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Floods of Pain

Posted on September 16th, 2011

There are so many triggers to cause that flood of pain – including (incredibly) the absence of a trigger!

There’s something so infinitely SAD when we experience something new, or are in a new place, or learn something new — that had never been experienced with our loved one… where we had never been with our loved one… that we had not known before they died or left us.

Edna St. Vincent Millay put it so well:  "There is no memory of him here!" And so stand stricken, so remembering him!

It drives home the fact that they are gone.  That they will never be back.  That our life (a life that we loved) will never be the same.

There are several choices we can make when that realization strikes us.  We can sink to our knees in pain and despair, gnash our teeth, pull at our hair.  Or, we can take a slow deep breath, mentally comfort our heart with a gentle hug, thank our loved one for all the gifts and lessons they gave us, promise them and ourselves that we will always incorporate those gifts and lessons into our life as we go forward, and acknowledge to ourselves in great wonderment how much stronger and wiser we are. 

To not only survive an enormous loss but to thrive (even if the “surviving” and “thriving” are taken in teeny tiny little turtle steps at times) truly does bring strength and wisdom.  It is one of those paradoxes of life and loss.

[Contrary to the title of Ms. Millay's poem below,the floods of pain DO become smaller and less often as the time goes by.  The sharp, cutting edges of the pain become duller and softer with the passage of time – as long as we make healing choices.]

 

"Time does not bring relief…"

   By Edna St. Vincent Millay

 

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied

Who told me time would ease me of my pain!

I miss him in the weeping of the rain;

I want him at the shrinking of the tide;

The old snows melt from every mountain-side,

And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;

But last year's bitter loving must remain

Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide!

There are a hundred places where I fear

To go, –  so with his memory they brim!

And entering with relief some quiet place

Where never fell his foot or shone his face

I say, "There is no memory of him here!"

And so stand stricken, so remembering him!

 

 


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