Lesson From A Love Lost

If you read this blog regularly, you may be tired of hearing about my grief.

I am tired of living it.

The waves of pain and overwhelming sadness and fear overcome me for reasons both known and unknown.

Since the death of Lorena, my love, I have mostly stayed at home. For good reason.

The two public events I have attended since Lorena passed away, both birthday parties, were unmitigated disasters, if only because weeping openly at a birthday party doesn’t further the celebratory vibe. I tried to turn my back to the crowd so the people wouldn’t see me cry, but they saw anyway.

Having friends over to my home has netted no better results. I know they are helpless to change my experience, or my feelings, and they know it, too. The discomfort on both sides of the table is palpable, especially as the tears flow, but the words do not.

And so, for the good of my friends and the general public, I mostly remain in my home, the one I bought to live in with the most kind, gentle, and beautiful woman I have ever known.

Less than a month after we moved in she died, and with her every hope, expectation, belief, and plan that I had for the rest of my life, and our lives, died too.

How does one deal with that?

It is obvious to any observer that I don’t know the answer to that question. I’m just trying to live through the savageness of it all, one day at a time.

And so this piece is not about how to deal with grief, because I haven’t been able to deal with it and sense I will never overcome my grief, but rather fight a slow retreat. Grief is more than sadness, much more, because of our ability to project into a future without the object of our love and affection.

And so, this offering is, instead, what I have learned about life and how I would do it differently all over again after experiencing six weeks of grief.

The most important lesson I have learned is to never assume there will be a tomorrow, at least not one in which you and your lover, friends, and family will exist. “Life is fragile” is not a throw away line. Life is fragile and can, and often does, end suddenly and unexpectedly.

And what should one do with that knowledge?

This: Speak to your loved ones as if today was the last day you will ever see or speak to them.

Try it.

Really.

For just one day.

With your wife, husband, or life partner.

Each time you are about to leave, or finish a phone or text communication, ask yourself, “Is this the way I would end this conversation if I believed I would never see her (or him) again?

Let me help you. The truthful answer is almost always, “No.”

Why? Because we believe we will have another shot at it.

We believe we have more time.

The words, or tenor, of the last conversation won’t stop the sadness and pain of losing someone you love intensely or the grief that comes with knowing they were deprived of precious years, that you were deprived of them, and that you were both deprived of a life together.

No, the last communication won’t change that.

But you can avoid the remorse, regret, and guilt for something you said, or left unsaid, in that terminal conversation.

Not only something uttered in anger or impatience, but something said automatically like, “Love you, honey. See you later.”

Sounds OK, and it is OK, as long as honey lives long enough to be with you again. But it is not good enough, not even close to good enough, if honey dies before you can talk to him or her again.

So, for one day, set aside any pre-baked conceptions of time and humanity. Close the momentary cool space between you and the most important person in your life and conclude every parting conversation with a sincere look into his eyes, or take her face into your hands and express sincere care, compassion, concern, and love.

Yes, I know that the odds are overwhelming you will see her, or him, again. And I also know that statistics won’t matter on the day she is no longer there and you regret not saying what you wish you would have said in a way you wished you would have said it.

So, I humbly suggest that you do yourself, and your most valued loved one, a favor. End every conversation knowing that it may be the last time you ever speak to him or her.

And, if you’re wrong, and your love shows up just as planned, what then?

Worst case is you both will be better for it, and feel more loving and loved, for having said it, and having heard it.

Selah.

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