The notification appears on my screen, bold and striking: “Liam got married over the weekend. So…how are you holding up?”
How am I holding up? My first instinct is to respond with a casual, “I’m good! Happy for him and wishing him all the best!” But almost immediately, a wave of emotion hits me, and I find it hard to breathe.
Liam, once my son-in-law, is now starting a new chapter with someone else. Yet, my mind drifts back to the bittersweet memory of 16 years ago when he stood beside my beloved daughter, Emily, declaring, “I take you, Emily, in sickness and in health.” He upheld that promise for two and a half years, remaining by her side as she battled cancer. He witnessed the love of his life transform and deteriorate, yet he never wavered, loving her until her last breath and beyond.
So, how do I feel now? Joy for him, certainly, but also a profound sorrow for myself. I feel as though I’m losing another connection to Emily, someone who shared her life with me. I feel more alone.
Since Emily’s passing, many family members and friends have begun new journeys, leaving behind the sorrow of our shared loss. Like others from “Emily’s Circle,” Liam now gets to experience life anew, unburdened by grief. He can laugh, love, and embrace life—something that feels impossibly distant for me.
In the past few years, I’ve had fleeting moments of clarity and joy, moments when I can appreciate life again. But those moments are rare. Watching others “move on” leaves me clinging to the memories of Emily, afraid to let go of what connects us. I know I need to move forward, too; stagnation would mean letting cancer claim yet another part of my life. Emily would want me to live fully, just as she would have done if the roles were reversed.
But if I’m honest, I often feel envious, lost, and wishful. I wish I had never faced such a devastating loss and could freely laugh without the shadow of grief lurking in my mind.
Digging deeper, I sense a feeling of abandonment. Does no one else feel the weight of missing Emily as deeply as I do? It’s hard to articulate this profound sadness that sneaks up on me, disrupting moments of joy and leaving me retreating into the shadows of my grief. I find it easier to isolate myself than to pretend to engage socially when I feel so disconnected. Yet this retreat is draining; I yearn for life.
When I choose to engage with life, anxiety often kicks in, worrying about facing another loss. I have become overly protective of my loved ones, even to the point of unreasonable demands, like insisting my grandkids wear helmets in the house. My husband jokes about my fears, but the reality of losing a child has made me hyper-aware of potential dangers.
Healing is a gradual process. There’s no timeline for grief, love, or letting go. My love for Emily is uniquely mine, which is why I feel isolated; it’s a bond that Liam shared, too. We both carry her memories in our hearts. His marriage doesn’t erase her existence; it doesn’t mean she’s forgotten.
Is my interpretation of “moving on” skewed? I associate it with leaving behind memories, much like pioneers discarding cherished items to lighten their load. I refuse to abandon Emily on the path to a new life. Yet, perhaps I fear that if I don’t hold on tightly to her memory, I will lose her entirely, and that thought is unbearable.
But memories are a powerful thing; they ensure that no one is truly lost. Our memories offer comfort, following us wherever we go. Even pioneers carried their memories along, and anyone who loved Emily will keep her in their hearts. Therefore, I can shift my perspective from “moving on” to “carrying on with you.”
So, how do I feel about Liam’s recent marriage? I’m grateful that he has the chance to carry on, feeling alive and joyful once more. The wedding announcement has stirred feelings of sadness and loss, but perhaps I can give myself permission to join Liam and others in “carrying on.” This doesn’t mean I’m letting go of Emily; it signifies that as I move forward, she will be with me, inspiring me to breathe, laugh, and love again.
So, how am I doing? Outwardly, I say, “I’m fine!” Internally, I remind myself, “One step at a time. Carrying on. Thank you for checking in.”
In summary, reframing how we perceive loss can lead to a healthier relationship with our memories. By transitioning from “moving on” to “carrying on,” we acknowledge that our loved ones remain with us in spirit, providing support as we navigate life after loss.
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Keyphrase: reframing grief
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