By E.B. Wexler
“anniversary” implies that I do not have grief the other 364 days
I do.
But as the date approaches
I feel, slowly arising
The original grief
The breath sucked out of me when I got the news over the phone.
The early grief
Walking around in a daze, wondering where she went
How things would be now
She was 31
She was my “person”
And it was out of the blue.
I have not been the same since. And I don’t want to be….
what you don’t know is that my life will never be the same
what you don’t know is that if or when this happens to you, yours won’t either
what you don’t know, until it happens to you, is how it feels
what you don’t know is that I can’t TELL you how it feels
I can say a million words, but they won’t begin to convey it
what you don’t know is that all of the losses touch each other
suffering a loss today can bring up a loss from decades ago
and it feels real
it feels current
it’s one big steaming pot of loss
what you don’t know is that it’s always present for me
so for those of you
who would never bring it up
and then later say, when I finally do
“I was going to say something but I didn’t want you to get upset”
I’M ALREADY UPSET.
you mentioning it doesn’t make me upset
it’s not like until you brought it up….I forgot about that piece of me I’ll never have again
for anyone who says
“you need to stop thinking about it. It’s making you sad.
I am ALREADY sad.
And by the way…
What’s wrong with sad?
what you don’t know
is that asking
is the best thing you can do
but what you don’t know
is that if you don’t ask, it is probably because you’re scared to ask
because the answer is too scary for you
maybe because it hasn’t happened to you
what you don’t know is that if or when it happens to you
and someone finally asks you about it
you are going to want to kiss them full on the mouth
collapse into their arms
what you don’t know is that the gratitude you feel
towards people who ask
who can witness your pain
is almost as bottomless as the grief itself
what you don’t know
is that the platitudes
not only don’t help
they make me angry
at you.
“I know she wouldn’t want you to be sad”
really?!
Please.
to start with, you never met her.
And…..do you know one of the many reasons I miss her so much?
because if this had happened with someone else
if she was still here to comfort me
she would say:
“don’t listen to them, Bets. You ARE sad. “she” would want you to be wherever you are.
trust the process.”
what you don’t know
is that the one person who could best see and love and comfort me through tough times
see me when I couldn’t see myself
is the one for whom I’m grieving.
double whammy.
I need to talk to HER about losing HER.
I need to cry to her about losing my best friend
My “person”.
part of my insides
the one who not only understood everything I didn’t get before–
but who GAVE it to me herself.
what does not show
is the searing pain I have deep deep inside
so deep that sometimes I don’t even see it
what does not show
is the part of my heart that feels all carved out
like an avacado
scraped to the very skin
that sound of the metal spoon hitting the inside of the rough peel
there is no more
empty
what does not show
is the anger I feel every time someone fails to see my losses
fails to see ME
what does not show
is the picture in my head of me smacking you
when you say something like
“she’d want you to move on.”
(once again, only from people who never met her.
how can you speak for her?)
move on…..from what?
where have I stopped?
what does not show
is the movement of my feelings
moving all the time
up and down, side to side, waxing and waning
all in service of being present
not better. Present. To whatever shows up.
because all you see is pain
and you want it to go away.
what does not show
is the tidal wave of grief that comes on her death date
or her birthday
or when something reminds me of her in a way that feels like a punch in the gut
in a way that causes my body to remember both that she is gone
but also that she was here.
How much I loved her.
what does not show
are the tiny shards of my heart
that I’ve been picking up and picking out of crevices
putting in a bag
little tiny pieces
trying not to step on them or vacuum them up
they seem infinite
and I can’t ever put them back together the way they were
what does not show
is the brokenness of my heart.
E.B. Wexler is a social worker, writer, yogi and yoga teacher, and lover of independent film. She has taught yoga to children in studios, to residents of homeless shelters, and helped found a mindfulness program for kids at a meditation center. She has written essays, educational texts,and movie and restaurant reviews….but her passion is essays. Her current full-time gig is training law enforcement first-responders on the mean streets of Baltimore how to handle behavioral health crises. In the past year, she had her first police ride-along and taken two Jen Pastiloff workshop, in NYC.
thank you E. for sharing your vulnerability. In the end, it represents the best parts of us. We just may not know it yet.
nancy
yes! yes!
