On July 30, I put my thoughts on “paper” via this blog as to how I was feeling exactly six months after Claire passed away. It was an exercise suggested by someone that thought putting your feelings in writing would help you deal with a difficult situation like grief.
I did that — and — it honestly wasn’t much help. But I said that in another six months I would sit down and put my feelings on paper again…. and then compare it to what I wrote six months ago. At the time I expressed hope that what I am about to write today would show some progress on my journey through this thing that is apparently called grief.
But before I start, these are my words to Claire today — you can read it or skip over it. I don’t mind you reading it, but it’s for Claire…. the light of my life and the accumulation of all the good that ever happened to me.
Menoi,
I think about you all the time. My memories of you are as vivid as ever — like pictures frozen in time. I remember your eyes and the way they would sparkle when you were happy and sometimes darken with the weight of your worries. And I loved to hear you laugh — your laugh was infectious. I remember how you could always change the mood with just your look.
I remember the feel of your body against me — the comfort in the way we fit together. I remember holding you and how you would sigh with contentment, and I knew that in those moments, everything was right in our world. Your touch always gave me a sense of calm and belonging I’ve never found anywhere else.
I always loved your smile and how your eyes would light up when you made me laugh. Sometimes it seemed like making me happy was all you ever wanted, and you were good at it — very, very good at it — you made me feel loved and wanted.
I’m not sure I remember everything, but I remember a lot and I hold on to those memories dearly, because that’s what I’ve got left now. I never imagined I would have to live without you. You’re certainly still with me, right here in my heart, in all those memories. It’s not the same, but it carries me through.
I often just looked at you and was always amazed that someone like you could love me. I tried to tell you how much I loved you often, and when I did, your smile was like sunshine on a cloudy day — it truly lit up the room. I miss seeing that smile every morning — no matter how bad the day, your smile could fix it.
I miss you when something good happens, because you’re the one I want to share it with. I miss you when something is troubling me, because you’re the one that understood and made me feel better, but I miss you most when I lay awake at night and think of all the wonderful times we spent together.
I told you I’d love you always and forever — and I meant it. That promise didn’t end when you left. You may not be here physically, but you are always with me in spirit. In my heart, we are still together, just like we always were. Just like the words in that song that made me cry at your funeral….. “and everywhere I am, there you’ll be.”
There’s an emptiness in my life without you that can never be filled, but I carry you with me in my thoughts, in my memories and in the love for you that will always live within me — I try to tell myself you aren’t truly gone.
You are forever in my heart.
Ok — so where do I stand today and what have I learned in the past year?
Losing Claire literally changed every single thing in my world. The way I eat changed, the way I watch TV changed, my circle of friends changed (or disappeared entirely.) My family dynamic changed, my financial status changed. I have re-evaluated my self worth and my confidence. The way I breathe changed, my mentality and my brain function changed. My sense of humor changed… every — single — thing changed.
I was handed a new life that I never asked for and I don’t want.
Throughout the year people have told me I’d get “better,” and that in time I’d “recover.” As expected, that sounded ridiculous to me. If you look up recovery in the dictionary, it means to return to a normal state of health, mind, or strength. I read that to mean to regain what was lost, or to be compensated for what was taken. Well, here’s the problem… things are not going to just go back to normal. There’s been a big hole torn in my life, and no matter what happens next, it won’t compensate for that hole. Claire can’t come back. That loss can’t be regained. So by the dictionary definition, there is absolutely no point that I will “recover” from her loss. Now if there is no “healing” in terms of being as good as new and I can’t “recover,” what do I do?
That, of course, is my real problem — how do I find ways to live with my loss. I can’t fix that hole — how do I build my life around the edge of it?
I don’t think you overcome grief — you learn to live along side of it — and you learn to survive.
What did the last year teach me?
That time doesn’t heal.
That you don’t lose someone once — you lose them every day….probably for a lifetime.
There really is nothing lonelier than outliving someone you love.
I think I’ve learned that suffering doesn’t make you stronger, or build character — it just hurts.
Life can be very cruel.
I’ve learned who my friends are.
Someone telling me that I’ll never be given more than I can handle doesn’t make me feel any better.
I guess apparently the body doesn’t run out of tears.
A heart can break.
Not everything happens for a reason.
I have no time for bullshit.
You don’t die from grief — I wish you did.
Grief is kind of like when your entire world falls apart and no one else’s life changes.
But the most important thing I’ve learned about grief is that it’s a long hard road with no end — and, it’s relentless.
— 30 —