4 years
I can’t believe it’s been 4 whole years. Some things hurt just as much as they did 1,460 days ago. Some things have found a place of peaceful healing since then.
I can say that not a single day has passed that I didn’t think about Brandon.
Sometimes it’s a quick passing moment that I’m reminded of him when a silver Jeep passes by, I see a bag of Haribo gummy bears, or the clock reads 8:22. I smile for a moment, warmed by the memory, and then I’m on to the next thing that has my attention.
Sometimes I sink into the depths of the reality of loss. I find myself crying it out when Pink’s song “Who Knew” plays on the radio. My ordinary moment temporarily transformed to a mourning moment, and just as quickly brought back to ordinary by the next upbeat song.
Sometimes I even intentionally blast my “grief” playlist, allowing the words and music to draw out my tears and release the feelings bottled up inside.
Then there are the moments that happen unexpectedly taking my breath away. Snuggling the other night when putting Aria to bed, her head on my chest, she noticed my heart beat, and asked me to listen to hers. I laid my ear to her chest and suddenly I was transported back to 4 years ago, my ear to Brandon’s chest. The moment of pure blind hope thinking his heartbeat came back, only to realize it was just my own echoing in my ear against his now eerily quiet body.
Sometimes these moments warm my heart knowing that consciously and unconsciously his memory is still alive. Sometimes they are like a punch right in the heart making everything spin wildly around me. But in either circumstance and all the ones in between I continue to be somewhat surprised that this is how it is for me 4 years later.
Being a facilitator and participant in the Young & Widowed group I created has taught me so much about grief and loss. One of the most impactful truths I’ve found is that there is so much in common with those who walk this shitty path, yet every response we have is incredibly complex and unique to each of us.
The struggle to truly incorporate loss into life is difficult. I don’t want to be a part of the living dead, burying all of myself with him. I still have a life to live, and I only get one, and it can be taken from me at any moment.
And I also don’t want to leave behind 10 incredibly impactful years of my life shared with someone. Someone who became a part of me, who influenced and shaped me, and is a part of my history, which will never change.
So I have to find that place between the two that makes sense. A place where two loves can be in harmony, a unique struggle for widows. There is no “replacement”, and love does not “cure” loss. All the while trying to wholeheartedly embrace the excitement of happiness and love for another. It truly is complex and challenging.
So 4 years later, what can I conclude about this widowed experience? Well, year 1, 2, 3 and 4 all suck in different ways. There are new challenges in each part of this experience. It doesn’t ever go away, and I guess I shouldn’t expect it to, grief is love. Brandon and I had no reason to stop loving each other, so it’s my tribute to the commitment we made.
But I can say I’ve come so far. I have a lot of joy and happiness and hope in my life. And that’s truly an accomplishment.
