A friend of mine has begun writing blog posts again after a lengthy silence. A dear friend has died and she and her husband are heartbroken. It was exciting to see her posts, as she wondered if she would/could ever write again. And she has! Her efforts to put words to the inexpressible nature of loss have brought me great comfort, as she seems to understand the total change such losses bring, especially to the "nearest afflicted".
I have been without my husband of 40 years for 3 years and 7 months. And I can honestly tell you that I am still heartbroken and probably always will be to some degree. I expect others sometimes think I'm a bit reclusive; or they think I'm just fine. Neither is really true. I'm struggling for words here.
While it is nice when friends are sensitive to my loss, I know they can't always be taking it into consideration, nor do I want them to. And yet--I do want them to. I want somehow to communicate that no matter how I "seem", I am not the same as I was before; a huge part of my identity is no more. Faith helps, but it doesn't take away the knowledge that the one I lived with so long is never coming home again. No one can replace him. Add to that, all the other deaths, all the people who once comprised my family, who are no longer here, and the pain increases.
While I was in St. Louis recently, I visited a casino for the first time, and I hope the last. There I saw and felt grief almost suffocating me. The atmosphere symbolized what Hell might be like. Again, I "seemed" OK, but inside I was screaming in sorrow for all these people, sitting there at a machine--alone with the noise and the smoke and the garish lights.
I am convinced we cannot begin to over-estimate the amount of loneliness and grief that surrounds us. It cannot be quenched by anyone or anything. All you and I can do for the grieved, and that means everyone, is to try to understand, and listen when we can, and smile as we are able.
