Over the course of my ten years of Psychology Today submissions, I have explored various topics within my own life’s journey. One of the most profound for me and my readers has been the experience of loss, grief, and surviving traumas to ultimately embrace joy with gratitude once again.
After my best friend and sister-in-law Marilyn’s death, I examined such loss in my two Psychology Today posts: “Grief: From Darkness to Light (9/14/21), and “We Actually Can Survive Incredible Loss” (10/27/21). As I explored my personal heartache, I shared my daily ritual of saying “good morning” to Marilyn as my computer wakes to the screen saver. On display is the picture of us both taken during my book signing, which she organized for me (of course!). She beams with pride and amazement that her little sister wrote a book. “That’s my sister,” she would say when someone picked up the book to examine. “She’ll autograph it for you.”
With such a recent loss, I explored how it is even possible to live without her. I wanted the world to stop, rest on its axis, and suspend its movement. How did others laugh, eat, and play, when I was frozen in grief? But as the months have progressed, and I have slowly experience a lightness. I hear Marilyn’s quiet, steady voice within as I tell her about my day. “I’m always proud of you, Barbara. Keep going!”
After I wrote my post about Marilyn’s loss, a reader reached out to me. In her own tremendous grief, she found solace in my writing by substituting Marilyn’s name for the name of her lost love and, in doing so, she began to heal. She re-read my words daily and found herself slowly joining life again.
When Marilyn started hospice, she talked to me about her feelings, about dying, and about acceptance. While I wanted to deny her words, I listened. She also shared the joy of our friendship, stating, “We are so lucky. I don’t know anyone who has what we have had.” She embraced such gratitude, despite such sadness. Not once did she ever say, “Why me?” while the rest of us surely felt that way. And once again, she taught me the hardest lesson of all.
Today’s writing purposely occurs on the 5th anniversary of Marilyn’s passing, for I needed to write; I had to write to honor Marilyn’s memory and to process my continued loss. I can instantly flash to those dreadfully painful weeks leading up to her death. Instead, I hold on to what I learned from her well-lived years. In my post, “My Friend Taught Me, and I Listened,” (2/28/22), I share one lesson I never wanted to learn from Marilyn but was forced to accept: how to die gracefully.
I write this entry today for myself. It is the way in which I make sense of the world, my world. When I feel pain, my tears transform into letters and words cathartically laced together. Yet, no words are enough to reflect my loss as well as my rich gains in loving and losing Marilyn. I honor her loss by living my life the way she would have wanted me to—fully! Grief is this way: a mixture of disbelief, sadness, elements of acceptance, all entwined with a deep love for the gifts from my dear sister and best friend.
