good person. Why did it have to be
him?
Our marriage was the best. Why did it have to end?
So I am not going to lie to you and tell you it's going to get better. I
can't say that.
All I can say is that you do the best you can with every day that you
continue to wake up.
I am still struggling with a reason for me still being here without
John.
I pray for an answer and trust/hope it will show up.
I am grateful that this time around I am the one who is sad and not John. I
wouldn't want him to feel this way.
If it had to be either of us, I'm glad it's me.
I do little things in his memory that helps someone else.
I try to make John's death be a blessing in any way I can. Even for
me.
I know I am a more spiritually strong person now than I was before.
That's something.
I express my feelings more.
I try not to sweat the small stuff knowing in the end it's all small
stuff.
I appreciate the moment more - I am still working on this. But knowing how
precious and fleeting life can be has definitely caught my attention.
I am learning to meditate.
I am learning how I can be in communication with John in the best way we
can. I know he is not gone. I know he is still with me.
I look at this as the next phase in our marriage.
When you are ready maybe you can feel this way too.
Right now your grief is too new and the fact that you can get up, eat
anything, communicate, write to us, breathe, is an accomplishment.
Grief is a physical, emotional, spiritual experience.
It's work, hard work.
And it is ongoing.
It changes, it evolves, it grows - but it doesn't go away.
It is part of you.
The task is to make it an ally, not an enemy.
In time you will feel like it won't destroy you.
But it is going to take time.
And it will come in waves.
I remember those middle of the night times. I felt like my insides were
dissolving. I wanted to die. I prayed for death and it didn't come and I was
disappointed to say the least.
I had no idea how I was going to continue.
Some things will trigger intense times.
Right now I am coming up on John's 3 year anniversary and it's hard.
Losing the girls has made it worse. Losing John's Mom was a set back and I
went back into therapy.
Go easy on yourself. Have no expectations on yourself right now.
You are doing all you can.
We are here.
Talk to us.
We love you.
We will always love you.
