The silence of a falling star
Lights up a purple sky
And as I wonder where you are
I’m so lonesome I could cry.
— Hank Williams Sr.
You are probably not surprised by loneliness following the death of your loved one — your dearest one in the world. Missing the person, their nearness, habits, loving ways or even not-so-loving ways, how they look, feel, sound, the touch of their skin, the illusion of never-ending days together.
I miss you. You gave me my life. You were my protector, my teacher, my moral compass, my comfort. I feel so alone without you. No one worries about me the way you did. No one loves me the way you did.
Jill Smolowe, an author who has written about her own experience with grieving, reflected on what pain meant to her following the death of four of her loved ones in quick succession when she was in her thirties. In her article, The Value of Sitting With Your Pain, she says, “While grappling with that pile-on of losses, I discovered that something a therapist had told me years earlier was true: my pain would be more tolerable if I could ‘just sit with it.’ “
“Earth is perfectly placed in what astronomers call a star’s ‘Goldilocks zone’ where the sun isn’t too hot or too cold but just right. This advantageous distance has allowed life to flourish on Earth, with the sun bathing our planet in life-giving warmth…”
I recently wrote an article that dealt with insensitive remarks made by others. This time the camera of life will be a “selfie.” See if any of these remarks resonate with your own self-talk.
First come the common painful practice of “would of, could of, should of” comments that can really hurt. Here are a few examples:
If you are grieving for a spouse or anyone else you loved who has died, you have probably found yourself talking to them at times. Late at night, holding a pillow next to you, perhaps, or alone as you walk along a trail. More than likely, you have found this comforting, to simply talk to your loved one… ask questions… reminisce… or…
If you are grieving for a spouse or anyone else you loved who has died, you have probably found yourself talking to them at times. Late at night, holding a pillow next to you, perhaps, or alone as you walk along a trail. More than likely, you have found this comforting, to simply talk to your loved one… ask questions… reminisce… or tell them about all the things that are happening in your life.
Grief is an ever-running stream, flowing fluid and unyielding. It twists and turns, it ebbs and flows, backs up and it gushes forward taking no prisoners as it surges on. It is an uninvited intruder in our lives, a force of nature that commands respect. You can run from it, you can hide, distract, ignore or even fight it. At some point, however, you will unwittingly give it your maximum attention. It will be your reckoning. Grief is the staggering unwanted mandatory tax you pay for losing someone you love.
When we are experiencing deep grief, our relationship with ourselves would ideally be gentle, kind, accepting. Yet that is often not the case as we bombard ourselves with expectations, overload, regrets, guilt and even shame. The presence of a negative inner companion can be our reality during times of trauma and sorrow.
The death of a parent is an emotionally difficult and universal experience. Although you may cognitively understand that the loss is inevitable, that doesn’t lessen the grief when your mother or father dies. It becomes a personal and complicated journey of grief. Nothing is ever the same again. It is a transformative event and your life changes forever.