Being Loved
Discovery. As in I made one this morning. Yep, just sitting here finishing up a post and looking at my list of potential topics and a few photos of Coleen and me that are lying around here looking for a home. Discovery. It’s almost like an epiphany, like something that’s been floating around almost stealth-like. I knew it was there but I didn’t know what it was. I may still not really know what it is but I think I might be on to a part of at least.I never read about this in the grief brochures or articles I have seen. Nobody mentioned it to me. Maybe nobody else knows about it? Nobody before me has ever figured it out? I doubt that. They tell you about the emptiness you will feel and the sheer pain of your loss when your spouse dies. They list loneliness, sadness, anger, depression, denial and others as part of grieving. Discovery.
For the past 33 years I have been one of the lucky ones. I was in a club, a pretty exclusive club I think. I was loved. I don’t mean loved like someone just saying that. I mean loved like being the love of someone’s life. I mean loved like unconditional. I mean love like being the strength and the beacon that someone counts on. I had the constant fulfillment of being loved by someone who I loved just the same, just as much. And, oh my God, what an awesome feeling that is. What a priviledge and an honor. I don’t think I can capture the warmth and fullness that creates in words. It’s almost a satisfaction that you are important and half of a wonderful relationship. And that you are loved so much.
My discovery is all that is missing from my life now. I already knew that Coleen was gone and I was focusing on how much I miss her all the time. How much she meant to me and all those wonderful years of memories. And how her passing has taken such a large part of me with her. But today is the first time I realized that another part of the loss, another piece of what’s now missing is that I’m no longer in that exclusive club where you are loved. I lost that, too. So the hurt isn’t just from missing her and not having her here to love. It’s also the feeling of not being loved that is killing me. That’s the other half of the equation. That’s another one of my truths.
The intimacy, hugs, kisses, waking up in the morning, coming home, phone calls, being part of her day. Making her happy, making her laugh, seeing her smile, being her husband, listening, loving, talking, sharing. Boy, I miss that stuff. There is nothing quite like being loved. That can’t be replaced. That’s another limb that fell from the tree. Will it grow back in a different place with different shade?
My discovery is probably not all that special. It might be something everybody already knows and I just now figured out. Like me being late for the party. To me though, it explains a little more about why I feel so sad sometimes. And the more I know, maybe the better I can understand and heal.
Here’s what I mean about being loved.
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