The Nature of Grief

Well, it’s been about 10 months since Amy died, and I still get pretty sad sometimes. This whole grief thing would be a lot easier if I knew when it was going to end – I could even live with God assigning a random time: “Sir (would God call me sir?), you will be sad for exactly 18 months” or “Ma’am, congratulations, you will only be despondent for seven months!”. But the never-expiring nature of grief makes it even harder to bear, wondering if I can actually keep resisting it forever.

People tell me it will get easier. One of my bed-and-breakfast hosts in New Zealand, an amazing 90-year-old widow whose husband died about five years ago, told me: “The waves of grief will lessen until they are more like a ripple on the beach”. What a nice thought! But that sure hasn’t happened yet.

I’ve also thought a lot about how it should’ve been me that died. For sure, I would’ve traded places with Amy if I could have, but that’s not what I mean. I just can’t help thinking that the whole WORLD would be happier. First off, Amy had a lot more friends than I do, so there are a lot more people saddened by her loss. But even more, she was way better equipped to handle death than I am. She was so strong, resilient and out-going, where I’m kind of fragile and introverted. I know she would’ve been sad had I died, but I believe it would’ve been easier for her to get over me.

It might sound like I’m just feeling sorry for myself, and that’s definitely true, but I can’t help thinking about this stuff, especially when the wave hits really, really hard. Like it did yesterday, for no apparent reason – I just more or less broke down in the hallway when I came home to an empty house. I wonder what Yufi, the wonder dog thinks about when I do that.