It Is Possible...

 There was a time I wasn't sure. 

I wasn't sure if I would ever be able to feel alive again. To be happy again. 

People told me it was possible but, based on the way I felt, I wasn't convinced. 

How could one be fulfilled and joyful and be able to go on when so much has gone wrong? 

This week marks the anniversary of my dear friend Alex's death. If you're new to the blog, you can go back through my blog archives and read up on the story which changed my life and the grief that nearly took me out four years ago in 2019. As I'm reflecting on my loss and how it has shaped me these past few years, I'm reminded of how it felt to not know if there would be a life on the other side. People mistakenly tell you that it's all about learning to "move on," but I've come to see that's not true. One never actually "moves on." 

To move on is to forget. To move forward is to carry with you. 

That I did figure out early on. And I made the decision I would learn how to bring my loss with me and somehow, adjust to it better in time. That was what I determined the "other side" would look like for me - a time when I felt I had settled into this burden of grief better and it no longer was the consuming emotion or thought of my daily existence. It would never leave but hopefully, it would subside somewhat. But I still wondered if it was possible to ever get there. The days, weeks, and months felt so long. So hard. So painful. And the crying! Oh my gosh... the crying! I didn't know, until I lost Alex, that it was humanly possible to shed that many tears. 

Thus, when my recently widowed friend calls up and wants to reminisce about old times with her husband, whom I adored, I get it. When a friend I reconnected with after seventeen years informed me his mom and little sister died in a car accident a few years back and he told me, "grief is hell," I understood. Loss, in any form, is hard. It interrupts. Rudely interrupts. Interrupts all your plans and dreams and hopes and dashes them into a million pieces and then leaves you to try to pick them up and figure out where to go from here. To mourn is to be broken. To have given a bit of yourself away with that person you loved so much and realize that part of yourself will never return. You are a new individual, whether you want to be or not. 

The years since reading that obituary and realizing that the guy I looked up to as my big brother would never call me up again with that ever-recognizable "hey"... that our one and only visit in person together would be our last... that I would now be faced with grieving the anniversaries of our mutual friend's combat deaths alone, unable to text him on those days and know he was grieving too... these years have been difficult. I miss him terribly. I miss what we had. It was special, without a doubt. And some days still, it's just hard to go on without him there. His hugs, his stories, his big heart for others - they meant everything to me. And now, they're just memories. A part of his legacy that lives on in those of us who remain. 

And yet... something has changed for me this year. And it happened as I attended the retirement ceremony for Alex's former sergeant. In the years since I learned of Alex's passing, this sergeant and I have become close. We met years ago. Before I knew Alex, in fact. I go way back with this small unit and their service time abroad in the early 2000s. And here we are again, all these years later, with both the joys and the pains to prove the journey. I was honored he requested the presence of me and my family as his big day. Surprisingly, several of his and Alex's buddies were there that day, also. Some of whom I hadn't seen since they returned eighteen years ago. All this time, I've never forgotten them. I've prayed for them. I've continued to love and carry them in my soul. And Alex, who knew these guys even better than I did, had a lot to do with that. He was one who never forgot. Who cared so much for every person he met, even to the death. 

While at this ceremony, as the sergeant was honored for his service, we remembered. Together. For the first time since each of us learned along the way of Alex's death, we all came together and talked about his big heart. We spoke of the others whom we miss and love. We grieved as a military family. We hugged and cried. And I had to sit back and realize that this moment was part of the new chapter. Nothing will ever be able to bring Alex or Grant or Michael or Jeremiah or Andy back. They are gone now. But we still have each other. We still need each other. No, I can't text Alex on those days I miss him terribly. But I can text his sergeant... and he loves it every single time. 

Life doesn't look like how it did all those years ago when Alex and I used to have our long phone conversations while he was on one of his famous road trips for hours on end. Life doesn't look like the day I got to finally meet him after six years of being best friends. Life doesn't look like it did hours before I got the news that changed everything. And it never will. But I've learned that's okay. It has to be. And I've also figured out that it can still be good... just different. 

Loss will change you. It will alter how you look at everything and everybody. And that's part of the process. You won't just miss the one who's gone, you'll also miss who you were with them and because of them. Grieving is about learning to accept this fact, one little bit at a time. It won't be easy. I still have days where the sadness is real and hard. But slowly, I've begun to see that it's possible to smile and live again, even after you've lost so much. 

And so, to anyone who is reading this and might be asking the same thing I was years ago - if it's possible to feel alive again and move forward - I join the countless voices who have found this same thing to be true and confidently say, yes... it is. You won't get there right away. And why should you? You're saying goodbye to someone you deeply loved! But you will start to see over time that life can still be meaningful and joyful, even as you'll always miss that special person in your life. 

In the moments when you doubt it's true, keep telling yourself that it's possible. Things will get better. Just maybe not right now or right away. You will find purpose again. Your loved one would want you to. And there are others in your path who need you, and you need them. Just like me with Alex's friends. There is still life to live on the other side of loss, and you will find your way. God will make certain of it. Take His hand, and keep moving. The chapters in the story will still be beautiful.