Sitting on that bench alone early yesterday morning, my mind was so cloudy with thoughts of you. Mostly about how much I was going to miss you. I thought back on the summer of dancing every weekend. The pure joy we felt. Then came fall, and everything changed. We got your diagnosis, and it's never been the same. It's not fair to know when the end will be. How do people cope after the death of a loved one?
Finally, I found the words - or as close as possible.
Time passes, and grief - at first raw, loud, and visible to others - grows very quiet. But it never vanishes.
One day, we realize a hushed sadness lives within us, known only to us.
Yet we appear "normal" again.
We work and spend time with friends, and family. We laugh, cook, garden, and travel.
Life goes on, and as my dad used to tell me, so must we - and we do.
Only ... not quite.
Sorrow has changed us.
Knowing now that fate can rip apart all plans, we've become as many observers as participants.
A tiny bit of us is held back.
Knowing exactly how precious time is, we lack patience for game playing, as if someone took a big broom and swept away all excuses and rationalizations.
Who and what matters, what's tolerable and what isn't, are so clear.
Unexpected reminders of our loved ones - as simple as their favorite food on a menu or favorite song on the radio - knock the wind out of us when they appear.
We've learned to hide that reaction, setting us apart a bit.
Explaining all this is futile.
People who haven't lost someone can sympathize but can't grasp it all.
Everyone tires of constantly hearing about sadness or problems. That's just human nature. We want to be happy.
Mourners differ in their grieving. Some admit sorrow's toll.
Some bury it beneath stoic denial.
Words can reopen wounds for either, so they're better left unsaid to them.
Well, then. How to cope after losing a loved one?
We live and laugh and love, yet recognize we are irrevocably changed.
Most of all, we accept what people who walked this road long before I did have told me:
You never get over it.
You never get used to it.
You just get used to never getting over it
