I never thought I would have to write a post like this. Lord knows I don’t want to sit with the feelings that come up as I write, but I know I need to.
There is a special kind of grief many of us experience that is unlike any other type of grief in this world. It is the loss of those who are still living – those who, at one point in your life brought you comfort and joy and peace, but no longer do.
When you love somebody with all of your heart, when you trust them and allow yourself to be fragile and vulnerable in front of them, when you feel enveloped in safety by them, it is an indescribable type of pain to lose them. I do believe that there is a type of trust that, once broken, can never be rebuilt. When the trust is first broken, we get the urge to try to figure out how we can fix it, justify it, or rationalize it. Sometimes we even try to blame ourselves for the broken trust. This is because at the end of the day, when we are betrayed by somebody that we love, our hearts ache just a little bit less if we can find some way to take the blame for it.
But the fact of the matter is that not all relationships are able to last; and just because two people love one another dearly does not mean that they are meant to be in each other’s lives forever.
There’s not nearly enough attention given to the loss of loved ones who are still alive – the ones who continue to move on with their lives. One of the most painful parts of parting ways with a loved one is knowing that life continues beyond this relationship. You will both laugh again, you will both continue to build relationships with others, and the memories of what happened will eventually fade. You will no longer be at the forefront of each other’s minds, and one day, other thoughts, feelings and memories will take precedence. I am not talking about a specific type of relationship here. This could be a romantic relationship, a friendship, or any individual who you trusted and loved deeply.
I have to admit, for the first time in a long time, I don’t have the answers for how I’m going to move through the ending of a relationship that I held so dear to my heart. I’m not being specific about who I am referring to because despite all that has happened, I still maintain a respect for this person that I don’t think will ever go away. It has been difficult to move forward while still trying to process what happened. My world as I knew it for the last 3 years has changed in ways that I still don’t understand. It hurts more than I can describe. And that’s okay. My pain only further confirms how special this person was to me, and it’s okay to be deep in grief. It’s uncomfortable, it’s awful, it’s excruciating, but over time it will pass. Just because feelings are uncomfortable does not mean we are incapable of sitting with them.
There have been moments of full-on transparency with some of my patients this week who pointed out that I did not seem like myself. I even had a session with a client where I needed to pause, remove myself, let myself burst into tears for 30 seconds, and regroup. This is what grief looks like – allowing it to pass through you when it comes up, but not letting it ruin your life or your day. All I can do right now is show up for both myself and my patients, whatever that may look like, even if it means needing to take a moment for myself throughout the day. After all, when I’m not busy being a therapist, I am simply another human being – my heart breaks just the same as anyone else’s.
If you’ve ever experienced this type of loss, I hope you can relate. I hope my words can provide some comfort and some insight. It’s okay to be devastated over the loss of someone who is still living. Yes, it’s easier to be mad at that person, it’s easier to try to make that person out to be a monster in your head, it’s easier to blame ourselves, because it helps us to avoid the grief. But the grief is still there. It’s to be expected. Let it come in whatever way it will.
As for me, I will hold this person close to my heart and soul as I continue to process what happened. It’s an ache for which there are no words, only tears.
My favorite poet, Rupi Kaur, has said it best:
“They did not tell me it would hurt like this
No one warned me
About the heartbreak we experience with friends
‘Where are the albums?’ I thought
There were no songs sung for it
I could not find the ballads
Or read the books dedicated to writing the grief
We fall into when friends leave
It is the type of heartache that
Does not hit you like a tsunami
It is a slow cancer
The kind that does not show up for months
Has no visible signs
Is an ache here
A headache there
But manageable
Cancer or tsunami
It all ends the same
A friend or a lover
A loss is a loss is a loss”
–the underrated heartache by Rupi Kaur
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