Another dimension of grief, I’ve learned, is being afraid to move forward. When we grieve, our loved one is front and center. But after that, will their memory fade into our past?
I don’t want to lose that immediate image of her. I do not want to turn away. How could I possibly want that?
This has been on my mind the past week. As each day passes, life edges just a tiny bit toward normal. Which beckons the question: If they aren’t here anymore, and I’m grieving a tiny bit less, are they fading? What is left of them?
I’ve learned this brings a bit of guilt. Our love for them, our missing them, is tangible. So what happens to the memory of them as time goes by?
These and other questions niggle at me. I don’t want Abi to fade. I don’t want her memory to fade. What I want of course is to have her back, and naturally I can’t have that. So what I have is grief.
And when that lessens its hold on me, what do I have then? What is tangible that I can hold onto?
There are so many dimensions of grief, I suppose because there are so many dimensions of love.
Comforting Words From Healing & Loss: (March)
“I will welcome and care for the ways in which my loved one continues to live on in me.”
“Whereas previously our moods seemed simply sad with occasional patches of light, now we may find an unsettling variety in our feelings, as happy time seems engrossing and satisfying, and then we are plunged into sadness again. Perhaps we can learn to accept these mood swings, recognizing the reality of each, knowing light gives way to darkness, and darkness to light.”
“Even in my pain, I hold close to my heart the gift of my loved one’s life.”
“My heart lifts, in solidarity and longing, toward all who have suffered as I have. May we find and uphold one another.”
“May I accept the rhythms of grieving. I have enough to worry about without scolding myself that I’m still so vulnerable.”
These simple words from others who are grieving help to lift me up. For as I read about their own dimensions of sorrow, I know I am not alone.