The Missing Puzzle Piece- Understanding grief years later

Jazz music seem to sway back and forth, following the rhythm of the boat as it slightly rock, beating against the waves. Conversations buzz as people share their highlights of their cruise, but I try to focus on the ones that were happening at my table. I realize that there are two different conversations happening, and it is hard to know which one to join. My eyes grow tired from watching lips move, trying to watch the placement of the tongue, but only really noticing the crookedness of teeth as words and sentences bounce back and forth like a tennis ball from one person to the other, never coming in my direction.

Through all of this, I am happy I am here, or at least, I try to. This cruise was paid for by my grandparents. It was something they wanted to do again as a family, all of us, and it would be awful if I wasn’t grateful. I briefly think about all the amazing experiences I was able to have- snorkeling and seeing dolphins and seals, driving through a scenic route on Catalina Island, holding baby tigers in Ensenada, Mexico… things that some people never get to experience.

But sitting at that table, seeing cousins with parents, being without my own son, without my parents and brothers, the truth sets in.

It’s just not the same without them.

Ten years ago, we had gone on this exact same cruise, but it’s different. Ten years ago, Keegan and Liam were with us. Ten years ago, my parents were with us. Ten years ago, Ian and I had our own family unit among the family to refer to.

I had watched my cousin and his wife announce their pregnancy to their siblings. I had watched my aunt spend time with her grandchildren, and during those moments, I feel a ping of jealousy. I will never have that.

Of course, I love my family, but it’s more complicated than that.

Grief is more complicated than that. It’s not something that you experience one time, or even within just one period of time.

It can be sporadic.

It’s interesting, really, how people feel the need to belong. We need connection, we need to know we are understood and validated, and when we don’t have it, it’s isolating. And the isolation can be hellish. I used to think it was like being left alone in the dark, but it’s not. It’s being in the light, being separated by a large glass room, watching the world before you, longing to be a part of it, but not being able to. It’s being an onlooker, an outsider.

The difficulty levels fluctuate, and it’s different for every little thing. Some days, it’s the heartache that feels like something had been cut from me, out of me. It’s that feeling of not just emptiness- it’s knowing that emptiness was once filled to the brim that can make it unbearable.

Some days, I don’t feel empty. Instead, I feel cheated, like life is a game, and everyone around me were given the extra cheat code, their own guidance, but mine was taken.

Some days, it’s not feeling cheated. Instead, it’s guilt- guilt for being alive, and even more guilt for living, for experiencing. How dare I enjoy what they never got to enjoy, what they never will enjoy?

Some days, it’s not guilt. It’s loss- loss of the things that I had. Missing the fun times I would have with my siblings or the conversations I would have with my parents.

Some days, it’s not loss. It’s forgetfulness- forgetting what life was before they passed. What was it like to have my own family at family events, a tribe I could go to? What was it like to hear my dad sing, or my mom talk, or my brothers laugh?

Some days, it’s not forgetfulness. It’s simply not knowing. Not knowing what it is like to have my parents be grandparents or my brothers be uncles. Not knowing what kinds of traditions we would have done with them. Not knowing what that first meeting between the family I had lost and the family I helped create would be like.

But all those pains, though different, feel the same.

Because it’s like being a part of a puzzle with missing pieces, and the piece that’s missing is the piece that is connected to you, separating you from the rest of the picture. The picture is incomplete. The connection is broken, and that’s all you notice.

Being in a family without your family can cause resentment. You watch as moms talk to their children, and you long to talk to your mom. You see grandpas playing with their grandchildren, and you are reminded that your children will never have that opportunity in your family. You are happy for them because they are happy, but the hole in your heart that can never quite be filled seem to sink deeper.

And it is in these moments, the moments when you are quiet, the moments you are still, the moments when you are observing, that you remember. And for a small moment, it hurts. For a moment, it seems unfair. For a moment, time seems to freeze, and your world, your hurt, your memories flash in the forefront of your mind like an IMAX movie and you are in the front row. You remember life with them. You remember their laughs, their smile. You remember the goofy things they did, and the love they shared. You remember losing them, seeing them still. You remember the hurt.

But it is only for a moment, and the movie is over. Reality kicks in, and you remind yourself, “This is now, and now is all I am guaranteed. And even though I do not know what the future holds, Now is sure, it is certain. Live in it, embrace it. Let it engulf you.”

And you remember the promise- “All things shall work together for your good.”

So you try. You comment in the conversations and laugh at the jokes. You share your thoughts and eat your dinner. You hold your husband’s hand and try some of his food. You share your favorite memories of the trip.

Because if you’re blessed to see tomorrow, Now will become another movie, one for you to watch over and over in your mind, a treasure to cherish.