Woe is (not) me
Poor me.
Look at me.
Look at me, a woman alone, a widow.
Feel sorry for me because I feel sorry for myself.
Boo-hoo.
Wait. I am learning, I am coming to understand, that grief is not about me.
“I can’t imagine how terrible this is for you,” people say. (Which, by the way, is not only an actively unhelpful thing to say, it is an actively hurtful thing to say. And seriously, who the hell cares what YOU can imagine?)
“I can’t imagine how terrible this is for YOU.”
The one this is terrible for is HIM.
He is the one who will never eat a plate of dry-cooked green beans again, who will never play cribbage with his sister again, never climb the butte again, never explore the back streets of Chania again, never again pick an apple from a tree he planted and pruned and fertilized, never again watch the bluejays dive-bomb the bird feeder, never record another dream in his leather-bound journal. Never write another book. Never see his grandchild become a boy, a man.
Me? I get to sleep between flannel sheets, to hike and run, to write and read and plant and weed. I get to dance in the kitchen to the Allman Brothers, to walk on the beach with Karuna, drink coffee with Julie, workout in the park with Celina, bake cookies, photograph clouds, hold my children tight, roll on the floor with Henry.
I get to live.
And every day—I mean every damned day—something astonishes me, takes my breath away, makes me deeply happy to be here.
I long for the future we won’t share, the one I took for granted. But my grief is for him, for the life unlived, not for myself.
8 comments
Finding these little nuggets of reflection on Facebook are like finding the most beautiful of agates on the most crowded of beaches.
Thanks for this, Randy. The FB beach IS crowded, isn’t it? I am reminded of this iconic image of Coney Island beach in the 1940s. You can’t see a speck of sand…just ass-to-elbow (as they say) people.
Hi Lauren – It might be projection: “if it were me, I’d be distraught; I don’t know how you’re managing without him; he was such a lovely man”. I’ve done my own share of projection around this, to be honest, but it passed. If I had not seen him in an unrealistic light, it would have been a different story. I’m far happier without my marriage and stepdaughters to ruin my days. Yet others still ask me why I don’t miss Adam (that is a place I dare not go). Enjoy what you love. Evelyn
Much different situations, but “I don’t know how you’re managing” is actually kind of insulting, right?
We are all learning about how to deal with loss and grief more thoughtfully because of your insightful and honest posts. Thank you so much, Lauren.
Well, sometimes more attitude than insight…but I thank you for the kind words.
Woe is my late daughter who never knew we were her family. I lost a child but she lost any chance at a life filled with beauty. She couldn’t appreciate a sunset, a sun kissed tomato or the memories and aromas of my kitchen. I did. I am still here at 72 and I revel in sunsets, family and the warmth of hugs. Woe is my sweet child. I have lived so much more life than her. She had missed so much and I have determined to enjoy it for both of us.
Oh Ann. You shine so brightly.
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