Death. It is the unfortunate part of life. It's the natural progression that marks our last breath, our final tears. We don't like to think about it, this permanent elephant that has stomped its way into the room. As we grow older, so too shall the people we love, the ones we hold dear to our hearts, the friends of old. In midlife, our joys can be overshadowed by the stabbing pain of loss. We ask ourselves, "Why?" "Why him?" "Why her?" "Why now?"
The predictable path of life has been twisted into an ugly arc from which there seems to be no unfurling. You miss the one: who made you laugh even when you didn't want to, who offered sage words when all others were nothing more than a litany of characters strung together, who knew you almost better than you knew yourself, who finished the sentences you started, who nodded in silent respect when you were right but wasn't afraid to tell you when you were wrong, who had the power to make everything better with a hug, who made your life richer just by being in it -- the one you lost.
In those times of helplessness and vulnerability, when you believe you are incapable of clawing your way out of the hole of despair, allow the unexpected moments of life to suspend that belief and, in the place of defeat, illuminate a darkened passageway to peace of mind.
The Tears of Loss
Two weeks ago, my father-in-law passed away. When the salty tears I shed slid down the smooth contours of my cheeks and worked their way into the crevices of my quivering lips, I chastised myself. While my husband dealt with the loss of his dad, Peter, where was my strength? In my mind, my husband was free to grieve; it was expected of him. But I had to become, and remain, strong. My strength would be his shoulder when he needed it most. My arms would be the ones to embrace him as his body shook with spent emotion. My comforting words would soothe him like a tender lullaby. I wanted to be the rock. There was but one thing stopping me: I couldn't stop my tears from falling. I loved his father -- my father-in-law, my schoonvader -- too.
Then I had a conversation with my friend Melody, a woman whose life had also been touched by the far-reaching tentacles of loss. I spoke of my aching heart, of my sorrow at never seeing Peter again, of the profound sense of loss. Resilience was what I felt I needed.
"Why?" she asked.
"Because I need to be strong for Maarten," I said through my tears. Her response was a gift to me, as precious as if it had come packaged in pretty sparkly wrapping paper tied with a festive bow.
"No, Valerie," she began, her voice soft but firm, "you don't. You don't have to be strong for him. You need to grieve, too."
It wasn't until that moment that I realized why my grieving felt somehow incomplete: I was consumed with protecting my husband from seeing the tracks of my tears, from hearing my muffled cries as we spoke on the phone 6,000 miles apart, from once again witnessing the blubbering mass of flesh that I had become. My wavering strength would not allow that.
Melody was right.
Her words gave me a sense of clarity that will serve me well as I move forward in life, even as I lose the ones I love. I needed to mourn, too. Because, you see, everyone who was grieving Peter's loss was doing so for a different reason. My mother-in-law was losing the love of her life, her one and only, her complimentary half, her husband of 57 years. My husband was losing his beloved papa, his mentor, his advisor, his confidant and his friend. I was losing the greatest father-in-law a woman could ever hope to have.
Death truly is the unfortunate part of life. It is all around us. We grow up, we grow old, we grow even older and we watch one by one as those we love leave us. It is this aspect of midlife that doesn't get any better.
From now on, I'm believing that my strength is in my tears for they allow my emotions to flow unfettered. I can be the rock, in my own way. I feel complete. In time, the tears will dry up, the sniffles will subside and life will eventually fall back into place to follow its predictable path. Throughout it all, my love for my father-in-law will never waver.
* * *
On Tuesday, December 29, family and friends gathered to celebrate the life of Peter Albarda. He will be remembered as a husband, a father, a brother, an uncle, a cousin, a father-in-law, a friend and, above all, a wonderful man deserving of honor. To not have known him in life is to have missed out on a shining jewel in a sea of stones.
Yes, there were tears, but the room was also filled with joy and love as we, the family, vowed to forever keep Peter alive in our hearts.
Goodbye Peter. You are loved, now and always. And do me a favor, will you? Say 'hi' to my mother, okay?
Until we meet again . . .
This article also appears on Midlife-A-Go-Go.
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