The nature of loss

As part three of my "nature of" trilogy, I thought I would take a look at loss. Whenever we think about loss, as opposed to losing something, there are always deep emotions involved. As a child, I suffered a traumatic loss at age 10. My mother died, a terrible loss in itself, but as I look back on the 36 years since her death, it is the small losses that devastate us. 

My mother never got the chance to see me grow into a woman, see me fall in love for the first time, nurse my inevitable broken heart when it went wrong. She didn't see me walk down the aisle on my father's arm, or see the birth of her grandson (my nephew). 

For a long time, I never spoke about this. People are uncomfortable with grief, and don't really know how to respond. As a child, I sensed this. More than anything else, I didn't want pity, so I never spoke about my mother. This repression was almost as damaging as the event itself. I trained myself to show no emotion, to wear a mask, and to ignore the pain, with catastrophic results for the adult me. My brain now believes that to show emotion is to show weakness. To ask for help is to show weakness. To allow people to see the anxious girl behind the confident woman is weakness. And weakness is not acceptable. If I trust someone and they hurt me, somehow that is my fault. I was the fool for trusting. 

Now, having experienced the aftershock of my loss, I see that this was wrong. I see that trusting someone and being hurt is not my weakness or failing, it is the other person's. I see that showing emotion makes you human, not weak. And I am beginning to see that being able to get up and go to work even when I was terrified to leave the house, makes me strong, not weak. 

As I write this, a friend of mine is going through a terrible loss. Her husband died suddenly in January, and she is coming to terms with the loss of her soulmate. She was very kind to me when we were at school. I was a few years younger, struggling with my demons, and she cared. I met her husband once, and he was a wonderful man, taken too young. But as long as she and their children continue to love and honour his memory, he will live on. 

I regret that I never knew my mother as anything other than "mom". I didn't get to find out the type of person she was, what her dreams were, and how she would have helped shape the person I might have become if she had lived. 

To J, keep remembering him, keep talking about him, keep his incredible spirit alive as you have been doing this year. As the anniversary approaches, know that there are many people who are standing with you, in spirit if not in person, and we are all there to provide what little comfort we can. You inspired me all those years ago, and you continue to do so now.