Last week, I mentioned that I went to a Celebration of Life in honor of a much-loved friend. As it happened, I also was visiting with a dear one who'd lost her human. (Yes, I'm being intentionally vague here for privacy purposes.) In both cases, one of the first questions the survivors asked me was "Do you still miss Bill?"
I've been asked this a lot. And every single time, the only answer is: "Yes, every day."
I don't want to give the wrong impression here. I'm (clearly) no longer languishing. I've built a very nourishing and rewarding life. But it's impossible to lose your human and not feel that loss all the time. I'm very aware that my current life exists because of my losses. I'm very aware that I'm only able to be in a wonderful relationship because I had such a high bar with Bill. And I'm very aware that I've segued into grief coaching because I know grief a little too well.
This is all to say that the grief isn't heavy any longer. It's no longer a suffocating black cloud, which is how it felt before. Grief, now, feels like it's moved inside of me and has settled in alongside my heart. It's just there, part of my body. I'm who I am now because of grief. It's grounding and affirming. And, by extension, that's empowering. I've only been able to achieve what I have because of grief.
So, yes, the answer is still. I still miss Bill. And Klaus. And Mickey. When we lose someone we love, we're going to feel it for a long time. Missing someone isn't a sign of weakness or regret. It simply means we love. What kind of life would this be otherwise?
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