My mother, far right, on her 60th wedding anniversary
Today is my mother’s birthday. She would have been 91 if she had lived. Her life wasn’t cut short, nor was her death a tragedy — she’d lived a long life, and for the most part, her death wasn’t particularly horrendous. And even at the end of her life, she managed to get one last wish — to reach her 60th wedding anniversary.
One of the things so confusing about grief is the various lengths of lives and loves. Do you feel more grief if you’d been together for 60 years as my parents were? Do you feel less grief if you’d been together a matter of months?
I was with my soul mate for thirty-four years before death took him. After he died, I’d look at couples like my parents, and I’d envy them their long togetherness, but then I’d look at couples who had been torn apart before they ever had a chance to settle into their lives, and I would be grateful for the years I had with him.
Despite my envy/gratitude, I’ve concluded that when it comes to the loss of a mate, the length of time you were together isn’t a factor in your grief because you always grieve the entire life — everything you had and everything you didn’t have. If you’ve been together for most of your life, there is more of the past to grieve. If you had little time together, you grieve for all you never had. And in my case, I grieved for both the past and the future.
Many other factors are more important than the length of time you had together when it comes to grief. The depth of the connection matters, as does the interdependency of your lives. If you count on two paychecks to pay the bills, for example, and one of those paychecks evaporates, financial fear adds to one’s grief. If you are each other’s support group, providing a sounding board or hugs when necessary, then the loss of that support when you need it most adds to grief. Complications in the relationship can add to grief because you lose any chance of ever smoothing things out. Quick deaths add to grief because of the horrendous shock, and long dyings add to grief because of all the guilt and regrets that built up. And if you lose your mate when you’re relatively young, then you face many years without him, which adds to your grief.
All of these things combine to make grief unique to each person, but what isn’t unique is the sense of loss, the yearning, the hanging on the best we can until life opens up to us once again or until we find peace at the end.
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Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+
Bertram's Blog 
February 23, 2013 at 5:54 pm
Thank you for summing up so much that’s whirling in my brain. You’ve saved me hours of confusion by taking the mess in my brain and putting some of the pieces in place. I’ve read so many books on grief, and yet, you seem to have the words that so intriquitely define my thoughts. It is an amazing gift you have.
February 23, 2013 at 7:29 pm
Grief does have strange blessings, and mine seems to be an ability to see the truth of grief and pass on what I learn. There is so much pap out there that doesn’t help matters at all, for example, the Kubler-Ross stages of grief. In fact, I got kicked out of my grief support group for explaining the truth about grief to a woman who couldn’t make sense of her feelings since her feelings didn’t match the stages that the moderator told her she should be feeling. (The moderator was the worst of the breed. He talked about his wife, and how she supported him emotionally and kept him strong, and there we sat without the support of our mates. He didn’t, couldn’t understand what we were going through. At the very least he should have been grateful that I could help the woman find her way through her hell. And I did help. She’s become one of my best friends.)
February 24, 2013 at 7:56 am
Pat, I’m laughing. You got kicked out of the grief group, and I left on my own. I have a lazer-like sense of BS and no tolerance for it. I don’t say anything, I just disappear. Other than your blog, I haven’t found anything that hits spot on. It has occured to me that the 23rd Psalm was written for those left behind as well as those who leave us. This is certainly the valley of the shadow of death. I would never have wanted my Ken to have to walk this path.
February 24, 2013 at 8:09 am
I’ve bought so man books on grief that I didn’t think I needed another one. However, after checking out the inside pages of Grief: A Year of Yearning, I bought it. Thanks for having the courage to write it.