
I read this in the Lansing State Journal and decided it was worth reading for others. Take some time and read this it was a great perspective on loss and life. It meant a lot to me and I hope it means something to you also.
Published August 19, 2007
[ From Lansing State Journal ]
Schneider: 5 years later, my loss – its lessons – stay with me every day
John
Schneider
Five years ago in the immediate aftermath of my daughter’s drowning, when my loss was a throbbing gash, a man who had suffered a similar blow offered me this prognosis:
The bleeding would stop. The wound would heal over. The raw pain would subside. But the loss would stay with me forever, like an irretrievable piece of shrapnel or an inoperable, nonfatal heart murmur.
The injury wouldn’t necessarily restrict my mobility nor would it preclude my capacity for comfort and joy. And allowed to cure under the right conditions- given adequate space and time – the loss would age and mellow into something sweet and dignified. Something endured.
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The hole would fill in enough to reveal a new perspective. It would add a dimension to my humanity. It would help me see the bigger picture.
Somebody else – another man well-traveled on the trail of tears – told me I would be able one day to put my loss upon the top shelf of my closet, where it would remain inconspicuous but always present, like a hat I was attached to but seldom wore.
A better fit
Occasionally, I would stumble upon it while looking for something else. Maybe I would take it off the shelf and examine it. Eventually, I would try it on and I would begin to notice, as the years went by, the fit had become increasingly comfortable.
Eventually – and this was the unbelievable thing about what the man told me- I might purposely seek it out from time to time and find some measure of peace in its weight upon my head.
In any case, it would be mine forever. I would never be able to donate it to the Salvation Army, nor, in the end, would I wish to.
More than one person who had been to the brink of despair and back predicted I would soon discover that the common idiom of grief was largely inadequate and, in some cases, entirely irrelevant.
Wrong vocabulary
Only the uninitiated speak of “getting over it,” or “through it.” Only the blissfully ignorant believe it’s possible – or desirable – to put a thing like this “behind us,” as though it were a foolish investment or a bad meal.
The fact is, it’s just not possible to outrun it, even if we wanted to. Our best hope is to come to terms with it, to make it part of who we are and how we get from one day to the next.
There are no definitive answers to the question “Why?” – only theories. There is no “period of mourning” – only the rest of our lives.
And so, five years down the road, it has come to pass. The bleeding has stopped.
The heart murmur, though incurable, does not keep me down. My loss rests upon its shelf, but gathers no dust. I bring it down frequently, but not obsessively. I look it over regularly, and it still has lessons to teach me.
I am more conscious than ever of life’s fragility and uncertainty. I appreciate, more than I did five years ago, the importance of being grateful for the things we have, for as long as we have them.
I understand, in a way that I never did before, that life is shorter than we think. And that’s a good thing to know.
“Why?” is no longer the pressing question that it once was. It now seems beside the point.
My loss is not behind me. It is not a thing of the past. It is not something I’ll ever get through if I live to be 100.
It is right here with me, every hour of every day. That’s exactly where it belongs.