Grief Has No Name

CW: Themes of grief, substance abuse, sexual content, suicide and self-harm

Looking through the windows, it appears to be a heavy whiskey, such as Jack Daniel's. It seems he is taking every sip, inhaling and exhaling, and a tear runs down his cheek. I knew what he needed, I took the courage to go knock on the door. I could hear the wrestling of walking through the house to get to the door. I hear something fall over. CRASH! He screams “SHIT”! He wrestles some more, and the door opens. He saw me. His composure changed in a way that I didn’t know whether to say anything or not. I grabbed his hand. I gently pulled him to me. I gave him a hug. I was preparing for wrestling to push me away. He melted in my arms. He fell to the ground. We sat in silence, waiting for him to let it all go. The wait wasn't long. The sound was more horrible than I imagined. Yet no words for what he was feeling. I could feel his heartbeat as each tear fell down his face. The doorway represents the entrance of healing beginning that night. We sat there for hours. No words, no movement, and no sound, breathing in the pain of relief in a way we didn't want to look at each other. He put his hand over mine. A chuckle broke the silence. I could feel him smiling.

“ Hummingbirds were her favorite.”, he said.

We stood up together, sat on the loveseat facing the sliding glass doors, waiting for the sunrise. As the shadows greeted the earth and the house, one eye opened to brace the beauty of brightness. For the first time in years, I saw him looking at nature in fullness without crying, bitter, or angry. He had full acceptance of this as my new life. I must embrace it. He was still holding my hand.

I squeezed his hand to let him know I was there. “ Thank you”, he said.

I looked over and smiled. I could feel him stop breathing. I looked out the glass door, and a hummingbird was in her flowers. The tears began to roll as he whispered her name, “ Barbara”. The hummingbird flew away. He squeezed my hand, lay his head in my lap & rocked himself to sleep. Dysfunction became functional during each moment. He woke up the next day. He grabbed her picture. He just hollered at her picture every time he remembered a memory. His final words were “ it's not us anymore, it's me, myself and I”.

He lay in the middle of the floor for days. No words, sound, or movement, I got so angry because I knew he was trying to kill himself slowly, or thinking of a way to not feel this pain any longer. Barbara was the love of his life. Now, what he knew as real love on earth is gone. He didn't know I needed him, too. I was in love with him. I didn’t mind being in second place. All I wanted was him! I started beating him. I yelled “ I need you!!” repeatedly. He came out of the trance, grabbed my arms in mid air, softly put them down, and kissed me. We made love, but it wasn't with me. It was with her. I was glad I was his escape. Finally knew what he felt within me. It was good, damn good. The begin starts with beg. I begged him to come to me. I'm in, and he is not. This is why grief has no name.

Grief doesn't have to be just physical; it can be spiritual. Most people aren’t aware of this type of knowledge and wisdom. That moment with him allowed me to get a full inside view of what physical and spiritual death looks like before my eyes. I watched him sleep. He would awake but still be silent. He would eat something after being comatose for ten hours. I counted that as a positive. He had more negatives going on than positives. How do I pull him out of this? The lightbulb came on, I can't because he has to want this for himself. Even if I might want him for myself, he has to experience every piece of this grief in the way he approaches it. She is all over this house. She is his heart. I have to come to accept the grips he made love to Barbara, not me. I can’t continue to be a hole to pour out his grief through sex. I can’t allow myself to fall deeper in love with him. If I give permission to be that hole to pour out his grief through sex. Grief name will be mine.

Already done that at another time in my life, and I made the mistake of having sex with him. I love him! He does know. He isn’t in a mindset to know. I left him in the bed, sitting up, looking at the wall. It is so hard to watch him like this. I sat on the loveseat. I looked out the glass doors. The hummingbird was there in the flowers. The hummingbird saw me it came directly to the glass. Our eyes connected fiercely, and I whispered “Barbara”. The hummingbird went away. Was this her way of saying I could be with him? Did I receive clearance from Barbara? I leaned back in the loveseat, put my hands over my eyes, and I heard my name being called. “Joy, Joy, Joy!”

It was weak, but he was saying my name. In disbelief, I couldn’t allow myself to believe he was calling my name. I waited! I heard “Joy” with a little more firmness. I moved swiftly to the hallway and to the bedroom. He was standing there at the door naked, all in his glory. I didn’t want to be Barbara anymore. I didn’t want to be the hole. “No”, I said. I walked away. He grabbed my waist as a child, saying, “Please don’t go”. My heart melted within. I turned slowly and looked him in the eyes. “No”.

“You allow me to feel for the first time in months”, he said. He picked me up and carried me to the bedroom. He never penetrated me again. He gave my body a stimulation that I can’t allow you to touch me in certain places of my body. He made it his grief spot. While I carried uncertainty until he healed. Would he ever fall in love with me?