This morning Michelle asked me if we ever stop grieving. I responded that we don’t, but it does soften into a beautiful part of our lives instead of a constant pain.
When each of my husbands died, I lost track of space and time, and I don’t remember how long that lasted. Gradually, time started creeping back in to perspective. I would have an appointment to go to or pressing business that had to be attended, so slowly I became aware of time. I began to remember what day of the week it was. As odd as that sounds to me now, I realize I was out of sync with the world around me.
At first, I would think to myself, he died four days ago, or last week, or twelve days ago. Then I realized I was counting in weeks. I remembered when my babies were little and their short lives we measured first in days, then weeks, then months, and eventually years. That’s how it goes after the death of a loved one, too.
On September eighth of this year, I realized that I hadn’t thought about September 4 which would have been thirteen months since Ron left. At first I felt guilty at my failure to remember. After I beat myself up a little, I woke up and knew that I haven’t forgotten him, that I had just started expanding my life to think of something else too, and that was good.
My father died in 1989. Although that was almost thirty years ago, I still grieve him, but gently. Veteran’s Day, November 11, was always his favorite holiday as he fought in World War II and was very active in the Veterans of Foreign Wars. So every time I see someone with a VFW cap on or see a buddy poppy or hear that national anthem, I remember my Dad, how proud he was, and how proud I was of him. This is a softer kind of grief. When you can reflect on your loved one and smile, and instead of pain, you remember love.
The fresher your grief, the more your heart aches. And as time goes by, that ache will transform to a smile.