I have a confession to make. I have not been honest.
This realization struck me recently as I re-read some of what I have written. I noticed that, as every writer has been taught, I make sure to include a beginning, a middle, and an end. I introduce a topic, something that has been on my mind through my grief. Then, I give more details, describing my feelings in the hopes that someone, and maybe myself, will understand. Then, I craft an ending, usually with an endearing, hopeful close. That’s the dishonest part. You can’t put a bow on top of this giant mess of sadness and loneliness and loss and make it beautiful. Grief is messy.
In my attempt to include heartfelt “closings,” I have fallen into the very human trap of trying to hide my own weakness. There have been many days I do not feel strong; I do not smile through my tears; I am not filled with gratitude. And in exposing that weakness, I am also forced to admit that as much as I want/need to, I cannot make sense of this inexplicable experience. Have I learned a lot from grief? Yes. Do I think I am a better person because of grief? Yes. But would I choose grief as a vehicle by which to learn life lessons? No. It is absolutely, positively, unbelievably difficult. It does not have a tidy ending. And that is honest.
The truth is that writing these passages is the most difficult thing I have ever done – right alongside with grieving Murdock. I have to make sure every single word is exactly what I want to convey and that every phase has the right cadence. (After all, if I am going to do this for Murdock, it has to be perfect.) It is emotional. I cry buckets when I write, and then proofread, and then write and edit some more. Is it worth it? Yes. But this is what grief is – it is sitting alone at my kitchen table late at night typing away because something is pushing me to do so, wishing more than anything that I was back in my old life with Murdock so that I didn’t have to. When I write optimistic endings that end with love or gratitude or growth, I still close my computer crying. I am still sad. Grief is still difficult. It is still messy.
Do I mean what I write? Absolutely. Do I know the lessons of grief to be true? Without a doubt. I am unfathomably lucky to have found my soulmate. I know that he is always with me. I know that I am a better, more empathetic person because of him. These are things I know in my head – but not what guide my heart. I miss my boy. I have not figured out how to live or who I am without him, and maybe I never really will. And that is honest.
