I understand grief’s pain all too well. We often find ourselves vocalizing the intensity of its ache. Yet, in the depths of our being, there’s a peculiar inclination towards it—a desire to feel it, almost as if it’s a tether to our departed loved ones. It’s not a mere surface-level link but a profound, soul-deep connection. It may sound perverse to admit to missing such anguish, but there’s an undeniable truth to it.
As I gradually found relief and began embracing the promise of each new day, I couldn’t shake off the sense of longing for something deeper. I didn’t want to sever that profound connection, even though it was intertwined with pain. With my children now grown and independent, the weight of responsibility has shifted, leaving me in a space where such connections feel scarce.
The loss of my husband was not the only blow; I also bid farewell to Elaine, my closest confidante, and found myself uprooted to a new environment. Gone was the familiarity of the home I’d inhabited for four decades, where cherished holiday memories were made.
In the present, what I yearn for most is a profound connection with someone who has known me intimately for decades. No one in my life now shares that depth of history. It’s a void that the fledgling relationships of starting anew struggle to fill.
Though I’ve made peace with my sorrow and reconciled with it, there persists a craving for something more profound than the superficiality of newfound connections.