Smoldering Ache of Loss

Smoldering means smoke with no flames.  Flames are the roar of death, either sudden or expected.  Both hurt.  The smoke is the pain left behind, filling my lungs until I can barely breathe. 

Mike’s sudden death smoldered in my mind and heart for years as I learned to live without him.  After the first two years, the pain was tamped down so that it was part of the background hum just below the surface.  The flames would flare up when the anniversary of his death arrived or on other special days that would remind me that we were forever intertwined.  I grew in empathy for others who were suffering from the death of a loved one.  People would ask me, “How do I help my friend whose loved one has died?”  This was not the expert I wanted to be, but I tried to soften the road for the person whose shoes I had already walked in.

The pain I’m experiencing now is more like a bonfire that I must tend to with gentleness and compassion.  With the death of both my parents in such a short time and putting the house I grew up for sale, it is so overwhelming. The voice I hear reminds me that I walked through the worst time of my life when Mike died ten years ago.  Everything you’re feeling is normal.  This pain will get better.  But when Mike died, I had my parents to lean on. I had a place to go back to, whether in Syracuse or Florida. Their death had reignited the pain of missing Mike’s support.

Breathing in the wreckage of grief means holding space for my pain and reaching out to others who understand—finding books and groups that validate my grief.  I know that my heart will not look the same as the stitches pull the scraps together and that there will always be smoke below the surface.