“We call that person who has lost his father, an orphan; and a widower that man who has lost his wife. But that man who has known the immense unhappiness of losing a friend, by what name do we call him? Here every language is silent and holds its peace in impotence.” – Joseph Roux
My energy seems to have ebbed away.
I see it like a faded tideline on a distant shore, like I’m observing a far-off ability, a long-ago talent that I can’t seem to restore. I’m not talking about the kind of energy required for marathons or even a short sprint, I’m talking about the basic life force required to get stuff done. Little stuff. Nonsensical errand-y stuff. But stuff that should be dealt with nevertheless.
It appears I’ve lost interest in my life. Not in a big scary way, not in an oh-we-should-be-concerned-about-her-kind-of-way, but more as a kind of overall tired whatever kind of way.
I also find myself wanting to insert Kathleen’s name into any and every conversation. I want her to be acknowledged. At the same time…I don’t want to talk about it.
I recently heard that someone’s brilliant advice for me was that, ‘I should just get over it and move on’.
Why the hell didn’t I think of that??
Seriously. People talk shit.
When my mom died, a very solicitious ‘friend’ came up to my grieving father and said, “I know just how you feel…my wife went to Saskatchewan for two weeks.”
Seriously. See above.
I don’t want to suggest that every day feels this way. In fact, it’s shifted in the time I have been writing this.
I know I’m going to be okay. But I also know other friends who are going through their own tough times. I think I wanted to share this in the hopes that we might all grant ourselves permission to be sad now and again.
Because it’s okay. In fact, it’s not just okay…it’s necessary. We’re not stuck. We’re feeling.
And sometimes all this feeling uses up a lot of energy. So I’m sorry. I will not be ‘getting over it’ today. I’m just a little too tired to get that organized.
I know that this too shall pass. It just might take awhile.
It is okay to feel sad.
Grief takes as long as it takes. Not grieving can come up in unexpected ways.
Like Lynda I remember in my childhood people wore black armbands to show their sorrow. This was respectful and thoughtful for the grieving family.
I hate this stupid sentence “to get over it”. Life is not a big party.
Love,
Catherine, I couldn’t agree more with, “not grieving can come up in unexpected ways.” It’s so necessary to feel our emotions. It took me years to realize that. No, wait, it actually took me decades. I’m glad you share my thoughts on ‘get over it’. That works for some little things and in fact, is something I’ll say to myself when I realize I’m overreacting to a minor inconvenience. Then, it’s a great admonition to get me back on track. But for big life events I think the better way to approach is to realize that I’ll going through something, not getting over it.
Miss C,
You are so lovely with such a big heart.
Your writing is such a gift. I love to see how you bend and twist language to succinctly express exactly what you (and I) are “feeling”.
Thinking of you, and sending you love and strength. XOX
Dearest Jane.
Thank you for your words, thoughts, love and strength. You are a blessing and a comfort.
I feel richer and more able as a result.
Big hugs…
Grief has its own way with us and demands its time from everyone, whether it is recognized or not. I have my own version of it happening lately and trivializing it or comparing the object of my grief belittles the ‘feeling’ness that is the heart of what makes us human beings.
I also ‘feel’ for people who avoid grieving – it’s bound to come up somewhere else, completely unexpected and often at the least opportune time. I want my grief to come full on and be what it is so I can move through it in whatever time it takes to do so. Days? Months? Years? Never? Hopefully not that last one.
I’ve cried every day for the last 10 days, sometimes about loss, sometimes because loss has made so many more things harder, just as you so aptly described at the beginning of the post.
So here’s some salty tears of mine to share with you and I’ll take some of yours in return.
Oh Laurie. I’m so sorry for your grieving. Every loss is real. There is no quantifying or comparing.
Sometimes it feels like each loss carries with it all the heartbreaks from the past too.
Years after my mom died, I was dusting the shelves in our library/den in Sechelt. I had just finished joking about the china cup and saucer that was my only ‘inheritance’ from my mother when I inadvertantly knocked it to the floor. It shattered into pieces.
I fell to my knees and sobbed like someone had been murdered in front of me. The force of my grief, and how it came out of nowhere, still stuns me when I think of it. It was like a tsunami that literally knocked me down to the floor.
So yes, I agree that we can never belittle any grief. Someone looking from the outside has no idea of the depths that sorrow is coming from.
Thank you for sharing your salty tears. Crying is good for the soul. Shared crying is even better.
Blessings…
Feeling your loss is okay, it’s okay to have down days and it’s definitely okay to share your pain. Cope in whatever way you can. Hope we can help by listening. I love hearing about your ups and downs. Hugs.
Bless you Martha. Thanks for listening. It is indeed a huge help to know I’ve been heard and to, in turn, hear how we all share these experiences.
I feel stronger knowing we are all in this together, that everyone is going through something. Some days/weeks/years are easier than others, but we all eventually deal with the many faces of grief. Hugs right back at you 🙂
Dear Colleen,
Thank you for “feeling” and sharing with us. I lost a very very dear friend 6 years ago to cancer. Our friendship spread over 40 years. She still has a place in my heart and I am not sad. I just feel so grateful that we were friends. The memory of her beauty makes me happy.
Hélène
Thank you Helene. I’m so glad that your friendship carries on in your heart. It is all about gratitude isn’t it?
I know that this will get easier. I remember how hard and endless it felt after my mom died, but now, like you, I mostly smile when I remember. Life is such a strange journey sometimes, eh?
Once upon a time when a death occurred people were expected (even compelled like Scarlett Ohara) to go into mourning. They wore black armbands. Or, depending on how close they were to the deceased they dressed in black. Then, after a while they had permission to “lighten up” to gray or dark blue or violet. No one expected them to turn up for social events. Not for a whole year. Long before that, some people tore their clothes or wore sackcloth and ashes. They wept and gnashed their teeth. Maybe these folks were on to something.
Nowadays a person’s identity as bereaved has disappeared. “Celebration of Life” is the new lamentation. Don’t you dare spoil the party. Sorrow has been banished. Grief is packaged into stages, and heaven help anyone who doesn’t save it for a support group or therapist. Tear up or start talking about your constant state of inertia when someone asks how you are doing and watch them tear off faster than the next incoming text.
One of the heart’s coping mechanisms is lassitude. It simply is what it is and lasts as long as it lasts. I find it helpful to embrace it. Good morning, heartache. Sit down.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L4XUDvFwdlc
Oh Lynda, you’ve nailed it. I remember seeing that in Oaxaca City…the black ribbons over the doors, the acknowledgement that here was a household in mourning.
I really don’t like the whole ‘celebration of life’ thing either. I mean, I get it. I know it’s important to honour and recognize someone’s life, but it’s like we skip right over the very necessary hard part of grief. I don’t want to just see the powerpoint highlights. I want to mourn for all that is gone; the endless conversations, the shared laughter, the love, all of it. I’m not sure when we decided grieving was no longer ‘in fashion’ but you’re right, sorrow has been banished. I guess this is my version of taking it back 🙂
I like what you wrote, that, “One of the heart’s coping mechanisms is lassitude.” That makes so much sense.
Thank you for the gift of your words and Billie Holiday’s “Good morning heartache.”
Be sad. Take your time . We will all be here waiting for you. Care for yourself. ❤️
Bless you Kathy. I think if I’ve learned anything after all these years on the planet, it’s to finally recognize the need to care for myself. But, like all my lessons, I still need constant reminding – so thank you for that. I so appreciate knowing you’re there.