It’s been six months already that I have lost you, my love of over thirty years, my best friend and companion, my significant other, my better half; and you are gone forever from my life, our life. Six months ago today we put you to rest. Among the many things that I remember from that day is the terrible feeling of loss and loneliness. The horrible sense of being lost and the confusion that I felt afterwards when we returned home from the cemetery. I was surrounded by friends and relatives and yet I felt so disconnected and so appallingly alone. It was as if I was lost in a strong storm and:
“There is no port in this storm, and the one person who could bring you connection is the one person who is gone forever.” Elisabeth Kübler-Ross
Ever since then I feel so vulnerable. I feel lost forever. It’s as if there is a wall now standing between me and the rest of the world. A wall that I don’t think I can, or even have the courage to, cross over.
In the three plus years of treatments that my husband was undergoing, even though I was dreading this outcome I could never have imagined anything this bad. And now it feels like I am inconsolable and heart broken beyond repair. The pain of losing him is so strong it feels like there is a new me that is forever changed, crushed, shattered, and irreparable. I will never be the same again or see the world as I once did.
I don’t think this feeling of emptiness is temporary as I think I will never be able to return to that old person, the old me. There is an impenetrable silence that resonates within me. The world and everything around me seems strange, and unwelcome. It feels like I am nothing but a bundle of sadness. But the scariest of all these new feelings is how vulnerable I feel when I am out in the world. Something I never felt when he was around.
And so far, no matter how hard I have tried to continue to live and belong I still feel lost and sad and angry that something like this can happen and has happened. And on most days I feel that there is no way out, no matter what anybody else wants for me. The only place that I feel safe is home alone with my books.
I find solace in my isolation. Because in the words of Elisabeth Kübler-Ross:
“But your isolation is not related to your surroundings or the people in your world.”
I know that I will never see the world as it once was to me. I know that I have not only lost my dearest and most precious companion and lover and friend, but I have also lost with him the notion of what should life be. I have lost his and my world, our world. And right now all I want to do to manage my grief and pain is be alone. To quote Elisabeth Kübler-Ross
“But whatever one does to survive and manage the grief, being alone often feels safer than being vulnerable with people who may not understand.”