This! This!
Straight up.
Dead on.
Thank you.
Bless you.
Love this poem. Your poem on grief is spot on and straight up. It’s okay to be sad…it’s okay to be angry…it’s the human condition to grieve. We don’t need to move on, we don’t need to ever be the same. But that is okay.
Thank you….Peace be with you.
Thank you. Is it ok that this helps? Is it ok that someone getting it helps? I lost my person 9/11. He wasn’t my husband, my boyfriend even, but he was my person. Tomorrow is his birthday. Even now, it is so hard. One of happiest accidents came in the form of a flight cancelation. I was on my way home from Austin to upstate NY, traveling through Chicago, his home at the time. It was his birthday, his last. We walked through the snowdrifts, arm in arm, laughing with friends. He came to my parent’s home 10 days later. It was the only time they’d meet and the last time I saw him. He was my person, I was his, but I wasn’t ready for the commitment to move where he was ready to go. I wasn’t ready, wasn’t worthy. What if he moved to Austin and it didn’t work? What would happen? A few months later, a girl he’d just met asked him to come try NYC. She was ready, eager even. It was late July or early August when he began his job at Cantor Fitzgerald. Now I wonder, what would have happened? What if I’d been ready? Would he still be here? Even if he’d chosen to marry her, he’d still be here. He was my person, I was his.
I miss him all the time. I wrote about it a few years ago, on the anniversary of his death, but there really aren’t words to wrap it up neatly. Just because I wrote about it on a day that I was able to see the gratitude more than the grief, but there have been many days since where that was not the case. There are as many facets of my grief as there were facets of him. How can I put that in words? You’ve come close. Thank you. I’m so sorry.
Alissa: thank you so much for sharing your story. I’m so sorry for your loss. You’re right, there really are no words. But we keep trying anyway. <3
Wow this got me. This is the best piece on grief I’ve read
As you turn this pain into something that might help others understand, you give a beautiful gift to the world. I am grateful for your work. Thank you.
Grief …………written by me on a slip of paper five months after his death
All consuming and
Totally indulgent
As I slip over the edge of sanity
I lost my son last December. This poem feels like it is coming out of my heart. Thank you so much.
Yes. Yes. Yes. All of this.
On day 30, I can’t even fathom day 365.
I am so sorry for your loss. And I am so grateful that you were able to share this, making me feel less alone and more understood. Thank you.
This is one of the best pieces on grief I have ever read. You hit all the nails on the head. I am going to read this again and again, I know. Thank you for this.
Thank you for sharing your poem. I haven’t recently read much on the subject of grief. After my 5 month old daughter died suddenly in Nov of 2000, I read everything I could get my hands on. I just wanted to know that I wasn’t alone, that others had felt pain like mine, that I wasn’t crazy. The pain was nearly unbearable, and was compounded by other’s around me avoiding the subject, not mentioning her name. As if talking about her would somehow make me think about my loss. It was ALL I thought about for months! People just didn’t know what to say, or sometimes what NOT to say! The words you wrote are all so true and struck a chord in me that will resonate for a long time to come. Thank you for expressing what I felt, and continue to feel, but could not put into words of my own.
[…] E.B. Wexler is a social worker, writer, yogi and yoga teacher, and lover of independent film. She has taught yoga to children in studios, to residents of homeless shelters, and helped found a mindfulness program for kids at a meditation center. She has written essays, educational texts,and movie and restaurant reviews….but her passion is essays. Her current full-time gig is training law enforcement first-responders on the mean streets of Baltimore how to handle behavioral health crises. In the past year, she had her first police ride-along and taken two Jen Pastiloff workshop, in NYC. She has previously been published on The Manifest-Station. […]
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