Love is all around us, even if we’re gripped by grief
DEAR BEL,
I READ the letter from Adam about his grief at the loss of his wife (December 9) and your reply.
His dilemma was an exact mirror of my circumstances in the summer of 2016 when I lost my civil partner. It was then that I sent you an email in the same vein — expressing my agony at not being able to say goodbye to the person I loved.
You did have the courtesy to send me a reply acknowledging my letter — but didn’t print it on your page. You can imagine that I was somewhat put out when I read the letter (from Adam) that you did bother to print. What was the difference?
Well, my relationship status was different, I admit, because we were a gay partnership for 50 years.
But I thought that now we live in a more enlightened society, attitudes would have changed.
It seems not, from the fact that one submission is deemed not suitable for print (mine) and one is given full recognition of the compassion usually given in the circumstances.
ANDY
Sometimes a letter is like the ache of a worrisome tooth — and so it was with yours. the first stab of pain came because i cannot bear to think that anybody could believe i have any prejudice against people in homosexual relationships.
No, no, no! the second stab came from empathy with your ongoing grief. that’s why i’m choosing it for the last column on 2017 — to help me explain a few things.
But before we get to that point… first i had to track down your original. it took a while because you’d mistyped the date and i have a very complex filing system.
But at last i located it — to read that your beloved partner was suffering from Alzheimer’s Disease but still living at home, that he had a nasty fall which required surgery – and that he died suddenly post surgery without you at his side.
You wrote: ‘i immediately went back to the room to be with him. i asked myself over and over why him? i wanted desperately for him to open his eyes and smile at me to let me know he was ok, but he didn’t.
‘my abiding memory is that i was not there to welcome him back or say goodbye in his final moment. i am racked with intense guilt and sorrow. my sadness and pain at his loss is immense.’ You went on to explain how you contacted the bereavement charity Cruse ( cruse.
org) and found them unhelpful. since i know this organisation does do good work ( the helpline is 0808 808 1677) i promise to discuss your disappointment with them — because there’s always room for improvement.
When i recommend contacting a certain charity to help with a problem it’s done in good faith, yet i realise local offices and individuals may well be fallible. Nevertheless i know it can help an individual to have something to ‘do’ — like make that phone call or research that problem. i rejoice that there are so many caring people who want to help.
Let us return to you feeling let down by me. this is unfair. Andy, i need you (and all readers) to know that this column is totally gender-blind, colour-blind – and even country-blind, in that i have printed letters from America (where the column is read online, of course) but chosen to disguise that fact. Why?
Because i believe that the pain of (say) a marriage breakup is the same in seattle as in southampton. Because i believe grief afflicts the universal human soul — which has no gender or race. sadly, realistically, i accept that people will always go on hurting each other because of fatal flaws which have little do with
whether they are rich or poor, gay or straight, or have degrees, or belong to this or that culture.
People are imperfect. That is why we are all (whether we know it or not) set upon a quest to lead better lives. It also means that many of our mistakes are our very own fault. Not all misery is the fault of society — or God.
It’s not that I think we are all the same. The deepest human experiences — falling in love, joy at the birth of a child, pride in the achievements (however small) of those we love, and fear, separation, devastating disappointment, loneliness and loss — are surely universal, and yet each individual experiences them uniquely. That is why I heartily dislike ‘one size fits all’ — in clothing, therapy and politics alike.
Over my years as an advice columnist I have answered many letters about bereavement (perhaps more than is usual among my fellows in the media) and also many from men, gay and straight.
I aim for a balance of subjects on the page, and sometimes like to surprise —– but always choose problems others will be able to identify with. (You’d be amazed how often I hear from readers who’ve been helped by a featured letter which chimes with their own circumstances.)
I imagine I didn’t pick your original letter because something else seemed more pressing at the time. It’s always hard to choose. That’s all. There are many days when I feel frustrated because it’s just me — and so many problems. I can only do my best.
Just before Christmas I asked you bring me up to date as to how you are, 18 months on. Your third email said, ‘Every time I open a drawer or cupboard I am hit with a reminder. J loved baking, so every Christmas he used to make a beautiful cake.
‘All those ingredients, flour, essences, decorations etc, are still in the cupboard… His books, papers, computer lie untouched. The silence is deafening. I dread coming back to an empty house after being out. Not one day goes by without me crying over something, and me a grown man of 74. Even when I go to the supermarket for our weekly Friday shop, tears well up when I see the items J would have chosen.’
So where does all this lead us, Andy? To LOVE — that’s where. I honour the deep love you felt for your partner — a love that lasted 50 years, which still flings itself defiantly against the walls of death.
And I also repeat what I suggested to Adam (grieving for his wife) — that it’s wrong to berate yourself because you weren’t at your beloved’s side when death came.
Instead, focus on this positive thought —that he most certainly felt you there beside him, simply because that trust, that companionship was engrained over five decades.
How could it be otherwise? And why do you doubt that he is with you still?
Your life cannot be empty — because of the love. Yes, it makes you cry, but please acknowledge the wonderful blessing, too.
These days I believe in little else but the extraordinary power of love. When I feel disillusioned with the world and people ( all too often) I console myself by remembering the existence of goodness.
Despite all the negatives, I still believe good values will always triumph over evil ones — the best of humanity as powerful as the single candle that illuminates even the darkest room.
So I sit here, thinking of your sadness and all the problems I cannot solve, and refuse to be disheartened. We can but try — all of us, to reach out to each other as best we can. That spreads the goodness.
THAT’S why I thank you for a sad and aggrieved letter which actually reinforces my deep belief in the beauty and pity of love.
‘Love came down at Christmas’ says the beautiful carol by the poet Christina Rossetti. It goes on, ‘ Love shall be our token, / Love be yours and love be mine …’
And that is what this column means to me.
It may sound foolish but I often have a feeling very like love for the strangers who write in with their sad stories (yes, even when they exasperate me) because the very act of writing is a holding out of hands.
Andy, I pray you learn to see beauty in the world once more, as your dear partner would surely have wanted.
Please lift your head and seek things to enjoy — for his sake. And as we all make our collective journey into the New Year, I just hope that by sharing our feelings we will all help each other to see light in the sky ahead.