How do you express in words the pain of sharing another's grief, coupled with the admiration for their strength and vulnerability during the shittiest time of their life? How do you give them the space they need, and the support and love you long to show, when they hate you so much for the blessings you have that they were denied? There is no easy answer, and the love lost is almost too painful to bear. I can only pray that time will heal our relationship while it heals the hurt in my dear friend's heart.
I can honestly say that while I don't know exactly how she feels, I do have some understanding from my own experience, and I love and respect her despite her bitterness toward me. I know what it is to lose someone you love so very dearly, and to have the people around you constantly remind you of your loss in flippant, seemingly unsympathetic ways. When I lost my dad so suddenly, every time I saw a girl with her dad, no matter their ages, it ripped to me to my core. It still does, often. Holidays are especially hard, and while it helps to focus on my husband as the daddy on Father's Day, there's a hole where my dad, Mimi's Grandpa, was supposed to be. And I am so sensitive to situations in which someone complains about their dad; I just want to smack them upside the head and tell them to appreciate the gift that their father is, even if he is not the best dad in the world. Appreciate him, because you're going to lose him, and no one can replace him. Respect him, in word and deed, and show him the love he needs, whether he deserves it or no. Losing my dad has helped me appreciate the relationships I have with my family, both blood and Blood, and I want to cherish those relationships with all that I have. Yes, I still struggle, because people really piss me off sometimes, but this newfound perspective has caused a profound shift in the way I love others that has helped me see God's love for them, and His love for me. Yes, I still have moments of deep, despairing depression, usually triggered by someone losing a loved one. It's still so fresh, and so painful. Four years is NOTHING when you lose someone you love. Time can smooth the edges, but it's still raw and ragged in the heart.
I can't sympathize completely with my friend, but I can sympathize. I can't share her pain, but I can understand her anger and bitterness fueled by that pain. I can be patient with her, and understand that she'll never heal from this, not completely. And I can also be wounded by her anger and bitterness directed at me for living the life that she was denied. I can also live with the anxiety and fear her experience creates in me, the knowledge that I am in no way safe from re-living what she is going through for myself. I can choose to trust in Jesus and His plan for our family over the fear that her experience daily brings out in me. I can choose to shut her, and her negativity, out for right now, while still praying for her and loving her from a much greater distance than I would like. I have to, for the sake of my own emotional well-being, even though it sucks. I can't go around feeling guilty for living the life that God has given me, for having the blessings that I have. There is no guilt there to be had that isn't inflicted by the pain and grief of another person. I don't expect other people to feel guilty that their dads are still alive and well. I expect them to appreciate what they have, and hold their loved ones close. Our time down here is just too damn short to be full of hate, bitterness, guilt, fear, and anxiety. I love and respect my friend so dearly, and I hold no animosity toward her whatsoever about what she is feeling about me. She is allowed to have her feelings, to express them however she wants, and I am allowed to let them hurt me, or not.
There is healing to be had, and I pray for my friend to find her healing in the God who made her, and who holds her baby boy in His hands. I am excited to see her son in heaven, to have him show me around, to introduce me to his friends and his God. I'll wait on Jesus' timing for that day to come, but it makes me smile to know that it WILL come. I just wish I could know if my dad would be there, too.
