The Relentless Grief

As I write this, it’s been 196 days since my husband’s death. It still feels like he just died. There has been no break in the grieving process. It’s relentless. I don’t like euphemisms that call what happened anything other than “death”, “died”, or “dead.” He “passed” or “went home” minimizes the stark reality of his endless absence. There is no way to soften it. Any attempt to do so doesn’t lessen the grief and sometimes makes me angry. Just call it what it is. 

I tell myself people mean well and that there is an awkwardness, a not knowing how to speak to me of his death. I can’t fault people for that. Unless a person’s spouse has died, they cannot begin to understand. And even then, they cannot truly comprehend my grief, nor I theirs. The grief process is unique to everyone. No one can tell me how to grieve, how long to grieve, or when and how to show grief. I have intentionally distanced myself from people in my life who are toxic to the process with their platitudes, or worse, impatient expectations. I have to in order to survive, and hopefully heal as much as is possible living without my husband.

 I know this with absolute certainty: I will never be the same. My life is forever changed. How it will all play out, I don’t know. But I am required to get up each day and face his absence, sleep in a half-empty bed, and live in a solitude I wasn’t prepared for even though I knew his death was imminent. Death is a shock whenever it comes. The heart and soul are never ready for the death of a loved one. There is no escaping this grief. It just is.