I’m back east with my family; one of my sister’s, her husband and kids, my mom and her husband (both widows) and my aunt and uncle. Cousins, another aunt, a step sister and her husband will arrive tomorrow.
Tonight I saw it on them.
In their eyes. In the way they looked at me.
I saw their grief.
Other people dealing with the loss of…. my husband.
Other people…. missing him.
Other people… tearing up over him.
Other people’s grief.
Before today, I had not noticed.
My grief was a full time job, that seems to have, a few months ago, turned into a part time position with some harrowing, surprising “breaks.”
I see that they are not used to seeing me without him.
I hear about how they catch themselves.
“We’re going to see Kim and…..” sigh.
I hear “For a while, I lost faith in God. I stopped praying after he died.”
Other people’s grief.
They miss him too. They think about him too. They shake their heads in disbelief. They wish it happened … not me.
And their grief pains me. I want to make it go way. Those sighs, those eyes, that moment of silence. I want to make their hearts happy and fill them with light.
And I think I’m looking into a mirror.
I think about those people and so many others who miss Art…still. Who cry that he is no longer here, who stopped believing in God for a little while when he died, who can’t understand how this could happen.
And I think about those people and all the others who have watched me: hollowed eyed, confused, overwhelmed, frightened and came to witness my grief even though all they wanted to do was to suck it from me with a giant titanium straw.
I cry. Not for myself. Not for Art.
But for those people and all the others who still miss him. For those people and all the others who still talk about him, who go to call him and then remember…
I cry because I see their grief and
it
pains
me
almost wild with helplessness.
Just as my grief must have (does) pain them.
I am humbled by those people and all the others who are still here, after witnessing such pain, they are still here.
My family and
all those other people
are my family.
I love you.
You are the reason I know there is a God.
Everybody dies. Some die in utero, some when they're a few days old, some when they're 111 years old. Most of the rest of the rest of us fall somewhere along that line. God has nothing to do with it. ARt lived exactly as long as he was going to, not a day more, not a day less. It is the same for everybody.
ReplyDelete