Imagine

When you first experience a grief event one of the things we all have in common is that feeling that the world as you know it has ended but other people still keep moving. I remember, both times, leaving the hospital for the drive home wondering why the sun was shining; why people were driving around with smiles on their faces; why they were driving at all; why stores were not closed. All of these signs of life going on when all you want to SCREAM is, "don't you know that life as we know it is over."

Over time that feeling does dissipate. And then your new life begins. You learn to do things differently. When you lose a spouse you begin to realize how many things your spouse did for you. And you now have to do those things for yourself - even if that means hiring someone to do the yard, wash clothes, or clean house. So you learn new tricks or find the right person to handle the chores. If you have surviving children, I imagine, then your children also have to bear the weight of loss and increased chores. 

Finally, you settle into a routine and plod along throughout your day. You spend time with your old friends and maybe even make a few new ones. Eventually you allow yourself to enjoy life as you now know it. You go out to eat and talk with anyone who will show you attention. You attend social functions from Bible studies to holiday parties. But when the Bible study is over or the party breaks up you head home. Alone. 

This evening, as I was making plans to spend some time with extended family this weekend I thought about a show I watched several years ago. I do not know the name of it. And I don't remember much about it except this. The main character has some sort of accident and becomes partially paralyzed. Wheelchair bound he has to relearn daily life. One day he is surprised by a group of friends who showed up with a number of wheelchairs so they can play ball with him. During their game the ball bounces away and rolls under a fence. One of his friends jumps up and leaps over the fence to retrieve it. At that moment this man's new life implodes.  He cannot jump up out of his chair. The use of his legs is gone. And the joy he was feeling is now covered in a depressing wet blanket. 

Such is life for the griever. We enjoy our time with others. It makes us feel important. It makes us feel loved. It makes us feel alive. But then we part company and the friends go about their happy lives and we are right back where we were that first day. Alone. Wondering how people can go on with their lives. And one of the difficult things for us to realize is that these friends have lives of their own and they do not spend time away from us thinking about the next time we will get together. Meanwhile all we can think about is when we will get our next fix. 

The one thing I have learned is that I must recognize that I am no longer the most important person in someone else's life. We are left alone to live a life that others can only imagine (or they can't imagine). And, it's time for us (me) to do some imagining of our own. Our friends deal with the emotions of our loss occasionally while we have to deal with it every moment of every day. So we have a choice. We can pull down those trying to help us in an attempt to make them feel how bad it must be for us, or we can try to pull ourselves up out of our figurative wheelchairs and learn to walk again. I think I'd rather walk than put all of my friends in the wheelchairs. How about you?