When You Lose Someone Who Was Your World

When you lose someone who means the world to you, when you lose someone who was your world, there is so much that happens. And there are the little things and even the big things you expect… and then the little and big things you don’t expect.

No one tells you that you never stop opening the chat window. No one tells you that you never stop logging on, expecting to see a message. A post on your wall that will make you laugh. It’s gone.

No one tells you that you never stop picking up your phone to send a text or a Facebook message.

No one tells you that the words “Let me know if you need anything” can mean literally nothing. We don’t know what we need. Sometimes what we need is a message saying, “Hey, can I come over?” And sometimes we want someone over. But it doesn’t mean we necessarily want to talk. Maybe we just want someone so we’re not alone. So we’re not without people. We need people… but sometimes we need people while we’re alone. We need someone just to sit with us, who is there if we suddenly pipe up with something, but who is also just there in the silence.

We need someone who is OK if we sent a frantic text or Facebook message at whatever a.m. It’s OK if you don’t read or respond; don’t feel you have to. But we need someone to share our pain with.

No one will replace the person we lost. Nothing can ease our pain. I don’t believe grief ever goes away. Instead, I believe it changes. It grows with us and it becomes a part of us.

I truly believe people mean the best, but no one tells you how much it f*cking hurts when people say, “Oh, I know exactly how you feel.” No. You. Do. Not. You did not have the same relationship I did. You did not lose the same friendship I did. We lost the same person and we’ve both lost loved ones, but you have no idea how I feel. You can relate. You can feel similar. But you have no idea exactly how I feel, and those words hurt so much.

What no one tells you is how lonely grief is. That it’s the moments you least expect it is when you are blindsided by it. That when you’re walking home alone from the grocery store at midnight, it’s when the tears fall. When you’re on the bus and you see something hysterical that you’d text them, it’s when the familiar salty feeling overwhelms you.

Grief is forever. It becomes a part of you. No one tells you that. You expect that in time, you will get better. I don’t believe you do. I believe as you approach your new normal, you change. But grief is the price of love — and it’s worth it, I think. I think love is the greatest  gift you can give anyone. And in a way, I think the grief and pain is that final gift you can give them. For it means that your relationship meant something — to both you and to them. It means their life meant something to someone — to many someones — to countless someones. And that’s what matters. That’s what love is.

Follow this journey on A Heart Made Fullmetal.

Lead photo source: Thinkstock Images