The post that started it all: Life Does Not Go On
My best friend died at the age of twenty-seven. She rushed back into her burning house to save her pets and succumbed to smoke inhalation. She was beautiful, brilliant, and fearless, and she was loved by many – the funeral home could not accommodate the hundreds of mourners that attended her memorial. I was disconsolate.In the days and months that followed, I was showered with sympathy, condolences, and commiseration. Friends and family brought casseroles, acquaintances and coworkers offered empathy, and everyone made a concerted effort to cheer me up. The most prevalent statement of encouragement was, “Life goes on.”
People have been saying “life goes on” as long as life has been going on. It is a universal mantra used to deal with loss and bereavement, clung to not for reassurance so much as pacification of one’s misery until enough time has passed to have its anesthetic effect. It is a necessary and natural reaction to loss, but as a statement of support, it is misleading and destructive. When you lose someone you love, life does not go on.
The loss of a loved one is a monumental event, one that can change the entire landscape of one’s life. A significant loss permanently changes the way you see your existence and how you experience it. Simply put, life as it was defined when your loved one was alive does not go on. Trying to live as if it does is both inappropriate and impossible, and ultimately self-destructive. By setting the unattainable goal of going on with life as before, you risk miring yourself in a cycle of denial and despair.
When I heard, “Life goes on”, it challenged me to move on. Though well intentioned, this was the worst advice I could be given. In order to carry on, I needed to allow myself the time to process this new reality and fully understand the ramifications of my loss. Until I did, I knew I would be living a former life that was now incomplete, rather than living life as it had become – different.
Months have passed since I lost my friend, and the transition to this new life has not been easy. I still miss her desperately, and I think of her every day. I still mourn my life with my friend, but I am not still trying to live it. I have begun a new life, one in which the memory of my best friend is not painful, but part of who I am. This has given me the strength to go on with living, even if life with my friend did not go on.
© Abra Cadaver 2006
posted by Abra Cadaver at 4:33 PM
6 Comments:
your posts made me giggle a bit. not for your loss but for your words.
my boyfriend died closing in on nine weeks ago. i have a lot of time on my hands and a lot of unanswered questions. the internet, friend or foe?
i came across your site in an effort to see if men go through the trauma of losing a loved one. most of the blogs/forums i encountered were basically just women. why was i looking... its a tangent in my search to find a good-ending to the situation i am now facing.
are we alike? i dont know, but i do know i enjoyed your words. thanks.
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Hello!
I stumbled upon your blog early, early, early this morning. I have a blog I started this summer that's a bit like yours.
My awesome, ridiculously talented, brilliantly wonderful partner of four years died this past June. He was 29.
It's really comforting finding someone else approach this stuff in a similar way.
My blog is, bootedbutterfly.blogspot.com, if you ever want to check it out.
All the best to you,
Eleni
**Sorry about my deleted previous comments...I just wanted to say more.
I just wanted to thank you for writing this. For not being senselessly positive. For not denying the darkness that will stay with us after something like that happens. Thank you for being realistic and put all that into words.
Thanks for writing this - it's been 3 years since my girl died in my arms on the way to the hospital.
I feel pathetic that I can't seem to move on - almost like life has been on pause since that happened. I go through the motions, do my work, but I haven't really wanted to try and meet anyone new in the past 3 years or make any effort to make new friends.
I've heard that it takes about half the time you knew someone to get over them - I've past my half way point and can start to see a little light at the end of the tunnel, but even though becoming more social seems to be coming back - the grief - oh man the grief - it's just crippling sometimes. I wish it would go away or let me go, or I could let it go... I dunno what it is.
I just want to get to that point where I can look back with a smile and be thankful for the time together and live in the moment now, not something that I can never have back.
Ok - starting to ramble here now - I think that's what happens when you look too far down the dark tunnel while writing an email :) Take care, and thanks again.
m
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