During the last two-and-a-half years, I must have read a hundred different articles on learning to handle grief. I have read at least five books explaining how to cope with loss. I have listened to advice from countless individuals; most of them saying “get over it.” All that reading and enlightenment, but I am not one step closer to coming to terms with what my life has become. In fact, I think that I drift further from acceptance and more toward bitterness with each article I read.
Everyone was so supportive and kind in the beginning. After the first year, most people expect you to move on with your life. The life you planned to spend with the person you love now changed forever. Ironically, it is usually people who have his or her significant other in their bed each night. They have no idea what it is like to spend two decades with someone you love so much and suddenly find yourself alone, but they believe they know what is best.
I think I spent the first year in a fog. I was so busy trying to function each day that I collapsed in exhaustion each night, leaving little time to absorb reality. In hindsight, that was fate mercifully allowing me time to come to grips with my enormous loss. Even fate was wrong. I am still unable to fathom living without the man I love.
I still struggle to endure the days and the eternal nights without him. I do not know how I will be in another year or in ten years, but I do know that right now, the worst thing you can say to me is “You will have a long life.” Those words are like razors cutting into my heart. At this point, the most merciful thought in my mind is that I can join my sweetheart soon. There it is in all its glory. Oh, I know people will be ready to commit me for saying such a thing. I do not care anymore. I am not suicidal or insane; I am grieving. Grief has a way of consuming every hope a person ever had. I just want to go home so I can be with my love. There are moments when I feel especially angry and someone will admonish me for feeling this way. For just a second, I want to say to them, “Fuck you. You don’t know anything.” Of course, I do not say that because that is not how I speak, but it flashes through my mind. Instead, I apologize to them for grieving. How pathetic. I should not have to apologize for enduring this agony; it should be acceptable that I scream, cry and curse God for taking my husband.
I find myself wishing the fog would consume me again. I always heard that it is worse after the first year passes. I have learned this is true. It is when that merciful fog lifts that life becomes almost unbearable. Every day I wonder how I will paint this smile upon my face and empathize with others. Each day drags out with the knowledge that nothing good will come of it. That is one of the most painful prospects of living—knowing that there is absolutely nothing to anticipate but death. Grief consumes Hope. Grief consumes everything and eventually, it will consume me.
©2012 Relinda R.