My Grief Observed - 1
Introduction – why should I write this blog? Is this an appropriate place to write this blog?
Some of you may be familiar with the book A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis, which is a series of reflections on his experience grieving the loss of his wife Joy Davidman. Now I don’t mean to imply with this title that the quality of my writing or insights from observations of my own grief can hold a candle to his writings. But it is at least a continuation of the idea that everyone’s grief is different.
I’m not alone in losing a spouse at a relatively young age. But how I grieve for the loss of Sara is different from how another widow/widower will grieve their spouse. And even more so, my grief over losing Sara is naturally VERY different from the grief experienced by Sara’s mom, dad, siblings, friends, etc. Losing her is a terrible reality for all of us – it’s just different.
That’s all obvious in a way, but also I think it is good to keep in mind when reading my thoughts on this subject. Because while many of us will forever be saddened by Sara’s passing, I guess I’m just selfishly going to say that my pain in losing Sara is just so damned profound – my sense of self, who I am in this world, what I aim to do, everything – is just rocked to the core and really, I feel shattered and smothered into the carpet. So, it might seem like I am going overboard – or eventually that I just need to get over it. Well time will tell, but to be honest, getting over it feels like the last thing I actually want to do.
Many will move on with their lives – and soon our Sara, a shining beacon of joy, faith and love will just be a painful, but beautiful, yet distant memory. And that’s OK – that is perfectly fair - everyone’s grief is their own. And I know this is an event that happens in marriages eventually. If not through a divorce, eventually one spouse will die before the other.
So yeah I am going to say a lot about how this hurts, and what I’m trying to do about it. But hey, I already told you that I loved this woman with all of my heart, so I will say a lot when I can.
Why write this blog?
After that long introduction – I’ll just say that I think the process of sharing my feelings and experiences throughout my grieving process could be therapeutic for me regardless, so I hope in addition to helping me, it might be helpful in some way for others that have or will face similar grief in the future.
I will also likely expose my emotions in a way that can be uncomfortable to some – maybe myself included. But in the spirit of Sara’s purpose for this blog in the first place – being vulnerable and sharing personal experiences can assist many during challenging times, so I’m willing to try.
Is this the right place for this blog?
Well honestly it might not be the right place. But it is in a way a continuation of Sara’s story - so I think for now I’m just going to keep going here.
The Power of Ritual and Properly Honoring the Deceased
The first couple of weeks after the death of a loved one is filled with a checklist of tasks and steps to be taken – from arranging a final resting place, securing the passage of their spirit, or notifying government agencies about their death. These tasks, and the whirlwind that comes with them is both overwhelming, and also a refuge in some ways because it limits the time you have to face the grief fully and provides a number of distractions.
The funeral service itself has a number of benefits beyond the obvious reasons why we would do so as believers in Christ. The ritual involved with the service can help move things forward when you feel like you’d otherwise be frozen. The togetherness of it all, and seeing family and friends from times passed can stir up so many great memories. And it’s an opportunity to honor your loved one in the company of those who cared for them.
Sara’s memorial service was remarkable. Of course, a huge piece of why it was so great was that she helped us plan for it. The songs we selected, the musicians involved, all based on the vision we discussed with her before she passed. Many tears were shed. It was all so meaningful to me, and drove me to extremes of gladness to think of the memories associated with each song, and sadness that Sara wasn’t there to experience it with me.
The message was amazing, and Pastor Dan Dornfeld did a great job of painting a picture of why Sara’s life was so awe-inspiring. Concluding with remarks about her true legacy – her faith in God.
In preparation for the service, my son Callum and I spent the days before working from about 8am to 11pm working on the slideshow or prepping the music related, including his piece “Looking for Robins.” Again, these tasks were challenging and time consuming, but also helpful in some ways as we had an important task at hand to properly honor Sara – so our grieving had to be put on pause somewhat. And this time was also important bonding time for the two of us as we start navigating this world without his mother.
Time to move forward – you are kidding right?
