Truly, I have little in the way of humour to offer you on the subject of mourning – it’s a shitty feeling, and doesn’t really have much going for it if I’m honest. I appreciate it sounds bizarre, but in so many ways I consider myself deeply fortunate to have reached my mid-50’s without experiencing the wretched feelings of loss, grief, and deep, overwhelming sadness. The sense of longing, of utter helplessness, and just desperate heartbreak is something I would happily avoid for the rest of my days.
However, the scars that remain are a testament to the love felt. And if the scar is deep, then so was the love. Eventually scars heal, and what remains is evidence that you were able to love, that you can heal, and that you can continue to live.
This is what I’ve discovered –
- I’ve discovered how isolating the feelings of sorrow are
- I’ve discovered the world doesn’t stop spinning just because your heart has been smashed and there’s a hole in your soul a mile wide
- I’ve discovered feelings of absolute rage towards the injustice of lives that continue around you, while yours has crashed spectacularly and wiped you out
- I’ve discovered the intense pain you experience through yearning for the impossible
- I’ve discovered how differently we each experience grief
- I’ve discovered it has to be got through, it CAN NOT be got around
- I’ve discovered the snot-filled, tear-stained look is not one I can pull off with any great success
- I’ve discovered how deeply insensitive people can be, particularly when they don’t know what to say
- I’ve discovered the British are complete fuckwits when it comes to death
- I’ve discovered many distant friends and colleagues have no idea of the difference between rest in peace and rest in piece
- I’ve discovered I can laugh once more ……