Loss

“He died last May,” are the words I use when I relate to my friends the traumatic event that changed my life a few months ago. I don’t use the usual gentle euphemisms — “he
passed away or he was called to another place.” For me, though I like to think of him released from his illness and once again feeling healthy and safe, I know that I have to accept the reality of never seeing him again. His body is gone because it no longer exists and its remains have returned to the earth.

When I miss him so deeply, I call aloud to him — “OK, you can come back now.” I feel he is just waiting for me to reach out to him, to find a way to connect with him. Oddly I feel a slight touch of anger in these sad moments. He could alleviate my grief ... he was always able to do the impossible, and so, he should do that NOW and just come back to me.

“I am waiting to tell you so many things,” I exclaim to him. “I need your help with the roses that have stopped flowering. We had a terrible storm and you will be shocked by
the tree damage. Your nephew wants to collect on that political bet he made with you. My sister-in-law died and my brother is in the hospital in a deep depression.”

But I can do little to change my new reality. I coach myself to accept my overwhelming feelings during these sorrowful and poignant moments. My sadness is intensified by the doubling up of sensations — loss and permanent change.

“He is gone,” I say to myself over and over, trying to force understanding deep into my being. I continue to envision him here, near me in his chair, in his place in our bed. I look for a sign in some lucky breaks I have gotten — convenient parking spots, a good hotel room. But the smile that comes to my lips when I think of these happenstance scenes fades, as I know I am creating a fantasy in his honor.

Acceptance may have to wait awhile as my life goes on. Mercifully these contemplative moments are frequently interrupted by activities that compel my attention. I pause and
reflect. Will it ever be that one day I will comprehend fully and accept as real, the eternity of my loss?

Photograph: Scabiosa atropurpurea 'Scarlett', known as the widow's flower

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Loss

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