My wife Vickie died eight months ago. At first, the sense of her presence was as palpable as my heartbeat. She was in heaven, sure, but she was also here, there, everywhere. That awareness lasted a week. Then it faded. I felt dull and rarely left the apartment.
Grief is more than missing someone. It’s the thought that you have lost someone or something essential to what you are here for.
I didn’t want to do anything. I forced myself to do the basics. I made my bed right away, shaved and got dressed. I ate cereal with strawberries and read The New York Times with a cup of Folgers coffee, just like always. Then … I didn’t know what to do. I was still asleep and couldn’t wake up.
Grief is a snake that you deny is slithering around your spine, paralyzing you. You don’t want to believe it. After all, wasn’t I grieving for 20 years as I watched my best friend slowly disappear in the grip of Alzheimer’s? Wasn’t that enough?
Grief is being in a movie and watching your leading lady walk off the screen. You don’t know what your role in the movie is any more.
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Michael Leach is publisher emeritus of Orbis Books. He has edited and published more than three thousand books. Dubbed “the dean of Catholic book publishing” by U.S. Catholic magazine in 2003, he has also authored or edited several books of his own, including Why Stay Catholic? Mike brings this background to his role as editor of NCR‘s Soul Seeing columns. Michael is a frequent contributor to NCR‘s Soul Seeing column.
With thanks to the National Catholic Reporter (NCR) and Michael Leach, where this article originally appeared.
