Still Days of Gray

Still days of gray

One of my fellow sisters in widowhood says she wishes people wouldn't tell her the second year of losing your spouse is often harder than the first year. How could it be harder than what it is already? 

It's been almost 10 months since Dave's been gone. As the one-year anniversary gets closer, it's brought a different kind of sadness that is hard to explain. I guess it's like when you've been separated from a loved one. Maybe they went on a trip, moved across the country or left for college. You begin to miss them more as time goes on, but you know you will see them again.

I have been missing Dave a lot these last weeks. The finality is what is so hard. I will not ever see him again--not in this life.

Grief doesn't follow a linear path. In my last blog posts I spoke about experiencing moments of joy and the process of letting go, but the waves of sadness still come. Some days it seems I cry as hard and for as long as I did in the beginning.

People say I seem so much happier. Good things have come into my life, and for the most part I am happier. But what appears on the outside isn't always what is going on in the inside. There remains a hole that will never fully heal. 

A friend who had his own deep loss shared this poem with me. The author is Monica Bobbitt.

This Is What Grief Is

"A hole ripped through the very fabric of your being.

The hole eventually heals along the jagged edges that remain. It may even shrink in size.

But that hole will always be there.

A piece of you always missing. For where there is deep grief, there was great love.

Don’t be ashamed of your grief. Don’t judge it.

Don’t suppress it.

Don’t rush it.

Rather, acknowledge it.

Lean into it.

Listen to it.

Feel it.

Sit with it.

Sit with the pain. And remember the love. This is where the healing will begin."

Sculpture: Melancolie by Albert György