We’ve got your back… Photo by Becca Tapert on Unsplash
It seems that one of the biggest challenges for any person who is going through loss is that moment when life needs to go on, bills need to be paid and someone has to go do something about it.
Until that moment, Axe Man had been by my side whenever I needed him; he was only ever a yelling-fit away. But the minute his truck left the driveway, and I knew he would be driving 90 minutes to his own home, my knees hit the living-room floor and it felt like I would never be able to get back up. Alongside the tears came paralysing thoughts and a torrent of emotion. Bug-eyed, hands grasping at nothing, sobbing and snotty, my mind yelled: “YOU WILL NEVER GET THROUGH THIS!”
I knew I needed a second opinion.
Somehow I got myself to the couch and dialed a dear friend. She picked up, thank god. I had no words so I simply wailed down the phone whilst she listened and made gentle loving noises. Blessedly, she understood that all I needed was a listening ear, a safe space to feel and an open-hearted friend to receive it all. She came by this knowledge through much heartbreak of her own; her story is longer and tougher than mine, having been through a miscarriage and several years of trying to get pregnant since. But she didn’t minimise my suffering and instead gave me all of her loving attention. As the tears subsided I knew that, whatever my mind said, I WAS getting through it and that this whole experience was a gift. I had gotten my second opinion.
Notice that I received said wisdom WITHOUT MY FRIEND EVER HAVING TO OPEN HER MOUTH. This feels important to acknowledge, since so often we think it’s our job to tell someone else what to feel or to remind them that their experience in this moment will change, when actually - by offering our full attention to someone while they feel a feeling - we give them a chance to move beyond it and for the metamorphosis to occur all by itself. This is the miracle of non-judgmental space-holding or “witnessing”.
And so I survived the afternoon. That evening, people from my co-housing community rallied around with food, flowers and hugs. A steady stream of knocks on the door brought continuous reminders that I am not alone - no matter where my partner lives - and that everyone has their own story of loss, even if you don’t know it. With each hug, each loving glance, I would soften and tears would come. Mostly they cried with me, which somehow felt even more touching. So much human suffering is hidden, avoided and ignored, yet there’s something about the loss of a tiny life that moves almost everyone to tears. It just gets us right in the heart. I am SO grateful for all the tears I got to cry with someone else , for all the soup and hugs, for the silent witnessing, the loving murmurs and the stories I received in return. Doing this alone would be unbearable.