The Slow Dance of Grief

My sweet friend, who recently lost her husband after a long battle with a terminal illness, sent me a text. In it she asked "Does the pain ever go away?"  Having lived with my own grief for almost two years now, I answered her as I wish someone would had me. I said...

Honestly... The pain of losing someone never goes away. You just learn how to manage it. It's like an uninvited guest who sits quietly... waiting for you to acknowledge its presence. In the beginning it climbs all over you like a cranky two year old who can't be satisfied... no matter how much you coddle it, or pray for it to be still and let you rest. 

Each breath you take will leave you aching for more... Like you never have enough air to fill you up. You become numb and wonder what matters and what doesn't. You struggle to feel anything, even though you also feel everything so intensely. Your life will be split into time frames of remembrance. Your life when you felt complete and everything was good... Even when it wasn't. The day you lost your love. And the day after when you stepped into your new life of having to live physically apart. 

Then one day you realize in a strange moment that it hasn't begged you to hold it or cry with it for a few hours and you feel a little guilty because you actually feel relieved to not have to entertain it. Sometimes you feel obligated to dance a slow painful and unfamiliar dance with this unwanted partner. He pushes you backwards as you step on his toes. Over time, you learn the dance. Eventually you gain quiet strength and you tell your guest... "It's time for me to take the lead. I will dance with you and I will hold you close to my heart, but I will set the pace and melody."

Slowly... You start to heal. You can say their name without people flinching in sadness. You find yourself loving more deeply and forgiving more freely. Your memories become a beautiful song that plays gently in the background of your life, like the soundtrack of your heart. Sometimes, like during holidays and special anniversary dates, the music will blast in your head until you learn that it's okay to turn it down again. It never really stops playing. You never stop hearing it, but it softens and becomes your partner. The pain... Just like the music or the unwanted guest is truly always there. You just learn to lead it in your own dance. Somehow... All that emptiness is slowly filled with hope for the future and the knowledge that you will be together again.