On grief, …. You’ve described it perfectly. The pain of the loss and the hovering loneliness never leave. You just get used to them, After my husband died, some friends allowed me what they considered “enough:” time before I returned to what they considered “over it.” When I didn’t, they cut me off. But other people, whom I barely knew, came to my rescue and have become friends as close as family. I have no idea what I would have done without them, the loss of a spouse is not only the end of a married life and love; it is also the loss of a social life, of a lifestyle, plans, hopes, security and of self identity. It is terrifying. It is chaos. It is despair. It is confusion. I have been enormously lucky in having been found by my new friends who have never known me as one half of a couple, but who accept me as just “me.” And, there are many longer friendships that have survived and have kept me going. For those new and :older” friendships, I am grateful.
I’m not sure I agree with your statement that “grief is a mature emotion, not fully experienced by a child”. A child’s experience of grief is different to an adult's but no less intense. Losing a parent as a child can lead to lifelong trauma.
My father died when I was two years old. Unlike most 1950s fathers, he actively cared for me, changed nappies, fed, bathed me, etc. I don’t remember being told he’d died, but pictures of me before and after the event show a transition from a happy, smiling child to one who was always frowning and cranky.
But I think that whatever I felt then resurfaced when my first cat, Tony, died. I was eight years old, and I found his body in the backyard. I cried so hard and for so long that I made myself sick and was in bed for three days. I recall my unsympathetic mother muttering to my great aunt that I was "seriously wrong in the head" to react that way over a cat. It was only as an adult that I realised what I experienced may have been years of unexpressed grief finding an outlet.
A couple of years after that, my beloved budgie, Alfie, died as I cradled him. I still tear up at the memory and cannot listen to the song “Bright Eyes”. Those words “How can the light that burned so brightly, suddenly burn so pale?” have a more significant meaning when you have seen it happen in a being you love.
I lost a school friend when I was eleven, a cousin when I was fourteen, and then various friends and family over my adult years, culminating with my mother when I was 48. The grief I felt as an adult was no more intense than that I felt as a child.
On grief, …. You’ve described it perfectly. The pain of the loss and the hovering loneliness never leave. You just get used to them, After my husband died, some friends allowed me what they considered “enough:” time before I returned to what they considered “over it.” When I didn’t, they cut me off. But other people, whom I barely knew, came to my rescue and have become friends as close as family. I have no idea what I would have done without them, the loss of a spouse is not only the end of a married life and love; it is also the loss of a social life, of a lifestyle, plans, hopes, security and of self identity. It is terrifying. It is chaos. It is despair. It is confusion. I have been enormously lucky in having been found by my new friends who have never known me as one half of a couple, but who accept me as just “me.” And, there are many longer friendships that have survived and have kept me going. For those new and :older” friendships, I am grateful.
I’m not sure I agree with your statement that “grief is a mature emotion, not fully experienced by a child”. A child’s experience of grief is different to an adult's but no less intense. Losing a parent as a child can lead to lifelong trauma.
My father died when I was two years old. Unlike most 1950s fathers, he actively cared for me, changed nappies, fed, bathed me, etc. I don’t remember being told he’d died, but pictures of me before and after the event show a transition from a happy, smiling child to one who was always frowning and cranky.
But I think that whatever I felt then resurfaced when my first cat, Tony, died. I was eight years old, and I found his body in the backyard. I cried so hard and for so long that I made myself sick and was in bed for three days. I recall my unsympathetic mother muttering to my great aunt that I was "seriously wrong in the head" to react that way over a cat. It was only as an adult that I realised what I experienced may have been years of unexpressed grief finding an outlet.
A couple of years after that, my beloved budgie, Alfie, died as I cradled him. I still tear up at the memory and cannot listen to the song “Bright Eyes”. Those words “How can the light that burned so brightly, suddenly burn so pale?” have a more significant meaning when you have seen it happen in a being you love.
I lost a school friend when I was eleven, a cousin when I was fourteen, and then various friends and family over my adult years, culminating with my mother when I was 48. The grief I felt as an adult was no more intense than that I felt as a child.
Every week I am continually amazed at these insightful observations about the endgame.
wonderrful essay. thank you. pat
thank-you