Keeping the Love - Losing the Loved One

I recently saw a quote that said "Grief is learning to live with the love and without the loved one." Can I just tell you how tired I am of learning? Grieving is like taking the absolute worst college class - one that comes with no syllabus, is full of pop quizzes on random topics like "Decision Making in a Fog" and "Your grill is on Fire, Now What?" and the grades are weighted so you will fail every time. Enough learning!

But the quote is true. The love doesn't go anywhere. It doesn't diminish. In fact, I'd argue that it grows stronger because you stop remembering all the little annoying things about your person, which builds them up to idol status in your muddled mind. This leaves a monumental hole in your heart and your brain with nothing but memories to fill it. But it needs filled, because we can't operate with huge holes. So what is a griever to do?

You acknowledge that huge hole. It feels as though the Kool-Aid Man has run through the walls of your heart. Your brain. Your routines. Your memories. Your entire life. And this Kool-Aid Man is not leaving delicious and colorful drinks behind for your enjoyment. (Great. Now I want Kool-Aid.)

You agree, silently, that you are willing to live with these holes because your love is that strong. And you would think, what with all these holes, that you would have more room for that love to move around, fill up the empty spaces. But it doesn't. It strangles what is left of your heart and brain until you are tied up in knots trying to make room for a love that is now bonded with grief and is threatening to choke you. For this love/grief bond sucks the air out of your lungs, out of the rooms and spaces you knew with your person.

But the love/grief bond also acts as a magnet, holding you down to those same spaces. You don't want to leave the house, but the house also feels as though it is slowly killing you. You don't want to make changes to your surroundings or clean out your person's things, but these things are dragging you under a little more every day. It is the strongest magnet ever created, and it is all in your mind.

So you acknowledge the hole(s). "Hi. I guess we share this space now. Welcome. Please don't kill me."

Hole(s): "I really want ALL the space, ALL the air, and ALL the attention. If that takes you down, so be it." This is the Hole being a, well, a hole.

Learning to live with the love and without the loved one means learning to create spaces and rituals that are new to you, but yet still hold space for your person. For me it meant adding too many plants to my living room. Then adding too many pictures of my person. Then adding a big new to me piece of furniture, twinkle lights and a rug. Now that living room is my Sanctuary Space. I am living with the love- the room is decorated in varying shades of blue, my person's favorite color. Everywhere I look I see his smiling face peering out at me from the mismatched frames that cover every inch of the room. I have added the many books I am reading and a new painting. This is my room now. But still his, as well. It was hard to be still in this room, at first. Now I can sit with the love, with the memories of our mornings sharing hot drinks and Wordle in this room before we headed to our respective offices for work. I can smile as I think of the times we sat together in this room, watching my youngest practice his guitar or my oldest his violin. The memories of my person shouting out requests to me as I played the piano, or snuggling on the sofa as we shared an audio book on some famous rock guitarist or football coach. My sanctuary room is my sacred space for memories, smiles, tears, and sometimes, anger. I visit it every morning and evening, and it has helped me learn to live with the love.

I have learned other ways to live with the love and not the person. New rituals that are mine alone, or that I now share with my boys. I'm not there yet, fully living in the love. I still cry every day at the loss of my person. I still lay awake at night, sometimes angry, sometimes sad but always missing my Brad, who should be asleep next to me, pushing the dog down to the bottom of the bed when she would creep up in between us. I am not sure how long it takes to learn to live with the love alone. All I know is that before widowhood I am not sure I fully understood that the love doesn't diminish just because the person has died. But accepting that has helped me realize that I am able to learn to live with just the love. And the memories of the love. And Kool-Aid.