On The Road Of Grief

 At some point in everyone's life, they take a turn down a lonely and somewhat dark road called grief. The signpost points with an arrow to a pathway you never wanted to take but the fact that there is no other choice leaves you with the obvious conclusion: there isn't another way expect this way... there isn't an out. It's a road all must travel in some way. Strewn along this trail of sorrow are souls that have lost... people mourning everything from job loss to infertility to loss of friendship, loss of love, loss of loved ones, loss of place, loss of identity, even loss of hope. Some carry it better and others, not so well. But it is its own "trail of tears" in which we run up against pain we never expected, emptiness we never asked for, and questions we never dreamed we would have.  

Welcome to the journey. 

I ended up on this road far sooner in life than I expected. By my late teens and into my early twenties, I had tasted more loss and upheaval then many young people my own age. That fact alone brought its own kind of isolation as I was led to tread paths that took me places most would never want to go. And each time I though the skies were clearing and the road might end up somewhere beautiful, another loss would happen that plunged me deeper into the canyon. I began to wonder if I'd ever come out the other side. 

That's how I felt the night of May 21, 2019 when I received the news that my best friend - an older brother figure who had had a tremendous impact on my life - had died suddenly of a heart attack. He was only 31. Any of you who were readers of this blog at the time probably remember me coming on here five years ago this week and sharing how I felt at the time. Although it was impossible to put my sorrow into words that would come even close to conveying the mixture of love and sadness I had in that moment, I felt I had to bring you along in the grieving process because I had a feeling that somehow, as with all the other losses I'd endured, this had something powerful to teach me, and I knew I needed to share what I discovered. 

Looking back, as I pass the five year anniversary of that personal loss, it's interesting to me that I'm being hit with some of the same emotions I had back then. They say that "time heals all wounds" but as I've walked my own road, I'm not entirely sure that's true. 

Maybe some wounds aren't meant to fully close. Maybe we're not intended to "go back to normal" in the sense everybody thinks... after all, it would mean that the sorrow did nothing to change us, and I'm not certain that's what I want. 

When I reflect on some of the things that my dear Alex showed me during the brief few years we were in one another's lives, one of the greatest lessons I learned from him was how to shoulder your grief with grace... how to carry one's burden with dignity and make a space for the pain you feel. On so many occasions, when others who returned from combat tried to run from their losses, he wanted to talk about them. He wanted to incorporate the memories of his fallen friends into the present and continue to bring his losses forward. He didn't want to forget. And he showed me that ones we've said goodbye to are only truly gone if we fail to remember. 

What I didn't understand at the time is that he was teaching me how he wanted his own death to be grieved, and I wonder if those around us aren't actually doing the same. Perhaps through their life, they're indicating how they want to be celebrated, remembered, honored once they're gone. Maybe we are doing the same unawares? 

Maybe, in our willingness to show how we carry the losses, pains, traumas of our own road, we are giving those behind us a road-map that points to how to navigate this path all must travel. 

While each individual grieves differently and all won't walk the journey at the same pace in the same way, I think it's worth noting that mourning is one of the few common experiences we all share. The tears that flow, the emptiness we feel, the awkwardness we must wade through, the doubts we encounter, the pain we are left with is relatable to us all in some fashion and it's a pity we don't understand better how to grieve with one another from such a place of commonality. It's not that we always have to say the words but that we, more importantly, feel with the heart... that we hug and we comfort and we make sure each other knows how deeply we care. Even in the silence, our presence can be meaningful... can show that we get it because we've been down this road, too. Oh, how I treasure the few who did this for me! 

At the time of my finding out about Alex's passing, I could not have anticipated the twists and turns this road would take me on as I slowly made my way along: It ignited a connection with his sweet parents, who have since become like family to me - a living connection with the friend I loved so much... it restored contact with some of our common military acquaintances and their presence back in my life has comforted me in ways I could never have expected... it has allowed me to grieve with others and take the lessons I learned from Alex and pour them into those who come behind me and, in a way, his legacy lives on through this giving... it has taught me intricacies about bereavement that I never could have learned otherwise but ones that I see now I can't live - fully live - without. And because of this, I must thank this broken road for leading me here. 

I'm now at a place, five years on, where I can turn around and look back on where this had taken me. Even though the heartache thrust deeper and the darkness sat heavier and the tears ran more than any loss I'd ever encountered (and yes, it did startle me a little that I was capable of mourning that greatly for someone I knew), it also forced me to notice mercies and graces and beauties that I absolutely would've missed had I tried to stay on the pain-free trail. 

No wonder God says there's no other way but through the crucified way, where all our jaded idealisms and opinions and plans and feelings must be subjected to a holier path and a higher plan that only He can write!

I see that now. And I'm grateful. 

As I sit here and write this and look over to that beautiful smile still looking at me from the photo on my bookcase... as I can still pull up that voice calling me "ma'am" and think of that unmatched loyalty and love to which there is no equal... as I remember that one final hug we had and how I wished it would last forever... as I long everyday for what could've been... I can also say that I'm okay with the fact that it still hurts. I'm okay knowing that I still miss him. Because I'm doing this not just my way but also the way he would've wanted. He let me see that it's alright to talk about your lost friends and loved ones as if they are still a part of your life because, in a way, they still are because the love they gave to you lives on in your heart. 

And so, I will keep on talking about him. I will keep letting his life speak through me as I hopefully inspire others to grieve and live and love with grace and dignity, also. Alex was the friend I wish everyone could have at least once in their life, and perhaps his mother isn't too far off when she told me awhile back that anyone who knows me, in a way, knows him too. I'm just trying to pass along what I was given and not let the gift go to waste... let it keep blessing, keep going. And I won't stop. I have days to live that he didn't and my goal is to make the most of them. 

I see the sunrise now, and I can tell you that days of returning joy and hope do await you on the other side of this dark valley through which the road of grief leads. But you won't cherish them as you ought or understand their meaning unless you've kept your eyes open in the hard parts. Grief will expand your heart if you let it and, I assure you, it's done nothing but that for me... in the best way possible. 

I don't know what you may be grieving today but, in the spirit of my dear Alex, may I just encourage you to grieve bravely? May I infuse you with a little hope to know that others grieve greatly too, and we're all doing our best to carry our losses with grace? May I comfort you that there is a space for your pain and it's okay to share it with those you trust because we all need to learn from one another on this road! Nobody is going to mourn the "perfect" way because there is no such thing. But we will endeavor to do it in a way that honors both that which we've said goodbye to as well as ourselves. 

Marine Ssgt. Alex Ramon would want nothing more.