We humans are terrible at grief. As grievers, we assign expectations and timelines to something as unpredictable as emotions, and feel like we have failed when those plans fall short. I suspect that comes from us being less than stellar supporters of those who are grieving. It is not for lack of concern or want of trying – we just don’t know what to do. So, we resort to baking a casserole or consulting the list of “things to say when a person loses someone they love.”
In our need to break down things we don’t understand, we have assigned grief to the “bad” category. When someone is sad, or hurt, or suffering – we want to find a way to help, to make it go away. It is part of the beauty of being human. We say and do whatever we can to try to make things easier, to stop the tears, to push someone through grief as quickly as possible – because it will be “better” on the other side, if they just get through it. It is a wonderful thing to have people around who want you to be happy.
But here’s the thing, for those of us who have had a profound loss, we may feel that our grief is the most beautiful, sacred part of us. It is for me. It is most assuredly not “bad,” and I don’t want to leave it behind. Before Murdock departed, I could never have imagined that a person would want to hold on to grief. But now, it is something I will proudly carry with me for the rest of my life.
To be clear, I am not referring to that initial, overwhelming time right after you lose the love of your life – that period when the tears won’t stop flowing, and you don’t know how to carry on. As time passes, those moments remain, but are less frequent, and you settle in to the new life you are forced to walk alone. Murdock went to heaven 21 months ago. I cry every day. I talk to him every day. I wonder who I am without him every day. But the person he has left behind is one that tries to use the gifts he taught me – to be more empathetic, to find joy in simplicity, to spend time in nature, to eat more ice cream. In many ways, my emptiness has made me more fully human.
Murdock has been my life’s greatest blessing. He taught me to be a mom. He helped me to be more patient. He showed me unconditional love. And losing him made me understand the grace that grief can bring. So, if you see me with tears in my eyes, or read what I write, or sense my broken heart – know that I am so very grateful for all of it. It is all because I was lucky enough to experience profound, forever love.
