Grief

“Only people who are capable of loving strongly can also suffer great sorrow, but this same necessity of loving serves to counteract their grief and heals them.”

-- Leo Tolstoy (1828-1910), author

Leo Tolstoy wrote, "Only people who are capable of loving strongly can also suffer great sorrow, but this same necessity of loving serves to counteract their grief and heals them."  Leo was one of the greatest writers of all time, but this quote evidences little understanding of love.  If we take what he says as truth, not just a fiction, then the reverse must also follow in that only those who suffer greatly are capable of loving strongly.  I also have issues with the last part of this quote, "but this same necessity of loving serves to counteract their grief and heals them."  Did he actually do any research on the loss of the so very dearly beloved?  I think not.  What he espouses is what everyone would like to believe.  It's what we tell those who experience great loss, hoping it eases the loss they feel.  Problem is, the loss is still there, buried.  Objectively, grief exists.  Grief is a fact.  Subjectively, grief affects everyone differently depending on their personal perspectives, feelings, or opinions.  They may not show it, but it's there nonetheless. 

My grandmother died when I was young.  I took it hard. as most young people might.  Between being young and now, I was hardened toward death in the military.  Death happens.  People die.  Spiritual philosophies explain death as moving into another plane of existence, another reality, the next great adventure.  You can't escape death; when it's your time to go, it's your time.  General George S. Patton would advise against dying in battle for your country but, rather, to make some other poor, dumb, bastard die for his.  I like the way George thought.  But that is dying in war, not in some hospital bed because your body is failing, or being scraped off some roadway.  Not that it really matters.  To those who love us and will miss us, dead is dead.  As for those who are dead, they have already moved on.

In the most recent post on my blog, I shared that my father had only recently past away.  I didn't cry at his passing, though I did prior to that, seeing him as a shadow of his former self and knowing he would not want it.  He couldn't speak, but he emphasized as much by waving his finger "no" when I notified him his beloved friends were coming into town to visit mom.  He wanted no visitors to see him like he was.  I didn't judge him.

The morning he passed I stood bedside and said a few words to him.  Things he would now understand.  He looked like he was sleeping.  I hadn't kissed my dad for years, but I kissed him on the forehead; a last, gentle kiss, and then I left.  I would not see him again.  I didn't cry.

“But grief makes a monster out of us sometimes . . . and sometimes you say and do things to the people you love that you can't forgive yourself for.”

-- Melina Marchetta, author, educator

Our relationship was rocky for the past few years.  I blame myself more than him.  His mind was a victim of chemo for previous cancer, which he defeated.  His mind was balancing what he was prior to his cancer and the future first stroke with what more he'd lost in health after the second and third.  I was angry with myself that I couldn't cope gracefully with watching him fail.  He was supposed to be more, always more, even to the end, and he wasn't.  I embrace that my disappointment was in myself, more than in him.

My eyes well up, but I haven't truly cried.  Mom and I are standing firm, though I don't know what she does in private.  What I do know is that Leo Tolstoy, in my humble opinion, doesn't have a clue about grief.  I also know that what doesn't kill you also doesn't make you stronger.  Some of us morph into something we're not.  Some of us bury our grief.  Some of us become less than we are.  We think we're stronger because we wear a fragile facade in order to move forward in life.  We're not.

One day, soon, I will break down.  It will build up inside of me and simply overflow.  I will cry because I miss him, not because he died.  Dying is a part of our continuing journey.  I will keep raising a glass and wishing him well, wherever his next adventure has placed him.  I hope he is reaching for the stars.

One last thought about Tolstoy's quote:

The tears I feel today

I'll wait to shed tomorrow.

Though I'll not sleep this night

Nor find surcease from sorrow.

My eyes must keep their sight:

I dare not be tear-blinded.

I must be free to talk

Not choked with grief, clear-minded.

My mouth cannot betray

The anguish that I know.

Yes, I'll keep my tears til later:

But my grief will never go.

-- Anne McCaffrey (1926-2011), author