In the last few weeks I've experienced the loss of an old friend and ex-stepmother. It's the most difficult time for those who were close to these passed souls. A time of tears, a time of sadness, a time of change. The awkward realization of a present void. Stopping yourself from picking up the phone and calling someone who will no longer answer at the other end. A half-empty bed, one less person at the dinner table and the deep searing pain of loss. Just getting through the day is the biggest challenge. The minutes drag only to remind you of your heartfelt grief, and time can't pass quickly enough. Quickly enough to get to a place of less pain, less sorrow and maybe a hint of something resembling happiness will come and quash the desperate pain that pierces your heart.
Five years ago I was feeling all this and more. Five years ago my husband died suddenly and I was left with a tidal wave of consuming emotions. I was forced to start a new life, but first I had to get through my grieving and sorrow. I didn't care about anything, not even myself. I just tried to get through the day and wanted time to pass more quickly so I could get to the other side of grief. Grief is similar to having the flu. The icky feeling never seems to go away and you can't wait to get over it so you can carry on with your life as usual. But "usual" after loss doesn't apply anymore. You are forced to start a new "usual", a new routine and a new life.
While I was trying to sort through all these profound emotions, I did have to take care of myself. I had to eat, sleep, bathe and dress myself. But each task required great effort on some days. One day I decided I needed to get out and maybe treat myself to some beautification. I went to see my hairdresser for a haircut and told her of my horrible news. She was floored and deeply sympathetic. And for once she was speechless. She was so kind to me and it was apparent that she wanted to do more for me, but like most people, she was helpless to my situation. As I was leaving to pay my bill I was talking to her at the reception desk. We were still discussing my news and another woman was at the counter and overhead our conversation. She interjected and told me to be good to myself. Good to myself? Yes. She, too, had lost her husband in recent years and fully understood my pain and grief. But she insisted that I treat myself to something that I normally wouldn't do for myself. She was probably 25 years my senior and had a kind face. She talked to me the way your favorite grandmother talked to you. It was endearing and coming from a stranger had meant more to me than hearing it from a close friend or relative. She was sincere and I felt the warmth in her voice. Her hand, decorated with a stunning wedding ring and signs of years of caring and cleaning, touched my hand as she offered her words of wisdom. At that moment I scheduled a massage for myself at the spa for the following week.
As I continued on my journey of grief and discovery, I also took care of myself. It was up to me to take care of myself. To go beyond the daily routines of being human and to indulge in a massage, a nice dinner at a new restaurant, a facial to exfoliate the pain from my face, to purchase a new outfit at a better department store and maybe to sleep in once in a while. A leisurely day of doing...nothing. Maybe a drive in the country or to visit an old friend. Just to take the time to pamper myself a little, a reminder that I deserve to feel good, even if only for a few minutes.
A stranger's kind words evoked a feeling of hope within me. Hope that one day I could truly enjoy and embrace the warmth of the sun on my face. Hope that one day sadness has been pushed out by contentment, and maybe a glimmer of happiness. Perhaps these words from this stranger meant more because she, too, had once been in my shoes. She understood the desperate pain that overcomes you when you're in the abyss of sorrow. She was a kind of kindred spirit and I will never forget her and her gesture of kindness.
To all my friends and family who are suffering now with grief and sorrow, please, be good to yourself.
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