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Saturday, January 14, 2012

A Grief Revisited...Defining Surrealism

I started this blog in an effort to share my experience with grief...hoping, praying, that someone, somewhere, would read my story... and find some form of comfort and hope in them. This blog quickly and unexpectedly evolved into so much more than that and I can't imagine ever falling out of love with this thing called blogging.  But...I continually hear a knocking at my soul that I think is telling me to revisit and share my grief story from time to time so that is what I'm doing.  I don't know how often I will do it just yet but my plan is to share a little  more of my story each time because it is my belief that every battle we are forced to fight...every storm life casts upon us, is not only meant to strengthen and grow our own spirits, but those of others as well. So here I begin...

Before losing Darin I really had no clue what grief entailed. My heart always ached and went out to those who had experienced such a great loss.  I would say a quick pray for them, send them a card if I  kind of knew them, and always shake my head and think or sometimes even say aloud, "I can't even imagine."

And I couldn't.  No one can.  Until it happens...

It's like you're going along fine in the world, completely unaware of how fleeting life is, and then BAM!, out of nowhere this thundering beast you never saw coming hits you so hard it knocks the wind out of you and leaves you struggling for breath and grasping for hold onto. 

In an instant everything in and around you changes.  The air even seems different.      

I remember not being able to cry.  I so much wanted to cry, as if that would somehow heal me and take away the sick, empty hole that had suddenly taken up residence in the center of my being. The tears did eventually come of course.  They came so much and so often that I wondered why I ever wished for them in the first place.  

I just wanted to feel normal again but I knew that I never really would.  At least not the normal I had always known.  

There were many mornings I would awake fully believing it had all been some horrible, awful dream but when I sat up to tell Darin all about it, I was hit with that cold, ruthless monster of grief and sick, raw emotion yet again.  I can't recall now how long that went on but that was just one of the many hard truths I was learning about grief. 

There would be good (or at least okay) days...days when I would notice things that I had never picked up on before grief entered my world.  Like those redbirds that suddenly began appearing in the trees in the front yard, or that penny on the floor that  I'd swear wasn't there just a second ago, or the way the clouds, the trees, and the flowers seemed to be talking just to me. 

Surreal.  This was the definition of it. I finally understood what that word really meant for the first time because I was living it every day. 

Where had my real life gone?

Because this one I was being forced to live surely could not be mine...

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  1. When I lost my sister (she was 30, died of cancer), I remember getting home from the hospital and the sense of surrealism hit me hard. It was bizarre that she was gone. And sometimes it still hits me that way, so I understand what you mean. Of course it isn't the same as losing my husband like you did, which would be even worse. But I have gotten a glimpse of what you are saying, and I agree - it is surreal.

  2. Diane...though I have yet to lose my spouse, I have suffered great losses already. Beginning in 2000, I lost my mom, brother, and dad all within 6 short years. It was a very difficult road to travel and still is. However, by the grace of God, I'm able to remember them with a smile on my face and the tears don't come as often, anymore. The only way to get through grief is to experience it head on. I still can't imagine the pain you've had to face from losing your husband. Praying that your heart will heal.

  3. So glad you are revisiting this. People don't necessarily go back and read through our earlier posts when they join our blog family. You are truly inspiring to me and to so many others. I am so blessed to have found your blog or did you find mine? Either way I feel connected to your loss and to your life with those adorable sons you love so much! You help me relive the days when my 4 kiddos were young. Keep blogging your love of it shows.

  4. I'm glad you're coming back to this - I experience a different kind of grief but reading this truly helps me. Thank you.

  5. I know that someone is reading your words and finding comfort. There are pieces of it that I understand... the part about not being able to cry... that I have experienced in some small capacity, but not at the level to which you are referring. Thus far, I have been blessed that I've been able to have those I most cherish healthy and near.

  6. I can't even imagine that type of pain. Can't. Don't want to.
    But your words are going to help that one woman/man who is going through the same right this minute.
    We have power in our words to not only heal ourselves, but to heal others.
    So proud of you for letting this out of your soul.

  7. You are so right when you say that you can never really know what someone is feeling without experiencing that kind of grief first hand. Sure you can feel empathy for them but you never truly know what they are feeling. I believe your story and your words are here to comfort those who have shared your grief and to try and help those of us who haven't better understand. Thank you for taking the time to write these words of wisdom and share your own grief with us all.

  8. As you well know, my recent experience with this has been very different that yours, as my ex husband was not one of my most favorite people. However, I think I connected with the surrealist part of what you said.

    I still think I catch glimpses of him at the store, or in a parking lot. I still think court paperwork will show up in my mail box. And even weirder, I found myself looking towards a house he lived in years ago as I passed by it today. I actually was expecting him to be there, his truck parked outside.... even though he hadn't lived there in over four years.

  9. Diane this is incredible. I remember when my brother died, the tears wouldn't come. The grief is different. Completely. But I'm glad you're sharing this.

  10. Every time I read something you write about losing your husband, my heart just goes out to you. You're right that we never really understand that sort of grief unless we've experienced it. I'm glad I discovered your blog, and I'm glad that your life - although it isn't what it was at one time - is happy.

  11. Diane, I'm not going to lie. I hope I never experience that kind of loss or grief. Ever. I so appreciate you opening up and sharing this grief with us. Though we can't all relate, it certainly helps to put things into perspective; to remind us that each and every day is a gift. And that there really is beauty all around us. All we have to do is look. :)