The Bonds of Grief

My heart is breaking tonight.

About a month ago, a woman about my age at work lost her husband to brain cancer. He was sick for a very long time. I only met her once and I was told by a co-worker that she requested that she never ask her about her husband and never to ask her how she’s doing. I never did, because it was very important to me to respect her wishes.

After her husband died, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I had a nagging feeling that she might want or need to talk to someone who had a similar experience. I didnt' want her to feel alone and I knew I wanted to offer some help to her if she wanted it, though. I just couldn’t sit by idly knowing how much pain she was in and how lost she must feel. I sent her an e-mail simply stating that I was thinking about her and wanted her to know that I was welcoming her to contact me anytime at all, now or in the future. I left it at that, satisfied that I reached out to her and that she may or may not contact me. She did, about five minutes later.

Two weeks ago, we met in a conference room at work and talked, sharing parts of our stories with one another.

Yesterday, she sent me an instant message telling me that she was very sad and asking me to please tell her that it was going to get better. My heart broke for her. I promised her that things would get better and told her to hang on, hang in there, and I reassured her that she would get through this. I reminded her that she has to get through this part of her life in order to get to the other side of her grief and I told her that I will be here for her and that I will make myself available anytime she needs support. I reiterated that I would drop everything the moment she needed me. And I will. I ordered three books from Amazon.com that helped me tremendously and had them shipped to her so she can have something to hold onto that might ground her the way I was grounded by the books I read.

Offering my love, support and understanding to another person who has suffered a great loss has reopened my wounds and helped me to look inside of them again. I have been purging my feelings for the past forty minutes, which is astounding, since I haven't been able to cry, really, for about two weeks. The heaviness has been there but the tears haven’t been able to come. Tonight they came.

I cried for Chris and for all that he had to endure. I cried for this woman’s pain and all that she is faced with and her uncertain future. I cried for my loss and for the loss of the “Chris and Robin” entity, for the loss of our private jokes and for the loss of his sweet lips, smile and that distinctive voice. I cried about cancer and the fact that it exists and I cried about the memory of finding out that Chris’ cancer was incurable that horrible day at the hospital; that awful surreal, dark, dark day. I’m not finished crying yet. I know the tears are going to continue into the night until I fall asleep. I know that those tears will help me to heal.

And I hope I can help my newly widowed friend to heal, too. God bless her.