When I was younger, my mother told me how her father’s brother had been killed in World War II. My grandfather had also been in that war, but he had survived. Their mother, my great-grandmother, went into mourning when her son died. From that point on, she wore long black dresses and she never cut her hair again. This was her way of grieving for her son who had died. It’s understandable that she went into a mourning period as everyone who loses a loved one does. What wasn’t rational to me though is that she remained in that same mourning period for the rest of her life, which was another 45 or so years.
I only met that great-grandmother a few times in my life. I can remember feeling her sadness every time I did see her. I didn’t understand that sadness when I was younger, but I definitely understand it now. Her heart was broken into a million little pieces when her son died and she didn’t know how to put it back together again. Maybe she thought it couldn’t, or shouldn’t, be done.
Over the years I thought about my great-grandmother and how her life must have been living in that perpetual state of mourning. How did she have the mental and emotional strength to get up out of bed each and every morning all those years when she was so full of sadness and grief? Did she ever laugh or smile again? Did she ever again have any moments where happiness took the place of her sadness, if only for a brief time? Did anything at all bring her anything that resembled joy anymore?
I’m not sure if she ever experienced any of the things above again, but I do know that she stayed in that state of mourning for the rest of her life. She unpacked her bags of grief over her son’s death and she lived there till the day she died herself. That breaks my heart because so much of her life was spent in that dark and lonely place. Her life could have been so much different had she never unpacked those bags, or at least packed them back up again after they had served their purpose. But, she did neither of those things.
My great-grandmother robbed herself of living her life because the life she was living was only for someone who was dead. Not only did she rob herself, but she also robbed the people around her…..her family, her friends, and any others who she crossed paths with. They were all the losers in it because no one wins when you remain in that place of sadness and grief.
How different would her life had been had she not permanently unpacked those bags of grief? What great things could she have accomplished had she not stayed there? How would the lives of the people who loved her been different? Would the relationships with those people have been closer and warmer? Would my mother and her children have had a closer relationship with her instead of only seeing her a handful of times throughout our lifetimes?
How different things would have been had she been present for herself and others instead of living every day solely for someone who had died so long ago. To me, it all seems like a terrible tragedy. I’m sure that her son would not have wanted her to live that way. He would have wanted her to be happy and not live a life filled with sorrow over his death.
As the first anniversary of Kenny’s death rolled around a few weeks back, I took a lot of time to reflect on the past year and how the journey through it was. It was literally the worst year of my whole entire life. I have never experienced such raw emotional pain and more often than not, I did not think I would make it through. But…..I did make it through it. I survived it. I came out on the other side of it a much stronger person than I was when I went into it, and for that I am grateful.
I spent that year in my own heavy mourning, much like my great-grandmother did over her son’s death. I came to understand firsthand the pain she felt and it was brutal. Hopelessness, despair, and grief was front and center for me for the entire time. It’s something I would never wish on another living soul. I did a hell of a lot of work on moving through that grief and processing as much of it as I could and it was excruciating. I’m not done with that working through and processing either, and I don’t think I will ever be 100% done with it as you don’t ever really heal completely from your loved ones death. But, I’ve come a long, long way in that year from where I started out at.
The difference between my great-grandmother and me is that I did not unpack and live in that state of mourning. It was only a temporary destination for me while hers was her final destination and it lasted more than 45 years. I refuse to allow her fate to be my fate. I won’t do it. I will break that ancestral cycle. I will live my life for myself, for my children, for my grandchild, and for the other people in my life. I won’t shutter myself away and hide from the world because I’m hurting from Kenny’s death. He wouldn’t want that life for me. He would, he does, want me to be happy. It would break his heart for me to unpack my bags of grief and permanently live there in that state of sadness. I can’t do that, not to myself, or anyone, but especially to him. The best way to honor Kenny’s life is to live my own life for me and to not remain permanently in that dark place that my great-grandmother did for the rest of her life. I won’t die a long, slow death from a broken heart like she did. I’m choosing to live instead.