Journeying With, and Through Grief.

In the late evening of February 11th, I called an ambulance for my partner of 22 years. Very early the next morning, two months ago today, he passed away.

After sitting in the ER waiting room for several hours, I was finally allowed in to see Steve and was horrified by what confronted me. My once beautiful and vibrant partner was attached to and breathing only with the assistance of a respirator, shriveled and dying. I was so shocked by the sight, the Dr called for a wheelchair for me, afraid I was going to pass out. Steve, my partner, was just speaking to me moments before the ambulance crew arrived at our home, a mere few hours previously.

My partner fought a five-year battle with cancer that had eventually spread into his lung, but it wasn’t the cancer that killed him or the intrusive, seemingly unending treatments or the intense pain, it was pneumonia and flu.

The ER doctor confronted me with a terrible choice, allow him to remain on the respirator and most likely, he would eventually die of a heart attack or let him go now. I chose the latter and held his hand while he slowly passed on, and I am grateful for every last minute we had together, and every minute I spent caring for his needs in the weeks leading up to that moment.

For those of you who know — tragic loss is the single hardest moment of any life.

I was not prepared for the loss (I thought we still had time together), or the grief that followed, but for me, I have learned some things about coping.

Of course, at first there were all the things I needed to do that couldn’t wait, the arrangements, the notifications, the lawyer, and there was a plethora of friends, neighbors, and family rallying around to offer support, and that can be comforting.

But eventually, I was left with just myself and my grief.

How would I cope with such a loss? The heartbreak, the fear, the loneliness, the despondency, the overwhelming sadness that bubbles up whenever it demands?

I had previously lost both my parents, as we all eventually do, but that was nothing like this, the loss of my wonderful, generous, caring, and loving soulmate, the man who had been at my side in every moment for the last 22 years, who supported every decision and cared for me every moment. He was the person whom my life was built around.

I once heard a widow say that she found new ways to miss her departed husband every day, and now, now I know what she meant.

Coping with grief really is a misstatement, as coping isn’t nearly enough. I learned I had to accept the Grief as part of myself now, after all — we only grieve because we have loved, and just as the love will always be a part of me, so will this Grief.

Thanks to some words from Dr. Jo Cacciatore, I’m able to imagine a space in my mind, or heart or soul, where Grief now resides, along with the other so common feelings that stem from the death of a loved one- the guilt, the shame, the regret, the need for forgiveness for all those stupid little things I once did or said unthinkingly.

But that is not all that lives there.

Steve’s love for me also resides there now, as a warm light in which I can be enveloped at any time. I can go to my space and sit with Grief, and I can hold its hand and we both can be enveloped in that warm, eternal love, and I can put those other petty, unforgiving emotions on the shelf and know they mean nothing.

I have also learned to surround myself with memories. Every day I sit for a few minutes and try to remember a day or a time we spent together, doing whatever — the day we met, a special date, a trip to the beach, an evening on the couch binge watching TV and eating pizza — any memory I can conjure up.

I have finally gone through all of Steve’s personal things and those that were most important, the things I never want to forget about as I age I have put in a trunk in the bedroom, the photos, his glasses, some ashes in a small urn, an impression of his teeth (I don’t know why he had them)… these small things do console me by just knowing they are there.

I have finally changed the sheets on our bed where he had last laid, but the closet and the dressers still wait for my attention. I still have his ashes to scatter in those places that were special to us.

There is no rush.

We had his ‘funeral’ two days ago, what would have been his 67th birthday, at the cemetery where he wanted to have a memorial stone laid, near his parents. I waited until the stone could be put in place to schedule the service.

In the days leading up to the service, I was afraid it would be difficult, dredging up all the recent pain, but just the opposite was true — it was a beautiful, wrenching day he would have greatly approved of. A new memory to add to my collection of time spent with him, a feeling not so much of closure, but of closeness.

I feel people rush these things sometimes too often as society expects us to ‘get on with it’. I am glad I waited, glad to move with Grief at my own pace.

I expect Grief will always be a companion to me now, just as Steve will always be, and it is OK. It is OK to open myself up to Grief when it demands and just let it be, with me and with Steve in the internal and eternal place I have set aside for it.

Greif can’t be ‘coped’ with, it can just be accepted, and allowed its say.

If you are or have gone through a tragic loss, please accept my sincerest compassion, and I hope in some small way, these few words from my heart may help you too find a little acceptance and peace with your Grief.

I would be honored if you would like to read Steve’s obituary.

About the writer: Matthew Woodruff is an Independent Journalist and Author who believes in Freely Accessible, Honest and Open Reporting. Visit at matthewcwoodruff.com