I do not know how many people die per day. I do not know how many funerals
there are per day. I do not know if more people die from natural causes than at
the hands of themselves or someone else or random acts.
I do know that there was at least one funeral held today for a man I did not
know. I may not have known him, but I know his wife,
and I have met his children, and through
them, I know he must have been someone worth knowing.
His wife was not someone I know well. I see her once a year at our annual
Pollyanna party and maybe one or two other times at a block party or some other
such event. One time I accidentally sat in the same row as her at a Pink
concert. Random, I know.
Since I learned of her husband's passing last week, I have not been able to
stop thinking of them. Of the kids who will grow up without their dad and the
wife who no longer has her partner by her side. How utterly unfair.
You would think that I would be familiar with grief by now. I know the agony
of empty arms and unfulfilled dreams. I know the longing in my soul that
sometimes makes something has simple as breathing seem like a chore. And yet,
while I know how to grieve and miss and yearn for my daughter who died before
she had a chance to be born, I can't wrap my head around this family's grief.
The empty spot at the table. The quietness
of his absence.
Shortly after Allie died, Gary told me he wished he heard her cry just once.
Not me, I said rather harshly. If I heard her voice, I would have wanted more.
I am the type who always wants more.
My uncle died when he was in his early forties. He also left behind two
young children and a devastated wife. Maybe I am comparing my memory of what it
was like to lose him and transposing it onto this family. Could be.
Death is so final. So abrupt. There is so much left unsaid and
undone.
Maybe people say that death makes you stronger. I would rather be weak and
have my daughter here than be strong and live a life without her. I imagine my
friend feels the same way about her husband.
I am at a loss to help this woman that I barely know. So I turned to my
writing to see if it could ground me. In a way it has. Writing down how loss
does not define us feels good. It feels like I am doing something instead of
just being sad.
Somehow, in grief, we make it through. The hours turn to days and the days
turn to weeks and then it's a month or two or three,
and you have survived without that person. You feel guilty when you laugh or
do not think about your loss every second of every day. Time does not heal, but
time allows your heart to feel other emotions again.
Make it count. All of it. You never
know when the chance you have could be the last chance you had. Do your best to survive the sadness. It's all you can do.
Beautifully written and oh so true!
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