You Don't Have to Say Goodbye When Someone You Love Dies
Published May 20, 2007
Another great statement she makes is, “The biggest compliment you can pay to people you have loved and lost is to keep a part of them alive in yourself, memorializing their significance.” Though I could go on quoting her, I will stop with the most important thing I learned from her books: “Anybody who has lost someone they love, has to find a new way of loving that person, since hugs and kisses are no longer an option.”
How can we do this? Here is my exercise that I’ve learned with the help of Allison Dubois.
When you wake in the morning, acknowledge they are with you. Say their name and talk to them aloud. This is easy to do for people who talk to themselves. I am one of those. When you partake in an activity you delight in, bring them with you simply by thinking of them as you enjoy that time. Better yet, do the things they used to love to do.
My brother mows the lawn at my mom’s house, one of dad’s favorite pastimes. I eat salami sandwiches with asiago cheese or whatever else he used to enjoy eating, but toward the end couldn’t. My mom listens to baseball games on the radio. She could care less about baseball, but dad loved the game and it is her way of saying I love you still.
These little things keep them with you. You don’t have to say goodbye. Live your life to the fullest while holding them in your heart so they may continue to experience life through you.
Thanks, Allison.
- You Don't Have to Say Goodbye When Someone You Love Dies
- Published: May 20, 2007
- Type: Opinion
- Section: Culture
- Filed Under: Culture: Society, Culture: Religion, Culture: Personal History, Culture: Family and Relationships, Books: Nonfiction
- Writer: Kristi Niedzwiecki
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Comments on this articleComments
Like Victor I will agree that "Mourning is a long and difficult road." I, too, have had a hard time with the loss of my wife.
After 38 years profoundly together I am still learning to feel truly alone. But, as you wrote, I still live pretty much as we lived together. I felt her near me at first, can still talk to her and know pretty much what she would answer. I need her back to discuss what I should plan for myself now.
I also feel her having moved away to some other level where I can no longer walk with her.
I think of her in the morning during those freshly awake moments we shared together before the hassles of the day began. We swam together, and having spread her ashes in the lagoon we loved, I feel her around me in the water. We swam together and, eyes closed in the rhythm of the strokes, we still do.
But, yes, it is hard. It was a sweet piece you wrote. Thanks.
In my closet, there is a box with lovely cotton nightgowns that have incredible Swiss embroidery on them. After 9 years, they s-t-i-l-l smell like my mother. Every so often I look at them and smile.
On my left ring finger, there is a platinum ring with 3 rows of small diamonds. My mother proudly and lovingly wore this ring for 50 years. I wear it with love.
I look at my children and remember the woman who brought me into this world, and whom I guided into the next. These are true gifts.
Thanks for a lovely post.
Thank you all for your sharing your beautiful thoughts about your loved ones.
I hope you all are doing well and are finding peace and comfort throughout your days.
Kristi
Add your comment, speak your mind
(Or ping: http://blogcritics.org/mt/tb/64166)
Kristi, my Mom will be gone a year at the end of this month. I have not been able to reconcile any of what has happened. Plus, I lost her sister (my favorite aunt and godmother) last February. Having lost both of these special women so closely has devastated me.
Nothing much has worked for me. I went to the group in my parish (I'm Catholic too), but it didn't help (not because of the group but because I was not open to it).
I am trying to be open now, but I have to admit that I have a hard time with it. I do try talking to them at odd moments, and they come to me in my dreams (sometimes pleasantly, sometimes not).
Mourning is a long and difficult road. Some should find your piece helpful, and I will try to think about my grief more openly.
Thanks.