How you can help me (Author unknown)

Please talk about my loved one, even though she is gone. It is more comforting to cry than to pretend that she never existed. I need to talk about her, and I need to do it over and over.

Be patient with my agitation. Nothing feels secure in my world. Get comfortable with my crying. Sadness hits me in waves, and I never know when my tears may flow. Just sit with me in silence and hold my hand.

Don't abandon me with the excuse that you don't want to upset me. You can't catch my grief. My world is painful, and when you are too afraid to call me or visit or say anything, you isolate me at a time when I most need to be cared about. If you don't know what to say, just come over, give me a hug or touch my arm, and gently say, "I'm sorry." You can even say, "I just don't know what to say, but I care, and want you to know that."

Just because I look good does not mean that I feel good. Ask me how I feel only if you really have time to find out.

I am not strong. I'm just numb. When you tell me I am strong, I feel that you don't see me. I will not recover. This is not a cold or the flu. I'm not sick. I'm grieving and that's different. My grieving may only begin 6 months after my loved one's death. Don't think that I will be over it in a year. For I am not only grieving her death, but also the person I was when I was with her, the life that we shared, the plans we had for our children , the places we will never get to go together, and the hopes and dreams that will never come true. My whole world has crumbled and I will never be the same.

I will not always be grieving as intensely, but I will never forget my loved one and rather than recover, I want to incorporate her life and love into the rest of my life. She is a part of me and always will be, and sometimes I will remember her with joy and other times with a tear. Both are okay.

I don't have to accept the death. Yes, I have to understand that it has happened and it is real, but there are some things in life that are just not acceptable. When you tell me what I should be doing, then I feel even more lost and alone. I feel badly enough that my loved one is dead, so please don't make it worse by telling me I'm not doing this right.

Please don't tell me I can find someone else or that I need to start dating again. I'm not ready. And maybe I don't want to. And besides, what makes you think people are replaceable? They aren't. Whoever comes after will always be someone different.

I don't even understand what you mean when you say, "You've got to get on with your life." My life is going on, I've been forced to take on many new responsibilities and roles. It may not look the way you think it should. This will take time and I will never be my old self again. So please, just love me as I am today, and know that with your love and support, the joy will slowly return to my life. But I will never forget and there will always be times that I cry.

I need to know that you care about me. I need to feel your touch, your hugs. I need you just to be with me, and I need to be with you. I need to know you believe in me and in my ability to get through my grief in my own way, and in my own time.

Please don't say, "Call me if you need anything." I'll never call you because I have no idea what I need. Trying to figure out what you could do for me takes more energy than I have. So, in advance, let me give you some ideas:

(a) Bring food or a movie over to watch together.

(b) Send me a card on special holidays, her birthday, and the anniversary of her death, and be sure to mention her name. You can't make me cry. The tears are here and I will love you for giving me the
opportunity to shed them because someone cared enough about me to reach out on this difficult day.

(c) Ask me more than once to join you at a movie or lunch or dinner. I may say no at first or even for a while, but please don't give up on me because somewhere down the line, I may be ready, and if you've given up then I really will be alone.

(d) Understand how difficult it is for me to be surrounded by couples, to walk into events alone, to feel out of place in the same situations where I used to feel so comfortable.

Please don't judge me now - or think that I'm behaving strangely. Remember I'm grieving. I may even be in shock. I am afraid. I may feel deep rage. I may even feel guilty. But above all, I hurt. I'm experiencing a pain unlike any I've ever felt before and one that can't be imagined by anyone who has not walked in my shoes.

Don't worry if you think I'm getting better and then suddenly I seem to slip backward. Grief makes me behave this way at times. And please don't tell me you know how I feel, or that it's time for me to get on with my life. What I need now is time to grieve. Most of all thank you for being my friend. Thank you for your patience.

Thank you for caring. Thank you for helping, for understanding.

And remember in the days or years ahead, after your loss - when you need me as I have needed you - I will understand. And then I will come and be with you.

Quit chasing the sunset

I've been feeling very tired the past week and somewhat lost. I couldn't figure out why. Tonight while reading the book A Grace Disguised (a neighbor who lost his wife to cancer gave me the book) I've finally figured out why. The author of A Grace Disguised lost his mother, his wife, and his 4 year old daughter in a horrible car accident. That kind of loss is unimaginable to me.  He survived the crash with his 3 other children.  In one terrible moment, he became a parent less child, a widower, a single parent, and a parent who lost a child. 

He explains that we never recover from loss. I will never recover. I am an amputee. I will never have my life back.  It's gone forever. Life will never be good again, because the life that I deemed "good" is gone forever.  I need to let go of that definition of a "good life" because I am defining it with what was, not what is.  

He also talks about chasing the setting sun, frantically running west, trying desperately to catch it and remain in it's fiery warmth and light. But he was losing the race. The sun was beating him to the horizon and was soon gone. He suddenly found himself in the twilight. Exhausted, he stopped running and glanced with foreboding over his shoulder to the east. He saw vast darkness closing in on him. He was terrified by that darkness.  He wanted to keep running after the sun, though he knew that it was futile, for it had already proven itself faster than he was. So he lost all hope, collapsed to the ground and fell into despair. He thought at that moment that he would live in darkness forever. He felt absolute terror in his soul.

Later he realized that the quickest way for anyone to reach the warmth and light of the sun is not to run west, chasing after the setting sun, but to head east, plunging into the darkness until one comes upon the inevitable sunrise. 

I think this is why I am so tired. I've been running towards the setting sun and I'm exhausted. I need to turn around and head into the darkness. Because that is the only way I will find the warmth and light again.  I think there is great wisdom in this lesson.  Only time will tell.