Loss is not very hard to quantify. Someone was there and now they are not.
Those left behind become intimately acquainted with all the anger, guilt, regret, and suffering that results.
Loss and grief are intimate bedfellows and their union always brings pain.
And that pain?
It is all consuming, all encompassing. It permeates every fiber of your being
We humans do a lot of dumb things to numb that degree of pain. We try alcohol, drugs, sex, and anything else you might imagine to somehow make the pain go away.
In those first few months, there was too much riding on me to try to mitigate my pain with destructive behaviors. (But don’t think I was somehow better or stronger… don’t think I didn’t want to do anything that would take away the searing pain of loss. Every day I was just a short small step away…)
In the basement of the house I share with my sweet new wife lives my old couch. It’s pretty lonely these days. I don’t really care to visit it. In the worst of my pain, I ruined that couch on one end. I rode that thing like my life depended on it through wave after crashing wave of despair, heartache, agony, and loss.
Those days are mostly gone. There are times when pain rears its ugly head and smacks me between the eyes. And those days, I hurt. I function much better than I did in the immediate aftermath, but still I hurt.
That’s the residual pain that you never quite get rid of…
Most people are compassionate and while they can’t really understand (and I wouldn’t want you too either), they try. For that I am thankful.