Grief

Married fifty years and the eighth anniversary of losing my wife, Pat, to cancer.

Pat, my wife, was Irish

An ode to being Irish
"Oh, lass with eyes like shamrocks bright, And laughter sweet as morning light, Your spirit soared on feathered wings, A whispered tune the wild wind sings.

From rolling hills to craggy shore, The Emerald Isle, your essence bore, In every word, a lilting grace, A smile that bloomed upon your face.

Your heart, a wellspring deep and wide, Where love and kindness did reside, A fireside warmth, a gentle hand, A bond that stretched across the land.

Though seasons change and time may fly, Your memory paints the endless sky, In rainbows arched and sunsets bold, Your Irish spirit, pure as gold."

Grief
And when the mist descends at night, I'll find you in the soft moonlight, A whispered echo, sweet refrain, Until we meet on Irish soil again."

Grief isn't a storm that passes and then the sun shines brightly. It's a tide, ceaseless and unpredictable. Even eight years later, there are days it roars through me, a crashing wave of sorrow that steals my breath. Then, sometimes, it's a gentle ripple at my ankles, a quiet reminder of the space she once filled.

The world expects me to have moved on by now. The world talks of closure and healing as if grief is an injury needing a bandage. But losing the death of my wife didn't leave a scar. It left an absence, a hole in the fabric of my world that will never fully mend.

Some days are filled with sharp edges: the scent of her perfume in a crowded store, a song we danced to, the untouched pillow beside mine. Other days are shrouded in a softness, a kind of tender ache. I stare into the flames of a fire, recalling her laughter, or run my hands over the wood of a table she helped me build.

Grief is not a weakness, nor is it a constant weight. It is a testament to our love, which refuses to be contained within the boundaries of a single lifetime. So yes, eight years on, grief still finds me. But it also finds me living, remembering, and discovering a new existence. It finds me holding both the pain of loss and the enduring echo of the beautiful life we made together.

Grief, after fifty years of marriage, is a unique and profound experience. It's a complex process that has a clear endpoint. Instead, it's a journey that takes time and many twists and turns.

There will be days when the pain is unbearable, and the memories of your loved one flood your mind. On other days, it may feel like a gentle reminder of all the beautiful moments you shared.

It's essential to remember that grief is neither a weakness nor a burden you must bear alone. It's a testament to the love you shared with your partner, a love that will never fade away.

It's okay to take all the time you need to heal and find a way to live a new existence. You may find comfort in talking to friends and family, joining a support group, or focusing on activities that bring you joy.

Just know that you don't have to go through this alone, and it's okay to ask for help when needed. Your love will never die, and your partner's memory will always be with you, even after fifty years.