Skip to main content

Talking to Others


A few weeks ago I joint a grieving support group organized by my local hospice (1).  Following COVID protocols we are meeting online.  We are part of this group because we have all lost someone close and dear to us.  

Attending these meetings shows very clearly that we all share a deep sense of sorrow.  As I write these lines I can visualize their faces and hear their voices telling stories of love and sacrifice; how much it hurts to lose someone so special; how powerless we feel not being able to prevent the final end from arriving.

I have discovered how amazing these people are.  We are similar because we belong to this big family that we call humanity: we love, fight, and endure the most severe circumstances encountered on our paths.  We all did the same for our loved ones, we fought for life until the bitter end.  We were there until the last breath holding hands, bodies, and souls, committed.

Amazingly; we are different, and that is what makes the world so interesting.  Imagine if we were all the same!

By listening to their stories and how they feel today after many months of finding themselves without the company of that special person, I have learned that we grieve differently and that there is no right or wrong way to travel these feelings.  We honor our loved ones in our own ways.  We look at the future knowing that one way or another this pain we feel today will take different shapes as we grow older but it will always be there; the memories cannot be erased.

I admire my newfound comrades for their courage to not step away from their destiny; they embraced it the best they could and they did not quit.  It takes guts to stick to one's path sometimes; even when we want to scream "Enough, I had enough!".  However, my comrades stayed firm.   Even joining the support group is an act of courage.

References


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Planner 00Iren

When I tell my daughters that their mother was amazing, I am not sure they grasp the magnitude of her stature. They tell me, “Yes dad, we know,” but I want them to understand the steel in her soul. I remember the day I saw Christina for the first time. it was in the halls of the chemistry department at Simon Fraser University. We both entered a long hallway at the same time, walking in opposite directions in our white lab coats. We had the opportunity to take a good look at each other. When we passed, our eyes crossed. She kept walking without turning, but I looked back to see her disappear into one of the laboratories. I thought, “Wow, I do not have a remote chance with that girl!” Years later, after we reunited in Vancouver, she told me she had thought the same: "He is going to make a woman very happy one day." She said she had no idea it was going to be her. In 1993, after I received an ultimatum letter from Canada Immigration, I was left with no option but to escape to th...

Our Charlie, Hegel

It was 1981, and I had barely survived my first year at the University of Havana, where I was studying chemistry. The leap from high school to university had been a huge adjustment—not just for me, but for many others. In the fall of 1979, about 250 of us began the program together. By the second year, fewer than 50 remained. That year we were introduced to a new subject: Philosophy. Every subject has to start somewhere, and we began with the classics—their ideas, their conflicts, their strengths and weaknesses. But one question weighed heavily on us: why study philosophy at all? Shouldn’t we be focused on chemistry—the nature of substances, their reactions, the concepts of atoms, molecules, and bonds? That was the very first challenge we posed to our philosophy lecturer, and to us, it seemed perfectly legitimate. The answer, fittingly, was philosophical. In the Soviet context, philosophy was meant to train us in analytical reasoning and critical thinking—by grappling with big questi...

My Gift

  To my daughters, I tried to be her, and I could not. I tried to be their buddy, and I could not. Then I understood: I am Dad. That is my role, my strength, and my gift. Now, it is recorded forever, here.