I remember reading this one time in a blog about love after loss.
I found it so beautiful. So poetic.
Love after loss has been a really difficult topic for me to write about. The beautiful part is I have found it and I am so incredibly thankful for that.
I feel like I should want to write novels about it, considering I found it difficult to find advice, wisdom, or guidance on the topic when I needed it most.
The truth is, love after loss is scary. Scratch that — it’s terrifying. The mere thought of finding someone new is incomprehensible when you have lost the only person in this world that was meant for you.
I remember, not long after Brock died, an older woman in a grief class looked me straight in the face and told me, “Don’t worry. You’re young. You’ll find someone else.”
Pardon my French, but WTF?! Who SAYS that??? I remember walking out the door with tears streaming down my face. Sure, she probably didn’t mean it to sound so harsh, but her words stung for a very long time.
When you’ve found the person you’re meant to be with, there IS no one else. So when they are taken away from you without warning, not only is their life over but it feels like yours is too.
It took me about a year and a half before I even thought about dating. And it wasn’t even dating that I wanted. The truth is, I was lonely. Painfully lonely. I missed the feeling of a hug. Someone holding my hand. Snuggling up with someone on the couch to watch a movie. I missed companionship. Conversation. I missed laughing and inside jokes. It was a new ache that joined the pang of grief I felt in my heart.
I remember my first kiss after Brock passed away. I thought I would forget how to kiss, it had felt so long. To my surprise, I remembered just fine. I liked it, but I remember feeling a little .. wrong. Almost as if I was cheating. Nothing ever panned out with that guy, and that’s okay because my heart wasn’t ready anyway. Deep down, I knew that.
When I did meet someone, I was taken by surprise. I think it was the first time I laughed, really laughed, since Brock left. This person was funny and adventurous and a breath of fresh air. I liked him, and after some time, I learned I could love him too. And so I did.
But just like I discovered I could love again, I learned that my heart could actually break again. It was like a vase that had been dropped and broken, but the pieces were glued back together very carefully. It was very fragile, and unfortunately, this person did not read the sign that said: “handle with care.” When it broke again, it shattered into a million pieces. There wasn’t enough glue in the world to put it, or me, back together.
But just like I discovered I could love again, I learned that my heart could actually break again
Or so I thought.
Piece by piece, and a lot of therapy later, I began to pick up the broken pieces. The loneliness that had taken a brief reprieve was back, but not as strong. I knew I had to fix myself first, and not allow someone else to come in and try.
Then Madison walked into my life. He didn’t come in like a gale force wind, but instead a soft breeze. I was scared, wrapped in my bandages that were ready to be taken off, but I couldn’t bring myself to rip them yet. He took his time with me. He listened. He saw my wounds and he didn’t flinch. He let me sob in his arms in moments I missed Brock, the tears soaking his shirt. Little did I know, he was praying to him, asking his permission to love me.
In 258 days, I’ll walk down the aisle towards that man and say, “I do.” They are words I never imagined I would never say after Brock died, but now I can’t wait to say them to Madison, the man I will soon call my husband.
Love after loss is possible. I have found it. It’s not the same love I had for Brock, and I wouldn’t want it to be. They are two separate loves for two men who have both changed my life immensely. And there is no comparison between the two.
I understand now what it means.”Don’t let anyone but angels in.” Just the way Brock is my angel in Heaven, Madison is my angel here on Earth. He is soft and kind and loving. He is accepting, forgiving, and understanding. He is patient as I grieve and accepts that I always will.
I don’t have children yet, but I have heard people say about their first child, “I could never love another child more than this one.” Then they have another child and they realize there is plenty of room in their heart for more love.
There is room in mine too. But only for angels.