Often in our support group meetings, I have shared that one day our pain grows softer, and as I look around the circle of new or fairly new attendees, I see the looks of absolute disbelief on their faces. I believe most of us who are grieving the death of a loved one, whether a child, sibling, spouse, parent, friend, or other family member, have a very hard time with accepting, and often allowing, that the pain will grow softer one day. It seems to us that if it does grow softer our love is weaker. I can tell you that never happens and our loved ones would want a softening of our pain for us. They would want us to one day rebuild our lives in our “new normal” state and to not suffer as agonizingly as in the beginning…
If anyone had told me in the first years, though, after my son, Brian’s death to a homicide, when he was at the receiving end of two bullets from a robber hell-bent on getting his wallet, that one day I would feel joy again I would have laughed in their face, claiming NEVER!
Actually, now, many years later, I am grateful for the softer pain and returning joy. If it still all consumed as horrifically as it did in the first few years, I could not have stood it. It would have literally killed me. Mercifully, though, as time passed it did soften. No, it did not ever leave, nor did I ever stop missing my son and I will never get over his loss. Instead, I have gotten on with it. It is incorporated into my new life, always a part of me just not fully engulfing me as in the beginning. As we have a measure of healing (we never fully recover) the joy comes in again; that first laugh that catches us off guard, the birth of a new family member/grandchild, a wedding, or graduation. Yes, each event is bittersweet, always over-shadowed by who no longer is able to share the events with us, but we can control the focus on the bitter or be grateful for the sweet.
As much time passed instead of the fresh, raw, bleeding pain in my heart, healing began to form protective layers over my open wound. With more time, more grief work, more acceptance, and many journey gentlers in my life the layers increased, allowing even more protection and the wound finally began to stop seeping. As it stopped seeping, a softening of my pain replaced the rawness of that fresh and open wound. It will happen but not real soon. It takes a lot of time, work, and many steps both forward and back.
The softening of my pain did not however, at any time soften my love. Nothing can ever take away from the love my son and I shared -and still share- as nothing can take that away from you, those who share the same painful loss. Embrace that softening of the pain that will one day come to you. It must. Or we would simply wither up and die from that open wound in our hearts. As you embrace the softening, the love actually becomes stronger. Nothing, not even death, can ever take away the love… As our wonderful Darcie Sims always says, “May love be what you remember most.”
“Sorrow comes in great waves … but it rolls over us and though it may almost smother us it leaves us. And we know that if it is strong, we are stronger, inasmuch as it passes, and we remain.” Attributed to Henry James.
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This is beautifully written and so absolutely true to me. I also had to give my 23 year old son back, way too soon. Although it will be 13 years this October, it doesn’t seem possible that I am still here without him. The heartache never goes away.