Sometimes, it just hits me. A wave of sadness. Of grief. Grief for what was, what was supposed to be, what never will be. And it frustrates me. I feel like I should be in a different place. A better one. But grief is what does- and should- happen when love is lost. Moments of grief do not mean that we're not moving on, or moving forward. They don't mean we're not healing. They don't mean that we're not in a good or healthy place. They mean, simply, that we're humans, and the love we lost was real. It's right, and it's good. It feels wretched. But it's as it should be. And perhaps, it even means that we would change what happened, if we could. But that's also part of being human.
I write this on what should be my brother's 42nd birthday. Of course, he died over 20 years ago, at the age of 19. He'll always be a kid in my head. He's been gone most of my life. But I loved him very much. As I go through life, and experience new things, I sometimes go through new phases of grieving. I lost it at my cousin Jason's wedding a year and a half ago, because Matt had been close to Jason and his brother Scott. My brother wasn't there, and he should have been. I looked at the sheer rock face and river in front of me at the reception venue, and wept. My dad teared up as well. We knew that if Matt had lived, he'd be a pilot. And my dad said exactly what I was thinking: That he'd probably have moved to Colorado as well. He would have loved it here. And in the last few months, I've wanted my big brother more than ever before. Sometimes, a girl just needs her brother. And he's not here.
But feeling those waves of grief doesn't mean that I'm crippled by my brother's death. Or that I haven't moved on. It means that I loved, and I lost, and I'm feeling that. The same goes for that other person. The fact that I get hit by random waves of sadness doesn't mean I'm not right where I should be. It means I fully invested, and I'm feeling the loss that results when something bad happens to a relationship in which I was fully invested. It's as it should be. I have a new job, I'm making a new life, I'm meeting new people. I'm looking for someone, should a viable option come around. I'm not just sitting at home under a rock. I'm doing exactly what I should be doing. And the waves of grief are signs of humanity. Of a giving heart. Of a vulnerable heart. Of health. The waves are already getting farther apart, and will continue to get further apart as time goes on, and as I continue to heal. But there's not a timeline when someone should be "over" something. I'm not sure anyone ever fully gets over the death of a loved one, or the betrayal of their beloved. They remain as scars and periodic twinges. And that's probably how it should be. In some cases, the twinges come more from remembering the pain caused by the loss. But it is a sign that we have loved, and we have lost. In some cases, I take issue with Lord Tennyson's verse, "'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." Sometimes, the pain far outweighs the joy. That's the case for me and my lost relationship. I do still wish it hadn't happened. But Tennyson was also writing about a death, rather than a willful betrayal and abandonment. And in my brother's case, yes. I'm glad I loved him, rather than having never had him. And that's as it should be.
I write this on what should be my brother's 42nd birthday. Of course, he died over 20 years ago, at the age of 19. He'll always be a kid in my head. He's been gone most of my life. But I loved him very much. As I go through life, and experience new things, I sometimes go through new phases of grieving. I lost it at my cousin Jason's wedding a year and a half ago, because Matt had been close to Jason and his brother Scott. My brother wasn't there, and he should have been. I looked at the sheer rock face and river in front of me at the reception venue, and wept. My dad teared up as well. We knew that if Matt had lived, he'd be a pilot. And my dad said exactly what I was thinking: That he'd probably have moved to Colorado as well. He would have loved it here. And in the last few months, I've wanted my big brother more than ever before. Sometimes, a girl just needs her brother. And he's not here.
But feeling those waves of grief doesn't mean that I'm crippled by my brother's death. Or that I haven't moved on. It means that I loved, and I lost, and I'm feeling that. The same goes for that other person. The fact that I get hit by random waves of sadness doesn't mean I'm not right where I should be. It means I fully invested, and I'm feeling the loss that results when something bad happens to a relationship in which I was fully invested. It's as it should be. I have a new job, I'm making a new life, I'm meeting new people. I'm looking for someone, should a viable option come around. I'm not just sitting at home under a rock. I'm doing exactly what I should be doing. And the waves of grief are signs of humanity. Of a giving heart. Of a vulnerable heart. Of health. The waves are already getting farther apart, and will continue to get further apart as time goes on, and as I continue to heal. But there's not a timeline when someone should be "over" something. I'm not sure anyone ever fully gets over the death of a loved one, or the betrayal of their beloved. They remain as scars and periodic twinges. And that's probably how it should be. In some cases, the twinges come more from remembering the pain caused by the loss. But it is a sign that we have loved, and we have lost. In some cases, I take issue with Lord Tennyson's verse, "'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." Sometimes, the pain far outweighs the joy. That's the case for me and my lost relationship. I do still wish it hadn't happened. But Tennyson was also writing about a death, rather than a willful betrayal and abandonment. And in my brother's case, yes. I'm glad I loved him, rather than having never had him. And that's as it should be.
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