“I haven’t cried in quite some time. I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. It doesn’t really matter I guess, as long as I don’t bottle everything up and explode in spectacular fashion one day while at a school function or kid’s birthday party.
But out of nowhere, tonight, I did.
Well, not nowhere exactly, but it was a sudden onset and totally out of left field. You see, I was logged into Renee’s email trying to find some information and, in my search, chanced upon an email thread where my usually un-sneaky wife (she couldn’t hide a secret for the life of her) was conspiring with my family about my 40th birthday celebrations back in 2014.
I was simply skimming the contents when I found some humbling and beautiful words she had written about me and what I meant to her. It was as if I could hear her voice, something I haven’t heard for so long, in the words printed on the screen before me.
And it floored me – in more ways than one. I felt humbled by her endearing words. The same desperate sadness overcame me I remember so vividly from after she passed. I immediately felt the dreadful hollowness of being alone, of never being able to have exactly what I once did, again. The tears flowed, and I felt terrible guilt course through every fiber.
Guilt I hadn’t thought or felt these things for some time. Guilt I had seemingly forgone these feelings in the pursuit of normality and, dare I say it, happiness. Guilt I wasn’t upset until I read the words. Guilt because I’m here and she’s not. Guilt I couldn’t fix her.
Just a whole f*cking heap of feeling like a right prick for not mourning as maybe I should still be doing.
Now I know grief is a journey without end, and the journey is as different for every individual just as there are no two snowflakes the same. But there are commonalities in everyone’s journey, and guilt is definitely one of them.
And it’s a tricky bastard, this guilty feeling. Ill definable, sporadic and hard to articulate without sounding like a pessimistic child, it is one of the few feelings that hit hard and fast, and leave you stunned and questioning everything. It has a cunning ability to dredge up every thought or decision you’ve made in the past and often lingers long after the initial anxiety has passed. And it provides no answers, just more questions.
It’s basically just f*cked.
And like everything else in life, it too passes, albeit slowly sometimes. But it serves as a reminder – like a hammer to my kneecap type reminder, there is more to losing a loved one than the anticipated sadness, loneliness, and longing. That there are no answers, no solutions or no ways to manipulate the grief journey.
It just has to happen. However it pans out, I just have to trust I’ll be OK.
For now, however, in a weird kind of way, I’m glad it happened. It’s comforting to know I still care. It feels good to connect with deep emotions, to acknowledge things I perhaps have ignored lately in lieu of more superficial pursuits.
And contrary to popular belief, guys do like a good old sob every now and then, even if they don’t admit it. It’s cleansing. Healing. Normal.
Even writing this all down has been cathartic, and I feel lighter already.
So, I guess I should say thanks, Renee, still helping me out after all these years. Bless.”
This story was submitted to Love What Matters by Chris Martin of Australia. This story originally appeared here. You can follow his journey on Facebook, Instagram, and blog. Submit your own story here and be sure to subscribe to our free email newsletter for our best stories, and YouTube for our best videos.
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