Since the funeral – I’ve had to start coming to terms with my situation. How do I want to handle this grieving process? Ha, good luck to me having a say in how this goes. I guess there are choices I’ve made since her death that invoke a certain type of grief. So maybe I am bringing some of it on myself. For example, I could completely avoid looking at pictures of Sara, of her with me, or of her with the kids. But that’s not what I feel like I need. I feel like I need to envelope myself in reminders of who she was.
And actually - my brain isn’t saying ‘forget this so you can move on.’ It’s saying – ‘no, she’s not gone.’ Somehow magically this will all wash away and you’ll wake up years ago and you can properly warn her about rectal cancer so she can get it removed early. Or somehow, she will return to me tomorrow fully healed, and we can re-begin our lives together.
I know these aren’t rational thoughts. But my brain isn’t trying to be rational. I guess it is denial. But I’ve also already accepted that she’s gone. I know this to be true. I was with her when she died. And yet the core of my being aches to be with every version of her that I’ve ever known - and it is suffocating me that I can’t be with her.
That’s another interesting thing about my grief so far. I literally feel like I am grieving the loss of her 17 times over. We evolve as people over the years, but my love for her remained steadfast and strong throughout all of it, just as hers was for me as I changed and evolved. And now I miss every single form of her.
I miss her voice. Whether from singing songs, having conversations, having an argument, being sassy, haha, or laughing about something silly. God, I love her laugh. To hear her laugh again and see her smile – it would actually overwhelm me. But I imagine it anyway – and it brings me to tears every time.
So, when I look at old pictures of us, and I start way back when we first fell in love – I am flooded with memories of the excitement of young love, feelings of pure happiness, and a recollection of a mutual sort of sigh of relief. We found each other. We complete one another. I can face challenges in this world – because of you. I can tackle huge problems and face my fears because of you. It didn’t take long for us to realize this effect we had on one another.
And that makes me fearful. I am lost. I am now incomplete. I am not sure what challenges I can face anymore. I am not sure if I can face my fears anymore. And can I tackle a problem as big as being a single parent of a 13, 10 and 6-year old?
But I don’t stop there. Why? I am not sure. Glutton for punishment?
I am absolutely feeding myself old pictures, videos, songs, emails, text messages - my favorites are the every day things. The photos that are un-posed and capture her real essence. I’m doing everything I can to keep a vivid memory of the woman I love in my mind. Of course, doing all of this brings back so many memories it only heightens my pain and anguish that I know, she’s in fact not walking through that door tomorrow.
I’ve been reading our old text threads. It’s like an addictive substance. I know it might not be good for me, but it’s making me feel like she’s still here with me. We’re just chatting. Our texts were always filled with beautifully plain monotony about what to eat for lunch, and who would pickup the kids. Good Lord, I yearn for those moments. Especially before five years ago - life was so simple. Of course, we didn’t realize it.
And I am fearful of my memory of her deceiving me. As CS Lewis discusses in his book – how do I know I am not creating a different version of her in my mind that isn’t who she was? It’s all still pretty fresh, so I don’t think this is too much of an issue just yet. But will it be? If that damned rational brain is right, I won’t be seeing her anytime soon, so yes, I am concerned that my memory of her will eventually morph into something that is not exactly who she was. And that feels like it’s dishonoring her - but what can I do?
Looking for Signs
Yes, I have done the cliché thing – in my moments of despair I’ve said things like – “Sara, I can’t do this without you. We’ve always handled everything together, how can I do this? Give me a sign, that you are there and that I’m on the right track!”
I am not easily convinced by signs, and I guess I am not 100% convinced by some of the signs I have experienced. But then again – why shouldn’t I believe? And what signs am I looking for exactly if I am unwilling to believe the ones I receive?
Before she died, Sara did express wishes that I be strong and move forward and live my life with purpose and vigor. And not to forget her, but to not dwell for too long in her passing. I understand what she meant – but hey it isn’t easy losing your soulmate.
So far I’ve experienced three things that feel like slap-in-the face signs. I won’t go into detail about them for now at least, because it feels a little too personal. But the gist of these signs is that Sara is saying that I need to keep living life. Don’t get stuck in a rut, and in fact, go live life to the fucking fullest. Enjoy things again. Take your family and see amazing places.
I am not there yet Shakie, but I promise I’ll keep working on it.