There are so many things to say about what it feels like 14 years after his loss.
When it comes to loss of this kind, time is confusing.
It’s almost as if his passing shoved me out of my body too.
It just took me out of the direct experience of living.
It placed me at a vantage point I never expected.
And because we have only been given very inadequate descriptions of grief, I had to find new words to describe my own aftermath.
Calling it grief was always inadequate.
It is an out of body experience.
It is like I live in two places.
This is what happens when we lose someone we love.
We get pumped out of time, out of place, out of body.
But the only person who sees it, is us.
We are also told that if we talk about them years down the road we must be stuck.
I can laugh like a mad woman about this last part.
Sure it’s complicated, but not the way they think it is.
You don’t just remember the person you lost, you are with them in an unspoken way.
You hold their beingness with you.
It’s an inner experience that can only be described as a miracle.
It’s as if they are forever yours.
As some of you know, I remarried.
My husband Eric and I have made an amazing life together.
But this is what I want the world to understand and not forget.
My way of ‘grieving’, remembering and speaking about my first husband doesn’t take away from my life here with Eric.
Far from it.
Human beings have complex and vast inner worlds.
It’s the way we are made. It’s natural.
Love is an infinite feeling.
It’s the love we have inside for them that keeps trying to reach them.
If I were to rename grief I would call it honor.
What an honor it is to love so deeply that decades can go by and that love remains.
I am going to share with you an email I sent out to my family and friends a few days after he passed.
This was my beginning.
Sent: Monday, 14 August 2006, 03:12:30
Dear friends,
By now I have not seen Bjarne for over 3 weeks, which is by far the longest time. Needless to say sometimes I pretend he is abroad somewhere and I will be visiting soon. Denial, denial, denial.
When I studied the stages of bereavement in college I used to think that the stage of denial would not really materialize in most people. How could they be in denial, the person is gone, what makes them doubt that? The following is the answer I gave to this question today. The human body cannot cope with the reality of such loss, it is so painful that it truly does not allow the knowledge to penetrate the brain. When it finally sets in, time has passed and the person has had some experience being without the loved one.
A few nights ago I cried for the first time. I know it might sound strange but I was relieved in some respects. Numbness is not very comfortable to somebody who is used to feeling all the emotions possible. It really felt like a big part of me had been under anesthesia. The next day the numbness was back in full force but I think feeling the sad emotion even for a few moments was a step towards the right direction.
Since Bjarne died I have managed to run as fast as I can without stopping for too long. When I have to brake for a few moments it feels quite sickening and impossible to bear. Whenever I have to make a decision my first thought still is what would he say about this. And to my surprise I am mostly certain about the answer. I still make conversation with him, in the car, cemetery, and before I go to bed.
When I am alone, I feel closer to him somehow and it feels like he is with me driving even when I am just going to the store. One can never know for sure but I choose to lean towards the idea that he is around somewhere watching over the girls and me. If he could see me right now, I know that he would be proud of me. I am still standing, I can still take care of the girls, I eat, have gone out with friends, made pleasant conversation with a lot of people, been to the hairdresser, paid bills, went to the beach, slept on our bed without him, smiled and laughed, and missed him more than I could ever tell you but I am still alive. Some of the above are just simple routines for most people, but before he died I was not sure whether I would be able to accomplish any of them, but I did and I am grateful.
I know it seems like I am not around much, I have tried to run away from the house often but in the last couple of days I have stayed home more and have been able to endure the pain of the familiar spaces. I hope to continue my progress with more steps forward than back and to be able to chat with you all one day soon.
Thank you for reading.”
And that was the beginning of a very long journey.
If you are going to take one thing away from this special anniversary letter it should be this.
Wherever you are on this journey don’t forget, love is infinite.
And a big honor.
Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.
They don’t know what it’s like to live in two places at the same time.
This is an honor you receive when someone you love dies.
No other way around it.
With honor,
Christina
I am not feeling honored. I am feeling deprived and destroyed. How to cope with the loss of your love? Our life, our dreams? I am struggling and fighting and trying my best, but it all feels senseless. Living a lonely life, just thinking, what should have been… we have lived in a paradise, now I am in hell…
Christina,
This is so spot on & why I really admire you and your writing.
It says eloquently what I feel in my heart.
I walked out from the waiting room about a year ago with the help of your book & I never looked back.
But I still felt Dave’s presence everywhere and still do.
I met someone recently who also has stepped out of the waiting room & when people ask me about our relationship I have trouble explaining how I honor my love of Dave by living again.
Next time someone asks me to explain I will show them this letter.
I lost two of my closest friends before they were 30 in weird and freakish ways. It’s been decades and I still miss them so much. We have conversations, and they show me they are still nearby from time to time. I carried one of them with me for a long time because I could not bear to be without him. Your words were a blessing today. Thank you for speaking how I still feel.
Christina,
Thank you for your clarifications and your help. My feet did not touch the ground after losing Michael. I was half way between where he was and where I was for a good month. It’ been almost nine years and I occasionally have this repetitive dream where I ask people where he is, why hasn’t he come home, I just don’t understand where he is in my dream he always comes home. Well I hope he’s ok. He was my other half.
Your letter is exactly how I feel – good to know it’s all okay to feel this way – as long as we can be happy in the midst of all this running and grief we’re thriving and surviving Thank you Christina for putting pen to paper or fingers to keyboard ????
Christina, I read this on Friday and it resonated with me so much. At almost 4 years this August I still feel “pumped out of time, out of place, out of body”. I thank you so much for explaining and renaming grief in this way…an honour to have this love for my husband inside me. It will be with me forever, I keep experiencing this love with every memory and every little thing that reminds me of him. The love I carry inside as I continue to reach him in this other dimension, outside of myself, I realize is within and I will always hold on to this feeling. God bless you for sharing this with all of us.