Sometimes our lens that we look out of is so narrow, so confined that we are unable to see everything and everyone outside of it. Grief has certainly narrowed my lens and vision of what I am able to see and not see. Five years out in grief and just in the past year have I started to see just how much grief my friends were/are going through too. I want to say “I’m sorry”: I’m sorry I couldn’t see it, I’m sorry I only had eyes for my own grief, I’m sorry that you were hurting too. Maybe, though, maybe a letter to my friends is what I can do in order for them to see that I can see some of their grief differently.
You stood by me, you picked me up out of bed, literally, and cried with me. You drove over an hour to sit on my front porch and hold me like a small child while I cried my eyes out to you and told you I couldn’t do “it”–life without him, and all that entailed. You took me to dinner, checked on me frequently, you showed up to help with house repairs, you text me back when I asked for a simple story of my late husband, just because it made me feel like I was closer to him. You watched my baby, you went to the pumpkin patch with us, cooked us dinner, bought me a bottle of wine. You let me cry and blubber on, and you never said a word, you just cried too.
Now though, now five years out, my heart breaks a little more because I look back and see how much you were grieving too. Yet, you held your grief in, so my own grief could soar. I see it now. I see so much of it. And I am equally as thankful as my broken heart.
Those tears that streamed down your face while I talked out how much I missed Joe: I know they weren’t just because I was crying too. You were crying, because you were watching one of your best friends hurting so badly, and there was nothing you could do. I see how much you grieved your friend who used to be happy, upbeat, full of life and laughter. You wanted her back, and you lost a piece of her when her husband died too. I am sorry I didn’t see that.
Those dinners we met for, as you shared stories of you and Joe in high school and the early days of adulthood, I now know were for you too. I am sorry I couldn’t see how much your heart was broken when your best friend died. I am sorry that I was so consumed in my own grief that I couldn’t see how much of a piece of your heart was missing when your best bud, someone that was in your life far longer than mine, was no longer here for you to come hang out with. I am sorry I never validated that your entire world had changed too.
Friend that came the very next morning to tell me I had to get out of bed, and hold my baby: I am sorry I didn’t see the grief you had sitting on your heart. Those tears weren’t just for me when I begged you to believe me that I couldn’t do this life without him. I know you were grieving for my pain, but also my son’s. I know you were broken that a sweet baby would grow up without his Daddy, that there was nothing you could say or do to fix this. I know your grief was doubled when I couldn’t even talk to get out any words.
Life-long friends: I am sorry I didn’t see it. I didn’t see how much you truly loved me. We’ve been friends since we were kids, and you came. You came to the funeral, you hugged me tight, but no words could do our life long friendship justice. No words could explain how bad your heart was broken, and how much you not only lost a friend in death, but you just lost a piece of the girl you have been friends with since we were in elementary school playing pick-up basketball on the playground at recess. I see it now: I see how much you love me, how much friendship multiplied by all the years, and the good and the bad of life can only make you love someone more. I see how you lost a friend that I brought into your life, but you lost me too when I wanted to close everyone off and demand that no one could possibly understand.
I am sorry friends. My grief has consumed my vision, my sights to only the pain my heart has experienced. Now, my heart feels more because I know just how deeply we are loved. I know you were grieving too at the loss of your friend, at the grief you couldn’t fix for us, for the part of your life that was lost that October day, five years ago.
What I can say is “Thank You.” Thank you for loving me through the storm. Thank you for loving me even when I was not lovable. Thank you for being a friend that sacrificed their own grief to validate my own. Thank you for having patience, grace, understanding. But most of all, thank you for being our friends. There’s no way I could have made it without each of you.
I genuinely hope you will always keep going in grief. It’s so worth it.
Smith is a mom, widow, education administrator, Colon Cancer Advocate, and an Amazon Best-Selling Author of “What I Wasn’t Expecting, When I Was Expecting: A Grieving Widow’s Memoir” You can purchase your copy HERE.