3 REASONS YOU'RE NOT GETTING OVER GRIEF

3 Reasons? Seriously? Only 3? 

Let's just start by saying there is no reason in the world for me to get over my grief. Not now. Not ever. You, too? Now that we have that nonsense out of the way, a closer look at the impact of grief on how it thrives is in order.

Grief is an octopus. A strangling octopus just sitting out in the open with all its tentacles around my throat. I know because I grapple with the stupid thing every day. Every. Single. Day. I usually take Octopus out for a walk. It loosens its grasp on my jugular when we go out for walks in beauteous nature. It loosens it grip even if the nature is not that beauteous. Just getting out of the house seems to help. Octopus doesn't care if I am alone or with other people. Such a loyal metaphorical pet, my Octopus of grief. Since Octi is thriving quite nicely on dry land, I must be doing something right. I must be feeding it. I know I am: I feed it with memories of good times that occurred in a land, long ago, where the sea met the sky. That landscape exists only in my mind now, but it is still vibrantly populated by my late husband and me together. 

One reason grief will not leave me is because I perpetuate those memories. I could starve the Octopus by substituting new solo memories but as for my late husband, I will never let him go. So the Octopus stays and I must adapt. Reason #1--I keep perpetuating memories of our time together.

The second reason not to get over grief is because somehow, when I wake up each morning I just want to wake up to a world where I am loved and cherished. That was how it was when my husband was alive, even when he was very ill and weak. I really felt needed. I always felt loved and appreciated. He used to tell me every single day how much he loved me. It's not all about me, but most of us do crave one close association in our lives. Someone special for each one of us. 

Inclusion is one of the more interesting aspects of longevity. In the Blue Zones Study (areas in the world where there is an extraordinarily high percentage of people who live a very long, happy and healthy life) it became apparent that social interaction is one hallmark of continued health. I'm an introvert but when Rob was alive, I felt like my social thermometer was always reading tip top. 

For me, I know that it is possible for me to find another special person. I JUST DON'T WANT TO!!!! Not now. Not ever. (Yes, the repetition of that phrase was intentional! ;) Robert was a gift for me--a perfect gift. A gift that I truly appreciated, respected and loved with every fibre of my being. He was one of those rare guys who would just let me, be me. He was so easy to please! I am okay with living the rest of my days basking in the remembrance of his love for me. I don't feel that it has lessened over the year that he has been dead. I still feel very, very much in love with him. Reason #2--I cherish being loved by my husband. 

The third reason is going to sound a bit "out there" but bear with me because I am willing to bet you know exactly what I  mean. You have probably felt something similar. 

Sometimes in life, you end up coupled with someone who is just not The One. It seems like you have enough in common to make a good partnership but then as the years pass, one or both of you change somehow. You remain good friends but when you part, you part as whole people who are each looking forward to face separate exciting adventures in your next years. Separate, as in not married to each other. Or, if you weren't involved in a marital relationship, separate as in not living together and not even dating. And you're both okay with that. Almost as if it was never meant to be. 

But when you do meet The One, well, that is a different story. You could never be separated as whole persons because you become (or maybe you always were) twin souls. And when death cruelly rips you apart from each other, you cannot...be a whole person. Half of your mind/soul/spirit is gone. You are now a person with empty spaces. 

That is how I felt when my husband passed away. I was now a person with empty spaces inside me. I intend to live a long, full life as a person with empty spaces but I know that I will only become a whole person again after my earthly journey is done, when Bob and I can reconnect--when our souls can dance together again one day. That is such a joyous thought! It's not depressing at all. Quite the opposite. It gives me a reason to live my days in hope and joy and looking forward to tomorrow. My empty spaces are perfectly matched, like a puzzle, to my husband's presence. They are exclusive to him. Reason #3--my empty spaces are exclusive.

I am not getting over grief. You might be getting over grief, but I doubt it. As for me, getting over grief is tantamount to getting over food. I can't live without food and now, I can't live without grief, either. 

And you know what? Sometimes my pet Octopus is darn good company!