How Long Should Grief Last?

[story written 3 years ago]

Four years ago I lost a person. My person. A life together was gone. My life was gone.

It wasn’t suddenly; we made our goodbyes (for that I’m very grateful). I remember our conversation vividly: sentence by sentence. One remained alive, pushing me forward, throughout the time: “be happy, my love” — he made me promise.

That day, in that conversation, I believed, with all my heart, that was merely a comfort, to ensure everything was said, in case of…

If it were up to me, we wouldn’t have had it. As I said: everything was going to be alright! I believed in it so fiercely.

I was wrong.

The day after, the love of my life passed away. My life collapsed. I collapsed.

The promise I made to him was muted. I had nothing to hold on to.

According to psychology, there are five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.

Every rule has exceptions, and in this matter, I was one. I never met denial. How could I? The reality was so painfully true! I didn’t have the strengths to be angry and, even less, to bargain.

My grieving process started at depression, holding hands with acceptance: what choice did I have but to accept?

The love of my life was gone. My life had to start again. Without him.

I was so lost, yet I was sure of this: it was going to hurt deeply for a very long time. But, eventually, the pain would pass.

I’m a happy, positive person, always carrying a smile — I believe if you smile at life, it smiles back. What is the meaning of life, if not to be happy?

So, fulfilling his wish (and mine), it was time to make life decisions.

Four months after the worst day of my life, I was in an airport with two suitcases full of clothes and some personal belongings. With a room rented on a Skype conversation, a job negotiated by email and a couple of hundreds of pounds on my bank account, I moved to England.

Grieving. Deeply in pain.

I never asked myself how long that alien feeling would stay in me. Maybe I didn’t want to know - grieving was fulfilling the emptiness on my chest.

My new life had started, hoping better days would come; days with joy and laughs. I missed those; I missed hearing myself laugh. I missed me.

Your happiness belongs to you; it’s your responsibility, no one else’s. Knowing that, I started to build mine. Still hurting, still missing him, still crying. But alive.

The first months in England were lived in loneliness, by choice. I didn’t want people around me. I needed ‘me time’, to know the person I was without my other half. Still so present in me…

In time, the pain became easier to bear, tears were less frequent, and the emptiness wasn’t suffocating anymore. My heart was learning to beat without his.

One year passed: My life was a ‘normal’ one, doing what everybody does: working, relaxing at home, going out with friends, having a pint, dancing, laughing,…

But when I was alone, pain showed its face. The absence of his voice, his hand on mine, the sarcastic humour, the empty bed… so much was, still, so painful.

Two years passed: My grief was now filled with wonderful memories. My tears were no longer alone; they had a smile attached: now, I was able to smile for him, with our memories. I could even take a peek at pictures! (just a peek).

Three years: I was happy! I had built my life the way I want it. I was travelling, making new friends, even had a few dates. I was living the flow of life. But, at night, when that joyfully day was over, I was alone with my past. Together, accomplices. Still hurting, sometimes profoundly, sometimes only with a bandage. But always terribly missing him.

Four years: today.

I know nothing about the psychological process of grieving, never studied or read about it. What I know, I lived it.

I know it hurts: it hurts like nothing else. Then, time passes, and it hurts less. Then, a bit less,…

I know that grieving is a way of keeping our loved ones alive in us. But I also know that is not healthy. Instead, we can keep their memories and presence in us differently - I know it and those who grieve know it. But love is not made of knowledge, is made of feelings, with the truth. With being.

I don’t know how long grief should last. I know what everybody knows: the deeper you loved someone, the longer it will hurt.

I don’t know if grief has an expiry date. I know my pain is endless: a smell, a sound; an image; one bit of nothing will take me out of reality and put me back on my past, lost forever. And, without expecting or wanting, the heart shrinks, the breathing hurts, the tears warm my face.

I don’t know how long grief should last. But I know love is eternal.

And I know that it is possible to be happy grieving.

© 2021 Emma London. All Rights Reserved