How do I describe how the loss of my husband has affected my relationships?
In simple terms, it’s complicated.
For my children, I am the only life raft in the middle of the vast ocean. To them, I am the safety they can still cling to.
But also? I am not exactly enough all the time. Just like a raft cannot provide all the comforts and security that a large ship can provide, I am not enough.
I am the one left behind. The one who cannot adequately fill in for the one who left us for the simple fact that I am not him.
"Dad and I were working on this project before he went to the hospital" is a sentence that is loaded with so much meaning:
a realization that her expectations need to change, and quite drastically, too;
a dawning awareness of my limitations and how there is not one acceptable person on this earth to fill in where I am lacking;
the idea that she is only going to be receiving half the parenting she is used to.
Other than the devastation of losing my life partner, nothing is more heartbreaking to me than my children’s loss and the knowledge that I cannot patch up the gaping hole in their lives. Ever.
At times, it feels like there is a desperation to their love for me that is colored with some bitterness.
And I, in turn, often find myself praying that loving them, broken heart and all, is enough.
Friendships have also changed.
Certainly, I have borne witness to my fair-weather friendships. I do not blame them, exactly. Grief is a heavy thing, and many are uncomfortable with its “unfixableness”.
While I can admit to some disappointment in how these relationships have devolved, I can honestly say that I am not angry. Because I do not have any room in my soul to feel anger. Even disappointment dissipates after a time because holding on to it would feel like a pillow to my face when I have already been gasping for air.
Truly, this has been necessary for self-preservation.
So I have found myself giving others grace. This was not always so, but with time, I have learned to give grace more quickly. For the awkward things people say. For avoiding me because it is easier than saying something to me. For letting too much time pass before reaching out.
Because I am convinced that people generally mean well and do not intend to be hurtful.
But whether they mean well or not, some have changed the quality of our relationship simply by ceasing to treat me like their friend.
Let me say that again: They have ceased to treat me like their friend.
Because my life has been turned upside-down, they assume that I can no longer handle their bad news. That I would certainly not want to hear their complaints. Or about their “less tragic” circumstances.
“I don’t want to burden you with my problems,” I sometimes hear.
Please. Let me hear about them. Remind me that I do not own the world’s reserves of misery.
When someone prefaces their news with “This isn’t anything like what you are going through,” they make me feel like they pity me.
Like I am taking up too much space. And it makes me want to shrink.
Friendships are built on sharing our lives with each other.
The sting of hearing a girlfriend complain about her husband’s bad habits is negligible compared to the sting of no longer being entrusted with another person’s confidence. (I should add, husband complaints no longer trigger me like they did in the early days. Because — thank God — I am healing.)
I have really appreciated those who have held my hand and let me cry… and are also not afraid to admit to me that sometimes their lives are challenging too. That life sucks for all of us sometimes.
There is great comfort in crying and/or laughing at our circumstances together. When there is just acceptance.
I appreciate those that understand that this is a season in my life. That although grief has changed me, it does not define me.
In this season, my gratitude abounds for those that hope with me for better days. Those who are okay to walk through our messy lives together.
We all deserve friends such as these.
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