The void
I remember when my dad died, a friend of my mom’s sent a card a couple of months later. She had said that she liked to do this because after the funeral, after people have stopped dropping food off at your house or checking in on you, it gets really quiet. And that’s when you need a reminder that someone is there.
After the initial shock of loss, everyone else’s life goes back to normal. They know this terrible thing happened to you and you’ll be on their mind for awhile, but then, life happens. Days become weeks and weeks months and pretty soon you realize that nobody is asking you how you’re doing anymore. Your life still has a huge hole, a big void. That sentiment has always stayed with me.
I’ve noticed it more this time around since my mom passed in January. The support right away was wonderful—many calls and texts sharing memories of her. But then, more silence. Now, I don’t fault anyone for having a life. I don’t expect them to be thinking of me constantly. But this is where grief becomes so fucking lonely.
My mom and I were always close, but the last decade was truly about her care. Doctor appointments, visits, grocery shopping, medical supply run, more doctor appointments, hospital stay, physical therapy, repeat. We were on the same cell phone plan and it took me 6 months to shut off her phone. She was engrained into every part of my life. So during that silence in the months after she passed, my life had a big void. It still does. I have free time that I’ve never had. I have way less on my list of errands. For the first time ever, my sister and I don’t have to coordinate who is going to be out of town so one of us is always here in case there were issues.
When my dad died in high school, I certainly noticed that people had moved on, but I blamed that more on us being in high school and not knowing how to talk about feelings. I had all these feelings and nowhere for them to go. Now, with both of my parents gone, this void is different. It’s bigger, yes. But different. I have built a life over the last 17 years—one my dad hasn’t been here for. I’ve gone to college, built a career, gotten married, cared for my mom—all of this happened while I talked to him from far away. I learned a new life where he existed somewhere else, where I’d imagine our interactions and what he’d say. Now, that life has shifted, because they are both somewhere else. I am learning what that looks and feels like. When I talk to them, do I talk to both of them? Does one feel left out? Do I miss my dad less because I miss my mom bigger right now?
The anniversary of my dad’s passing is next week. And, just like clockwork, the autumn air is reminding me of that year so clearly. I love fall, but it also stings. I had a night recently where I missed both of them. I just missed my parents. That heavy realization that they are really gone and the loneliness that follows. Whew.
It’s the strangest thing, when your world gets turned upside down, yet you’re watching everyone else move through life like nothing happened. It’s like watching a merry go round but you want to stop the whole thing and tell everyone how broken you are.
That was part of my motivation for this community. The loneliness is so real. And as I talked to more and more people who had experienced loss, they said the same thing. And, even with a great support system checking on you, grieving feels lonely because the experience is entirely your own. Nobody can feel where you feel your grief. Nobody can know what your body longs for. Nobody can be in your head or have your dreams or experience the same triggers.
I don’t know that I believe the void ever gets smaller. It’s more that you learn to build around the void. Somehow, after some time, you find the way of putting one foot in front of the other again.
