There is nobody to share it with because nobody else understands my grief. Many can empathize because they are going through their own grief. But your grief is your grief to deal with and while we can all commiserate with each other, you know your grief and I know my grief.
I might be perceived as a grieving widow. The assumption is she’s fine and is doing well. Nobody understands my grief.
I get up every day (thank you, God) and (mostly) do the things that need to get done but it is a struggle – every single day. Nobody understands my grief.
Don’t feel sorry for me because this is my grief. This is my pain and I will gladly suffer grief because I have seen what physical and emotional pain does to a person. I watched it for 4 years with my sick husband. Oh how strong and courageous he was … You don’t know courage; so much can be said for what we choose to show the world. He was never a dramatic person so why bring drama into the mix? Nobody wants to talk or hear about the downside of cancer. It’s not death people – death is a welcome end to the misery.
My grief isn’t just the loss of my husband – it is all those 1,506 days from the very first phone call that there was a problem with his health. The tests kept us busy and then the diagnosis – we both died a little that day and the grief began.
Grief is about who was there and who wasn’t there and figuring out in your mind how to forgive those that weren’t.
When you have taken care of someone for so long, and watching the horrors of what the mind and body goes through in a slow, methodical death, you don’t ever get to forget that and over time, it becomes more prominent in your mind than when you were going through it. I am not just talking about physical pain.
I would not expect anyone to understand my grief, it would be impossible because there was not a single person who lived with that man and intimately saw what I saw. So much was not for public consumption. Nobody understands my grief.
Have I lost all of my marbles? It’s possible that during those 1,506 days I lost many things. It is now, nearly 14 months post death that I am starting to understand my grief. It is not just the death it is the hours, moments and days in between diagnosis and death compounded by the insurmountable sadness felt at being alone.
I know I have a support system. I have people who care and so many people who are going through something so similar, but completely different.
This is a process, I know. The many stages of grief described have not been applicable in my case. One could not possibly understand my grief because there was no greater love than the love that we shared together, in sickness and in health. This is my grief.