A New Kind of Grieving

Anyone who knows me and my life is probably aware of how much death I’ve suffered through. I lose loved ones what seems like so often, and I’ve struggled so hard to deal with the grief that stems from a loss of life. Loss can come in many forms, though, and recently I’ve learned just how difficult it can be to miss someone and grieve for them when they’re still roaming this earth.

There are two stories to tell here, and I’m not quite sure how to present them. Side by side? One after the other? Chronologically? Nothing seems to fit. So, I decided to talk about the one that hurts the least first. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still beyond painful, but it doesn’t keep me up at night like the second of my stories does.

When I was small, I remember my mother being such an amazing parent. She was affectionate, caring, always there. She told us bedtime stories, played with us, spent time with us, pushed us on the swings. After my parents got divorced and she started dating again, though, she changed. We were no longer her priority. For the sake of privacy, I’ll leave out the details, but she became less and less of a part of my life. Recently she managed to cross me in a way that’s unforgivable, and is no longer a part of my life at all. She is alive and breathing, walking this earth. However, she’s lost to me.

I don’t know where she is or what she’s doing. I don’t correspond with her any more, she barely tries to reach out anymore. And even though it’s a conscious and voluntary decision on my part, and I haven’t felt her presence in years, I feel like I’ve lost something. The person she was, the relationship that we had so many years ago, those things don’t exist any longer. And I have to grieve for them just like I would any other lost thing. Maybe it sounds petty or dramatic, but that’s something I’m having to deal with accepting.

The second story is one that’s a lot more difficult to tell. I haven’t lost a person, or an object, or anything with any tactile permanence. What I lost was a feeling, a relationship, and the future I thought I had planned for myself. I made the decision to end my relationship after two years and two months of being together. It wasn’t an easy thing to do, something I wanted to happen, or something  I ever thought would even be a possibility. I thought he and I were some of the lucky ones, I thought my first serious relationship would be my only serious relationship. But the fact of the matter is, that’s not what happened.

We started off  being so happy and I felt so complete. I loved him so intensely, so deeply, and so much that I built my entire life around him. I planned my future around him, and then when I started realizing I had different goals there was some push back. Then we started differing on major issues like whether or not to have our own child, to adopt, or to remain childless. We started to argue and resent each other for the smallest of choices. And it became an increasingly toxic situation until eventually I realized if it didn’t end, we’d end up hurting each other and resenting each other in a way that would be unforgivable. For the sake of our friendship and for the sake of our mental health, it was time to let go.

Saying goodbye to him hurt more than anything I’ve ever felt, even knowing it was for the best. Leaving our apartment, giving up one of my dogs, packing up my essentials and moving home with my grandparents was heart wrenching. I sobbed the whole time with Daisy at my heels, snuggling into my lap every time I’d sit down and frantically trying to lick all of the tears off of my face in an uncharacteristically kind manner. I felt like I was giving everything up, and starting over with nothing.

I’m still adapting. It still hurts. I still miss him and love him, but we just stopped being good for each other as a couple. It simply stopped working. We tried like hell to bring it back, to fix it, but some fundamental differences that we’d had from the beginning just fought their way to the surface and they won out. It got to the point that working on it and trying to fix things and talk things out and change things hurt worse than the actual problems did. It was draining and exhausting, and I knew it had to stop before there was nothing left.

Now I have to grieve for the future I thought I wanted, the relationship we had before. I still grieve for the happy version of us, when we were young and in love and that was all that mattered in the world. All of the phases seem to come and go interchangeably. Denial is definitely there, anger can be overwhelming, and the sadness keeps me awake more often than not. But it’s a necessary adjustment. The relationship is gone, the happy go lucky versions of us is gone, and they’ll never return to those states ever again. Letting go is something I’m very open about being horrible at, but I’m learning.