Maile,
I wanted share something with you. On November 3, 2000, my fiance' Jimmy Van Denend, the love of my life, was killed instantly in a duck hunting accident. His death turned my world upside-down. My grief was unbearable. Every moment of every day was like a surreal nightmare that I thought would never end.
Two things I want to share with you about that experience. First I would like to give you a suggestion that our funeral director gave to me. He told me to forgive people in advance for what they were going to say. People, including me (right now) will grasp for words that will comfort you, even if just for a moment, as they are overwhelmed by a sense of powerlessness. A few of my friends, Jimmys friends, later told me that it was almost more difficult to watch me go through my grief than it was to have lost Jimmy in the first place. Some will succeed at giving you a shred of comfort, a spark of hope. But others may not only fail but may downright offend. Forgive them in advance. They just don't have any idea what to say or do to take your pain away.
Second, I remember so desperately wishing that I could come face to face with myself a year in the future. See, Maile, I could not wrap my mind around the concept that "it won't always feel like this". Time had stopped and each moment felt worse than the one before. Then there would be a minute or two here and there where I would find peace, somehow. I would be distracted or comforted just the right way. Whatever it was, I would get a moment of peace until cruel reality would, all too quickly and violently, come rushing back into my world.
Somehow, somewhere deep down, I believed that I might just survive this experience and I wanted to talk to that girl, myself, once I had survived it.
Maile I remember the day that I could breathe again. Literally breathe as though the suffocating,choking weight on my chest had lifted. I remember the first day that I noticed the sun in the sky. I remember the first time I managed a smile. A real smile. And then a laugh, and eventually a belly laugh. I remember the first time that I realized that I had gone a whole hour without wanting to cry. A whole hour not spinning in my head, replaying the whole thing over and over. And then two hours and then a whole day. I remember the first day that I felt like I might actually get through this pain.
I think about Jimmy all the time. I miss him every day and I talk about him often. My life has been forever separated into before he died and after. Knowing him, loving him, and then losing him has been weaved into a significant portion of the fabric of my being. And I am grateful to have been a part of his life, even though my time with him wasn't long enough.
When people told me that "he was in a better place", that I would get "over" it, and that it would get better with time, these words did not comfort me.
Maile, all I can tell you for sure is that I have no idea where Jimmy went when he left, but I feel him, tangibly feel him, to this day. I know that I am not, nor will I ever be "over it". It is neither possible to get "over" such a defining moment of my life nor is it possible to "get over" loving a man who was and will always be precious to me. I would never wish in a million years to get "over" it. And, for me, it has gotten different with time. I have a beautiful life today that is neither "better" nor "worse" than it was the day Jimmy died. It is what it is. I am a woman who was lucky enough to have had the opportunity to love a man like Jimmy, a woman who lost the man that she loved, a woman who survived that loss, a woman whose whole life was changed by that experience, and a woman who discovered a part of herself, deep down inside, that she never would have otherwise met. I am a woman who, at the lowest moment of her life, was showered with more love than she ever thought possible, and a woman who, today, can empathize with others who suffer a sudden, tragic and unimaginable loss the way only someone who has experienced such a personal loss can. Please know that I, in no way, think that my experience in any way amounts to losing a child. I absolutely cannot imagine what that feels like nor will I pretend like I do. All I have to offer you is my story in the hope that you can find in it some comfort, maybe some hope, or at the very least a moment or two of distraction.
I know it has been a million years since we have spoken but I absolutely mean it when I say that you can call on me day or night if you need someone to listen, someone to talk while you take a break and just listen, or someone to just be still on the other end while you cry and not pretend that she knows just the right thing to say. Soak up the love, you're gonna need it. Try to drink fluids, and if you can't eat, try to sip some Ensure. Stress Vitamin B complex is good for your body right now and try, just try, to be kind to yourself. Your physical body is in as much turmoil as your spirit.
Remember that your grief belongs to you and nobody else. As horrible as it is, it will one day be precious to you. Experience it in your own way, at your own pace.
I wish peace for you and believe that you will feel that peace again someday, somehow.
Your old friend, Liz
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