Common Ground

I may have written about a friend who lost his wife very suddenly and very tragically about ten months ago. He and the boys came over for supper the other night, his three year old daughter was being babysat. I watched this man who had married his high school sweetheart, been married to his best friend for over seventeen years, I listened to this man tell me the story of sitting down his four children to explain that their mother wouldn’t be coming home. The hardest thing he’s ever done in his life is how he described it to me. This is a man who sacrificed his sports when the twins were born, this is a man who has taken all the necessary steps to ensure he and his kids are taken care of, from mental wellness to boundaries, rules, routines…I will never cease to be impressed by the triumph of the human spirit and continually perplexed by the complexity of the unexplainable circumstances endured.

What surprised me perhaps the most was that he shared with me that he has never cried. The family's grief counsellor even broke down in tears over hearing the events, had to leave the room, collect herself and returned with sincere apologizes over her lack of professionalism. I like to think that grieving is an individual process unique to each and everyone of us, but like most of my thoughts, I tend to believe it's idealistic. I have been taught that healing comes in loads of tears and heaps of snot. I personally, in order to let go have allowed myself to feel depths of pain that has brought me to my knees in puddles of tears and gobs of snot.

I don't have any answers. We all walk a very personal and individual path in life, one that hopefully holds fifteen laughs for every ounce of pain, sadness, lonliness or tear. I would be interested to know how other people grieve and ultimately celebrate life (as another of my good buddies in California taught me. Although he probably would feel uncomfortable to take credit for teaching me anything and would only accept that he 'reminded' me).

Off to enjoy the day,
Me