From them.
And.
From you.
“Only those who had good marriages can truly know grief,” the man said with confidence.
Don’t worry. I corrected him.
With kindness.
Patience.
And, most importantly, knowledge.
“I don’t feel like I can relate. Everyone else had a fairytale marriage. My marriage was not a fairytale.”
I hear it so often.
From strangers.
From clients.
And, yes, from friends.
Widows and widowers who hide behind the shadows.
Widows and widowers who read the blogs, the books and the Facebook posts.
Widowers and widowers who question their place.
Their place in our community.
Widows and widowers who question their love.
And their grief.
I know that there is a textbook definition for complicated grief.
Although, if I am being honest, I don’t know what that textbook definition is.
Abuse. Betrayal. Infidelity. Suicide.
These, to me, represent complicated grief.
And complicated grief, to me, is a topic that needs to be discussed.
Respected.
And understood.
My wife died.
From a one in seven billion cancer.
At the age of thirty.
Diagnosed with the disease at the age of 27.
Just as we found our way back to each other.
After eight long years apart.
Just as we both found happiness.
After a lifetime of searching for it.
My story is not a fairytale; despite what some might think.
It is a tragic love story.
A tragic love story in which I lost the only woman I have ever loved.
A tragic love story in which my pain was so deep, and my despair was so profound, that I planned to join her.
Witnessing her die a slow death.
The images of her two and a half year cancer battle are seared into my memory bank.
For the rest of time.
The loss of the most amazing human I have ever known.
It broke my heart.
And it shattered my soul.
But as devastating as my loss was, for as tragically beautiful as our love story might me – my grief is somewhat simplistic.
I love my wife.
I miss my wife.
And I carry her love and memory with me every day, as I attempt to rebuild.
My grief, for as intense as it was and can still be, is not overly complicated.
…..
I do not wake up at 8:00am with fear.
Fear that my spouse, who is now dead, may be in the other room.
Fear that today will bring another day of physical abuse.
For something that I “did wrong.”
…..
I do not have visions at noon.
Visions of the person who was supposed to be mine and only mine.
Stepping outside of our marriage.
And questioning myself, as to why I was not good enough.
The rage and self-doubt so overwhelming that it feels as though you are choking on it.
…..
I do not cry in the evening.
Because, after a day of feeling as though I hate my spouse, I suddenly miss them.
And even with the abuse or infidelity that took place fresh in my mind, I would do anything to have them back.
Even if only for a moment.
…..
I do not breathe a sigh of relief an hour later.
That they are gone.
And will never be able to hurt me again.
…..
I do not feel the guilt that comes with that relief.
A combination of emotions so wide ranging that you begin to question your own sanity.
…..
I do not go to bed sad. And angry. All at once.
For all the damage that their actions, behaviors and decisions have done to me.
As the realization comes to, that even though they are gone, the damage still impacts me today.
…..
It impacts your mind.
Your heart.
Your body.
And your soul.
…..
I do not sit, and stew, as I wonder what drove them to take their own life.
Going back and forth between blaming them and yourself.
Reliving every possible sign of their depression.
Questioning if somehow it was your fault.
…..
I love my wife, so much.
I miss my wife, so much.
I mourn my wife, so much.
But if grief from a healthy marriage has the ability to make us feel bipolar, grief from a relationship that saw abuse, betrayal, infidelity or suicide has the ability to make those left behind feel bipolar times 50,000.
Moments of fear and regret, followed swiftly by moments of relief.
Moments of love and remorse, taken over in an instant by feelings of intense anger.
I know some of you may be thinking, “Who is he to tell me this?”
You question my story.
You question how I, of all people, can speak to complicated grief.
I have seen it.
I have lived thirty-three years surrounded by abuse, and infidelity.
I have lived thirty-three years surrounded by mental illness, and suicide.
I have seen it in the faces of my friends.
And in the voices of my clients.
I have seen it in those that I have just met.
And in those that I have known for years.
My message, to all of those who had a than an ideal marriage, is this:
Your grief, is every bit as valid mine.
Your pain, is every bit as valid as those who had a good, or even great, marriage.
Your changing moods, thoughts and emotions – are not only acceptable, but normal.
And to be expected.
You do not need to run from your truth.
You do not need to hide in the shadows.
You do not need to feel as though you do not belong.
So many share your story.
So many have a similar truth.
…..
WHAT. HAPPENED. TO. YOU. WAS. NOT. YOUR. FAULT.
…..
YOU. ARE. WORTHY.
…..
And while the truth is the pain from what you have experienced will always be there.
There is a way to move forward.
…..
A way to move forward so that the pain walks along side of you every day.
…..
Instead of in front of you.
…..
The world may see you as a victim.
…..
But I see you.
…..
As a survivor.
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