LOSSES ARE NOT THE SAME

Some say “A loss is a loss” but that’s not really the case. The nature of the relationship changes the nature and impact of the loss we experience. Although I have never experienced the loss of a child or a sibling, I have lost both of my parents, my grandparents – beginning with two of my Grandpas before I was seven, and my husband of 45 years. The losses, each painful and devastating in their own way, are not the same.

I always knew that I had no way of knowing what a parent goes through with the loss of a child. It seems that would be the most painful, inconsolable kind of loss imaginable. One of my dearest friends lost her son to suicide and I knew just watching her and being with her that some part of her died with him – even though she dealt really powerfully with the entire thing. The love she had for her other children and her husband sustained them both during the years after his death but that pain or losing one she gave birth to never really subsided. That does not mean that she did not smile or laugh or have a great life after his death. It is just that there was a damper on everything except the work she did in support of mental health issues for young people who were struggling and the care she provided others as a hospice volunteer.

When my mother died there was a hole in my heart that was hard to explain or deal with and yet, I still have such a connection with her that I have the experience that she comes to check up on me from time to time and let me know she is there supporting and loving me from a different place. That loss too was unique. One of my dearest friends asked me shortly after Mom’s death what it was like to lose your mother. My answer was that it is weird. It’s weird not being on the same plane as the person who gave birth to you. I can’t imagine not experiencing some kind of disconnect when that happens no matter what your relationship with you mother. She still gave you life and when that life source dies, something is different in your life. Still, it is the natural order of things that mothers die before daughters and no matter how painful, it is not unexpected or unimaginable.

The death of my husband was quite something different from all of the losses I had suffered before. This man was not my flesh and blood. We were not descended from each other in the way that parents, children and siblings are connected. He was woven into the fabric of my life by choice – mine and his. He did not give me life but he was an integral part of life for me and together we created life in our three children.

Losing him was not the same as losing my mother or grandparents. It was not the same a losing my dearest friends (which has happened twice in my life so far) and not the same as the loss of close family members. Losing him literally tore the fabric of my life in two. For more than 50 years he was part of the creation of that fabric. The threads of his life were woven through mine and the threads of my life were woven through his. They were intertwined and came together to create a multitude of magnificent patterns that were made up of the experiences, activities, loving and living of two lives given to and for each other over many years. Interrupting that weaving because of the death of one of the parties involved tears apart the very fabric of that life. The memories remain but the experiences, activities, loving and living are finished forever.

One thing I will never do again is assume that I know what someone is experiencing as a result of the loss of a loved one. I know what the experience has been like for me in each case and I know what it feels like when someone who lost a parent or a sibling assumes that they know what I am experiencing in the loss of my husband – because they have experienced loss. I have discovered for myself that when that happens I am left with the experience that my loss has been diminished or minimized in some way and I never want to leave anyone else with that experience.

These days if someone loses a parent or spouse or child I simply express my sympathy and offer to listen to whatever they need to say about the person or the loss. I don’t try to pretend I know what they are going through. I just let them know that I am interested in hearing anything they have to say about what’s happening for them – without judgement and without expectations. Letting them know that whatever they are experiencing is unique to them and is fine is, in my humble opinion, the best way that I can honor and respect their loss and, at the same time, give them the freedom and space to express whatever they need to say without minimizing or diminishing what they are dealing with.