CS Lewis said that "No one ever told me that grief was so much like fear."
On dealing with the death of his wife, Lewis was overcome with a grief that shrouded his mind for a long time. He spent a great deal of mental and spiritual effort to work through his grief. He did not need to live with it very long as he followed his wife into eternal rest three years later.
For me, the biggest loss I've had so far in my life has been my mom. Those weeks and months of her hospitalization had been filled with fear and sadness. After her passing, only the sadness remained. Oddly, there was a calming sense of relief. It was a very strange feeling, but I think I understand it. One the thing I had feared came to pass, there was no longer anything to be afraid of. All we had to do was process the loss we endured.
For weeks and months later, I would describe to people what I would call "sadness attacks." It is the best way I can describe it. They similar to people having panic attacks, where the overwhelming feeling comes out of nowhere and takes over your emotions. I would be doing something simple like wrapping some leftovers in foil, and I would remember how the first time my mom made me a school lunch it was KFC wrapped in foil. As innocuous as these memories seem, it only reinforced that this person whom I loved and loved me was no longer here. And then the sadness would come.
It has been over two years since her passing. And time does do a great deal to heal. Yet every once and a while, I will remember and my heart will ache. Just recently, there was an episode of the TV show The Goldbergs that aired where the dad wanted to do something special for his sons. So he bought them Wrestlemania tickets even though he hated wrestling. I've written before about how one of my favorite memories with my mom was when she took me to see Wrestlemania III even though she hated it. Watching the show I got oddly emotional.
I share all of this not to complain. With all of life's challenges, I am still incredibly blessed and happy. And yet this grief has become a constant, though not debilitating, part of my life.
Hitting middle age, you lose people from your life. I've lost relatives and friends. And I will lose more. There are those for whom the loss is felt, but does not persist. I had a very close friend named Scott from grade school. I remember for my third grade birthday, my parents took me out and only allowed me to bring one friend and it was Scott. We were close all the way through junior high. We went to different high schools and lost touch. He hooked up with a bad crowd and his life ended way too early. When I found out about Scott, I was incredibly sad. But even now as I think back, the feeling is more akin to pity than to grief.
I think this is because Scott had not been a part of my life for so long. I am sorry for his loss and he is missed. But the loss of someone like my mom feels more akin to a piece of who I am being torn from me. When people lose limbs, they often experience phantom pain, which is the feeling of pain coming from a body part that isn't there. There is a phantom pain in my heart for the piece that is missing that was my mom.
And here's the thing: I don't want this pain to go away.
I think that if ever I completely "get over" my mother's death, it would be a loss for my soul. This doesn't mean that I shouldn't go on with life and enjoy the days ahead. But if I ever come to a place where I don't miss her, then I know I've come to a place where my love for her has diminished. And I don't want that. My wife will sometimes feel the same way about my mom's loss and it will bring her to tears. As much as I hate to see her cry, it fills my heart with great relief to know that other people still miss my mom. She was that important and that loved. And that loss is in proportion to that love.
One of my greatest fears in this world is the loss of my wife. As the years march on, I know that the day of our separation is getting closer. In this mortal world, there is no avoiding it. That's the deal. If she should leave before me, I could not imagine the hole that it would tear in my life. It is such a loss that I don't know how much of me would be left.
And yet, by the grace of God, I know He can bring healing, especially over time. But there would never be a time where I wouldn't want to feel the loss of her. There would never be a time when I would ever want to not miss her. Even in our life now, when I am not with her, I miss her every moment. That ache in my heart reminds me of the place she has there. It is as if her place has been reserved for her and no one else. And without her, it is empty.
That is how I now feel about my mom. But I know that the vacancy is only temporary. The rooms are closed, but not shut up and shuttered. We will be reunited one day and all of that emptiness will be filled.
Until then, I want my sadness to be like a candle in the window: a sign that the place in my heart for her and those I've loved is still here. I have not forgotten. And because I have not forgotten, even though they are not here, they are still a part of me until the day I die. In that way, their memory has not left this world.
And for that reason, I am happy that I am still sad.
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