I don't know that someone can ever get over the loss of their best friend, especially when that person was so integral to your life. For me, it seems like each day gets a little better. I can talk about him now without bursting into tears, but then there are times when I want to tell him something and I realize that I can't. When I have moments of happiness or moments when I'm not thinking of the loss, I feel guilty for thinking that way.
Last week when I couldn't seem to stop having thoughts sadness filled with the loss of a willingness to go on, I knew I needed some counseling. I saw a counselor last week, and I will see him again today. I haven't had suicidal thoughts, but I wished that it could have been me in that car accident and not my friend. I'm not sure when or if I will get over wishing that it had been me instead of him. He had so much life to live and so many wonderful things yet to do.
Anyway, it's getting a little easier each day, the grief and sadness isn't, but the ability to continue becomes a little easier. I've thought for a while that I needed to see a counselor, so I think these appointments will do me good on many levels. I have to remind myself to still find the joys in life because that's what my friend would have encouraged me to do. He was the person I always turned to in times of need, and I need him now more than ever.
Thank you all for your words of sympathy and support. They mean a lot to me and have helped me through this last week and a half.
6 comments:
Time and good counseling is helping you to go on your life in a better way.
Thinking of the best moments with your best friend has to be permanent in your memories.
I had a cousin, Monique, she was more than a cousin: she was my best friend and we were sharing ALL of our lives. She was the only one that knew I loved boys.
We lived our childhood and teenage sharing ALL our experiences.
We've always remained in touch even in our adult lives.
Suddenly, in 1986, the saddest news arrived: she died in a small plane crash, burned to death.. She was only 32yo.
I was devastated then because we were supposed to meet in summer time after many years.
What is the most special about her death is that she wasn't supposed to go on that plane: it was a small plane that was in a remote place where fishermen go to catch trouts. The boss' son was the one who was to go on that plane. But he let his place to my cousin telling her that it'll be a nice ride to see the lakes and the nice cabins.
She then got on that plane which was her destiny to die in.
Sometime we must accept the destiny of one and another.
God has some way to make us suffer from those lost but also to make us experience the beauty of life.
As a great French Canadian poet said: "Death is filled with Life in it.." (Felix Leclerc)
"He had so much life to live and so many wonderful things yet to do."
Perhaps part of the way you can show your love is to live as fully as you can and do the wonderful things you have yet to do. Each loss reminds us that we have only this moment assured to us. Don't postpone joy or love or life or generosity or kindness. Say the supportive word today, help the person in need today, lift someone's burden today, share a smile today.
Your friend is gone beyond into Mystery. You can still shine bright this side of the Mystery, bright with your own light and maybe brighter with reflections of his light on your face.
Be well.
The loss is great, and you will never forget him. I hope that gradually the pain will subside and the good memories will be primary.
"When I have moments of happiness or moments when I'm not thinking of the loss, I feel guilty for thinking that way."
Dearest Joe, this is the beginning of the healing process. You will never forget your friend—not even close. But God does not want you to live the rest of your life in abject misery over this loss. Everything you stated in today's beautiful piece is completely natural and normal for such a tremendous loss—the grieving and the feelings of guilt. All of it has a rhythm that we go through when someone so dear to us dies. There is nothing for it but the passage of time.
And know too, whenever someone dies so young, the feeling is always, "He had so much life to live and so many wonderful things yet to do." But Joe, the truth of that in no way diminishes your worth in this life; all the wonderful things you have left to do. You cannot know yet what your end accomplishments will be. Please don't sell yourself short, because someone you cared about deeply is gone.
Love and Hugs, dear Joe.
I'm glad that the counseling is helping. We all need someone to help us through once in a while. I can only reiterate what everyone has already said. Be you and the live your best life now. Everything will be alright even if we don't understand the how's and why's of it of life. Please take care of yourself and live each day as best you can. ((Hugs))
Joe, I have been reading your blog for several years now. When Colin (my soul mate, best friend and husband of 20 years) died last November the one thing that help me understand how grief works was this post to my Facebook page.
I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not.
I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents...
I wish I could say you get used to people dying. But I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it.
Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.
As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.
In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.
Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.
Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too.
If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.
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