In 17 days it will be a year since Justin’s death. In truth, it feels as if it has been one long day. It is inconceivable that it has been a year. What is almost morbidly funny is that most people expect you to be done with your grief process in a year…done!…it has not even started. The first year is focused solely on survival, basic survival, have we remembered to eat, not really, have we slept, sorta, that kind of basic survival. The second year is facing the realities of death. I have been reading a bit about this “process” that we are in, it is always something of an
epiphany when you read something and recognize yourself, it is helpful to know that you are normal, that it is society’s abnormal demand that wants you to be done with your “inconvenient grief.” I mean after all, its been a year, surely you have closure. Well, no I don’t, sorry about your disappointment. Closure is relational to lids, bank accounts, doors and suitcases. Closure is not relational to flesh and blood relationships. You see, death does not bring an end to love, or an end to that relationship that filled so much of your life. Truth be told, the grieving process never ends as long as we live, there is never closure, we grieve anew with each life cycle we experience. Time does not heal all wounds, this is a life long journey and we are still at the very beginning.
One article spoke of “emotionally relocating the deceased.” I pondered this terminology and I sort of get it, Justin was an enormous part of our lives for 25 years, now we have to “relocate him emotionally.” He won’t be calling anymore, no more emails, no more visits, he is not physically part of our very tactile and sensory life. We can no longer hear his voice, catch his eye, relax in that gentle spirit of companionship. To learn to live without that interaction takes a long time, it can be a time of exploration into just how integrated our lives are with each other, how necessary and precious our relationships are to our health, mentally, physically and spiritually. I imagine this relocating is much about learning to live a life that you would not have chosen, but it is the life that is before you to live.
The article speaks of commemoration and ritual being an important part of this “very dynamic process of emotionally relocating.”
There was another line I read that caught my attention and I found myself going back to it again and again.
“To adequately understand what has been lost, we really have to understand the significance of the relationship shared.”
What a beautiful line, what liberation and freedom in that single line of thought. Permission to acknowledge the depth of loss, acknowledgement that the loss was not just one dimensional, but multi-faceted, reaching backwards and intrusively forward, forever changing our hopes and dreams. That the loss was one of child, son, friend, brother….to meditate on that relationship, what it meant…the deep bonds of unity that existed for so many years. Now I know some may tsk, tsk me and want to gently remind me that Justin isn’t lost, that he is in heaven, that he is only on the other side of a thin veil…yes, I know all that. Trust me, that sure faith that Justin still lives, that life for him has only changed is what keeps me from screaming into the night in despair. At the same time however, we are human, with the God given hunger for communion, companionship, capable of forming deep and loving relationships….there must be an allowance for expression of sorrow, grief, pain, loss….would it not be more tragic if no sense of loss was felt, no pain, no grief?
The one thing that all the articles have in common is the statement that grief is hard work. You would be amazed at the number of people who gently encourage you to “take” something for your grief…grief is not an illness, it does not simply go away after taking 2 or 200 of something. Grief must be felt and worked through, there is no other way. Exhaustion is profound and long lasting and almost comically said is that our grief will take longer than what most people expect. The audacity of it all, taking longer than expected, such unrelieved brazenness to need time to grieve, what were we thinking?
And there is such a need for thought, we stare off into space, we aren’t “spacing”, we are thinking…maybe remembering something, perhaps regretting something not done, not said…stillness and thought is not passive, stillness is not inactivity.
In stillness the hard work of grief is allowed to take place.
As usual…beautifully said. I think in part our culture wants to dismiss grief quickly because we do not want to acknowledge how deep our need for belonging is….how much we need those we love…and how great the loss is when they leave us. As to those who would try to comfort you with the whole “he lives on in heaven”…. I get that they are trying to help, but (like you so eloquently pointed out), that does not change the loss…the emptiness that is invariably a part of this process. Peace to you and big bro…love you much.
Much love and peace to you too Thaeda!
Terri very well said!
I find great comfort is so many of your comments, in dealing with both the loss of Justin (on a much lower level then you 2) and in dealing with other losses. Please know tht anytime you want to just talk about Justin (share memories, etc.), it is ok, and I am available. I think that is one of the hard parts, well meaning folks try to not even bring up his name, much less share or even just listen to memories of that special person!
Dear Laura,
Thank you so much writing and thank you for offering to share and talk about Justin! What a gift to know that you are there, our memories are so important. You know all too well the path through grief and sorrow. Peace to you. Much love, Terri
Once again, thank you, Terri. You write with such elegance, clarity and truth. Please know we love you all very much and continue to be in our prayers.
Dear Laura,
Thank you for journeying along this path with us so faithfully. Thank you for the gift of your prayers, love and friendship!
God Bless,
Love, Terri
Terri, there is such depth and beauty in your reflections … it makes me sad for those who experience a loss and don’t know how to accept and acknowledge their grief. I think of the day my twin brother died … I’ve often felt that I lost my mother the same day. She fell apart … and accepted the meds to deaden her pain. I’m sure the depression that became manifest some 12 or 13 years later really began at that time. Both my parents were of that generation that believed you had to hide your grief and move on – but it doesn’t really go away. I still miss my brother, although the raw pain has given way to gentler feelings. But our relationship continues … as does yours with your beloved son. You are in my prayers.
Dear Angie,
Thank you so much for sharing such personal and painful memory of the death of your twin brother. Doug has two sets of twins as siblings, his sister Kim died very young of breast cancer…she was perhaps 37 or 38, the pain of grief for Becca, her twin, was beyond and still is, my knowledge or experience. Grief has a way of making itself felt and known, my heart hurts for your mom…and for you. I have read a very small bit about the grief of the remaining children, how they need their parents to still engage in life, their lives…their fears of losing their parents to grief. May God continue to be kind and merciful to us both as we try everyday to live in communion with the Church Triumphant, Militant and Suffering. I am grateful for your friendship and prayers.
Love, Terri