Memory and Tears/Bereavement

It's Guest Friday here at Enter the Between, and you  know what that means.

Here's Dorothy Ann Skarles.

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Memory and Tears

Timothy k. Hamilton

The question asked today in the bereavement group is to encourage talking. The moderator does not want anyone to keep their feelings hidden within themselves. Saying, 'I'm fine' when you are not, is taking a risk of coming down with a serious illness. The need to be with others, talking about a loved one, is the fastest way to a healthy recovery.
"The tears that come, are for healing," says our leader.  She looks at the faces in the room and spots me.  "Dorothy, how was your week? What did you do?"

I mentally straighten by backbone and say, "I can't stop crying. The dog, that my husband and grandson rescued, jumps on the bed, and I start to cry. I put on these gold earrings, my husband gave me, and I start to cry. I never know when a thought or something will hit to make me feel so sad my eyes fill with tears."

Another woman says, "I've been a widow for almost five years, and I still cry. Anything can bring it on. Sometimes I look in the mirror at myself and feel sad. I have the impression I'm now living in a box all by myself without a man, alone without my husband and I cry."

"Well, I'm a man, and I cry," another bereavement group member says.  "Sometimes even at work when I think Debbie should be bring my lunch. The guys tell me to toughen up, a man doesn't cry."  He shakes his head.  "They don't understand."

As I listen, I know I am not alone, and I can relate to the stories of others.  At the ending of my second year without my husband, I am beginning to believe mourning is as swift and unexpected as some memories. They arise together from left field as I once again recall my husband's words to my grandson four years ago about the abused dog he found. "Put the dog in the backyard. Your grandmother needs a dog."

The combination of those words, and remembering how sweet and kind my husband was to the animals he knew I cared for, instantly brings more mourning tears rolling down my cheeks. I am hoping for the healing process to begin as I write.

daskarles©2011

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Thanks, Dorothy.