The Rollercoaster of Grief

I love the roller coaster at the Vancouver PNE.  It’s wooden, rickety and scares the crap out of me.

I get on it, and I’m excited, right until that first hill.   And then the screaming starts.   It doesn’t stop, the screaming… sometimes it gets louder, sometimes it gets under control… but it’s always there…

Ohhhhhh shit oh shit oh shit OH SHIT OH SHIT OHHHHHHHHHH SHHHHHHHHHIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTTTT oh shit oh shit oh shit…

Just keeps going on.

Grief… grief is like that.  The screaming in my head started when he died.   It hasn’t stopped.  Not once have I had a moment where I could say “Hey, the screaming stopped.  I’m ok now”

Some days the screaming is a mosquito buzzing around my head… annoying, and always noticeable.

Some days the screaming is overwhelming, knocking me over, drowning me, can’t hear or see or feel anything but the pain of losing him and all I can think of is finding some way to end the pain or at least get it under control.

Some days I go from one extreme to the other and back again.

Eventually the roller coaster stops at the PNE.   They take a picture of me at a point where I”m screaming the loudest and it looks really funny, but the roller coaster stops shortly after.

The roller coaster of grief never seems to stop.    There is no end.  There’s no conceivable moment where I can ever see myself saying “Yep, I loved him.  I’m over that.  I’ve moved on.  I’m done grieving him.”

And so I mentally scream. Over and over and over…

He was my best friend.  He was my life partner.  He was my soul mate.  He was the person around whom I planned my life.

I’ll never “get over” the fact that he’s gone.  I cry for him every day.  One day, I’ll have learned to live with it and my tears will only come in the quiet of the night… when it’s just me with my thoughts alone… but I will forever cry for him.

Someone said to me (I can’t remember who) that we grieve as hard as we love.  I loved him with every fibre of my being, and I grieve for him with every fibre of my being.

This is his memorial video.  Skip everything and go to 15.36.  That’s what I hear whenever there’s no other noise… the sound of his voice telling me he loves me… I wish, I wish beyond everything, that I could have him tell me that in person again.

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One thought on “The Rollercoaster of Grief

  1. “We grieve as deeply as we love.” That’s what I was told by the leader of the bereavement support group that I’ve attended sporadically for three years.

    For me, my Jim was also my soulmate, lover, husband and the person my entire life was built around for 20 years. It’s been well over three years. No, I won’t get over him. I won’t even move on. I am, however, doing my best to move forward.

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