Living Life After Loss

Today I took off my wedding ring.

No, I don’t intend to do anything damaging, dangerous, or detrimental. For a long time after my wife passed away, I continued to wear my wedding ring. I’m not sure why. Maybe I was going through the denial stage of grief. (At least that’s what turns up if I ask Google to interpret my feelings.) Maybe I thought it somehow honored her memory. Or maybe I just wasn’t ready to take it off. But whatever the reason, I remember believing that it was a big deal, that it was a breakthrough. I wondered if something in me, or about me, was now different. I thought life was brand new. None of those were true.

Perhaps enough time had to pass before I was comfortable with the thought of removing my wedding ring. After all, don’t they say time heals all wounds? I see it another way. As time passes, the pain may fade, but you also block. At some point you decide—without a lot of conscious deliberation—to just not “go there.” I often escaped the sadness, depression, and hopelessness by not “going there.” It was the only way I knew to survive. So does that mean popular psychology is right? Are there five stages of grief? Do we start with denial, shift to anger, work through bargaining, battle depression, and finally accept it all? Maybe. But I think that’s too simple.

Or not simple enough.

I see two stages of grief, really more like scenes, or chapters. And these two chapters—let’s call the book Living Life After Loss—move you from “not going there” to “moving on.”

Chapter one is “Letting Go of Everything That Ever Was or Ever Would Have Been.”

Chapter two: “Holding on to Everything That Ever Was or Ever Will Be.”

You may not see a difference, but each is filled with characters, stories, conflicts, and plot twists.

Before I go on let’s have full disclosure. I’m viewing this from the perspective of the sudden and unexpected death of a spouse because that’s my story. But I believe what I’ve learned can be applied to any loss: death, divorce, breakup, betrayal, or anything else that leaves you without something, or someone, that had a significant and special place in your life. We often think of grieving as following death, but every loss must be grieved. You have to let yourself be sad and sorrowful. You have to shed the tears and endure the aches. Stop blocking. Open up to the hurt. Dig deep inside yourself.

Letting Go of Everything That Ever Was or Ever Would Have Been

For months after my wife passed away, I went through each day as if she was coming home. Every thought, every action was passed through a what-would-she-want filter. Should we have chicken for dinner? How would she prepare it? Would she mash the potatoes? Are there any dirty dishes in the sink? Where does she keep the spoons? My daughters and I ventured into redecorating. Nothing major, more like revising and modifying. Plants, pictures, and pieces of furniture had to hear, “How would Mom want that?” She had an exceptional gift for choosing colors, furnishings, and design details; I wanted her to be proud of us.

Then one day I realized, “She’s not coming back. She isn’t coming home. She’s gone.” But letting go is not a smooth, simple snap. Whatever I had been was gone. I was no longer married. I was a single parent. A widower. The sole decision-maker in the household. It was a lot to accept.

Do you feel that way? Have you been through a divorce? Have you lost a loved one? Are your feelings churning and tumbling like clothes in a dryer? It’s overwhelming. You have to let go of the past. You have to forget about who you were, and where you were, and where you were going. You will face confrontation against What-could-have-been and If-only. Both are cruel, devilish enemies with poison arrows and piercing armaments that destruct, defeat, and destroy.

I was married to an alcoholic. Those who have trudged this trail know your family spends a lot of time waiting, praying, and hoping for “someday.” Someday she will stop drinking. Someday we will be a happy family. Someday God is going to step in and intervene. And then suddenly she’s gone. Now the future you hoped for—that was entwined into every fiber of your life—will never be.

And what about other losses? You wanted to grow old with your husband but he left you. As you watched your parents play with your son, you dreamed of days filled with peace and perfection enjoying your own grandchildren. Then your son was gone.

You have to let go. You have to “go there.” Trust God’s unfailing love. He hasn’t forgotten you. God himself will restore you. Release your grip on a shattered future and grasp God’s outstretched hand.

Holding on to Everything That Ever Was or Ever Will Be

Your story turns to the next chapter. Now that you let go, reach out and snatch back everything you gave up. Clutch it all as tightly as you can. What you were, what you had, keep them close because they brought you here. In a previous blog post I expressed it this way:

Your job ends, or your marriage ends, or a loved one’s life ends, but it can’t be the end. Your values, your beliefs, your curiosities, your memories are leftover branches and twigs. Look for new firewood—new hopes, new dreams, new passions, new faith—to add to your kindling. Start a new fire: vibrant, inspired, and roaring with hope.

–Suddenly a Widower, ArtSpeaking.com

Embrace what happened. My grandfather said we have it all backwards, when someone dies it should be a time of rejoicing. Does that mean we shed no tears? Do we feel guilty if we’re mournful and heartbroken? Of course not. Here’s something to always remember: If you don’t have to fight for it, if there’s no struggle, if it comes too easily, if you haven’t poured your heart and soul into it, then having it doesn’t mean as much, and losing it won’t hurt as bad. The pain won’t be as deep because the loss won’t be so great.

You feel shattered and sorrowful because what you lost had a significant home in your heart. That’s a good thing. Let go of what was so you can hold on to what you had. Accept what will never be so you can anticipate what is to come.

Go there so you can move on.

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