h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

It's been ages since I made a journal entry but I just found this again and want to save it. I didn't write it - I don't know who did. Maybe it will help others - it has helped me


"I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don’t want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don’t want it to “not matter”. I don’t want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can’t see.

As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything…and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.”

FEISOR!!

I'm pretty sure that was our own Robbie Stamp, actually...

I think it was too, Amy. I know I've read that before and it's so true and relevant to me. It's not quite a year since I lost my partner Ian. Two months later my Mum breathed her last - I found it almost impossible to grieve for her whilst still mourning Ian - he was the one I would have turned to for comfort - and he was so gone. I mucked into doing the arrangements with my sister - I was on autopilot as she was barely coping with her own loss. Only now the headstone is laid and the surround is so beautiful, it's brought the tears I should have shed 9 months ago. So, another shipwreck, because I couldn't cope with two at once, this has been belated. Now I can take flowers to her grave and talk to her as I always did - tell her my news - new job, new grandchild on the way. And I walk away crying because I can't have a hug. Another wave. The loneliness is dreadful. I would have gone to either for comfort at losing the other. I am sure God has helped me in all this - He never gives you more than you can cope with and I'm sure I am getting spiritual help now. Life goes on, and it's a beautiful life, even my scars are beautiful.

Bless you Feisor, I'm sorry for what has brought this passage to mind, sorry for your grief. My PS is always open to you or you can email me at galaxybabeATgmailDOTcom if you want a private chat.

*waves to Amy* - I am so glad you got to meet my lovely Mum, our Yorkshire girl, not many hootooers did and you were by far the furthest travelled!

Thank you both - you have both always been there, I know that. There are so many fabulous people here - it's why I keep lurking :
I am doing fine - not working but trying to keep busy - getting lots of practice procrastinating.
GB - it doesn't get easier does it? It's almost like an old friend tapping you on the shoulder to remind you that Grief is still here - and the tears well up again. But it reminds me how much I loved and was loved and that's a comfort.

Thanks again to you both ....

Yes, Robbie's words on grief are very powerful...

I like what you say, too, "how much I loved and was loved and that's a comfort. "

So much indeed...

"There are so many fabulous people here" - also well said!

It's not Robbie Stamp. A87890133

It seems to have been something written on Reddit 7 years ago:
http://www.reddit.com/r/Assistance/comments/hax0t/my_friend_just_died_i_dont_know_what_to_do/c1u0rx2/

Thank you Coelacanth - it's beautiful and inspiring no matter who wrote it.