Alone in the middle of a crowd

The day before yesterday was Kevin's Kansas City memorial. I can't say it was lovely, because I am not willing to call anything about his death lovely, but it was meaningful and I guess that's what we want memorials to be. I am grateful to those who came and glad we could share this time celebrating him.

Several people spoke of him, spoke beautifully with such love and respect. I could barely hold myself together, speaking briefly at the beginning and end. And again, I guess that's part of what memorials are supposed to be, or at least often are; the opportunity for the bereaved to display the wound and maybe be less alone in their segmented state.

I was surrounded by people who love Kevin and, by extension or by good luck, love me too. And I have never felt so alone. Maybe that's not true, I have felt just as alone, but I don't think I have ever felt more alone. Because I was.

Grief is an incredibly isolating experience. I am mourning my beloved, my soulmate, the person I love most in the world. No one knows exactly how I am feeling, for all that this is a common, miserable, everyday experience. Likewise, Kevin's kids are mourning the loss of their dad. No one knows exactly how they are feeling, for all that this is a common, miserable, everyday experience. And the same applies to his family, his friends, his communities. We all are experiencing something common and utterly unique, utterly personal.

Grief isolates us. It brings out the animal in us, the part that writhes and howls and does all manner of socially unacceptable things. It is a pain that cannot be bourn alone, yet can only be bourn alone. I do not want to share the most private moments of my grief with anyone. The raging, sickening cries are mine and mine alone.

There are so many hard parts to this. One of the hardest has been being amongst others, especially others who love him. We struggle to connect and yet there is often a gulf. Sometimes we manage to bridge it, but we each carry our own loss inside, where it cannot truly be seen.

The best we can do is make allowances for one another. To remember that we all are wounded, howling animals sometimes. To throw away the social conventions that try to define grief and simply accept each other, alone even in the same room. Maybe we can find companionship in our isolation. I don't know.

All I know is my grief holds me apart even when I look like I am with you. I am alone in the midst of the crowd because the one who held me in this world is gone. I hope, eventually, to be able to meet you on the bridge and hold your hand as we cross into the unknown.

(c)2014 Laura S. Packer