This story was inspired by a Note I posted from the Delta Airlines lounge at LAX just before boarding a plane back to New York on August 24, 2024:
Tomorrow, 8/25, is the third anniversary of my husband Steven’s death. I sailed through the first two anniversaries in dissociative bliss and planned to do the same this year—my body and mind had a different plan. My son and I flew from NYC to Los Angeles on Thursday, 8/22 with the intention of seeing some sights and sitting by the pool at our Airbnb until 9/3 when we had a flight home. I am currently at LAX, 8/24, waiting for our 9 am flight to board. My son and I were miserable, he wouldn’t even use the pool. We both just want to be home, and I want to be close to my husband’s ashes. I did not see this coming, and it never occurred to me that I would feel the desperate need to be with Steven’s remains. The whole thing is ridiculously heartbreaking. Grief is a motherfucker.
Over 350 people hearted that Note, which really surprised me.
What I wrote was very raw and real.
Is that what resonated with so many people?
Was it the sucker punch of a giant and unexpected grief wave breaking right on top of my head that so many connected with?
Could it have been the desperate, yet macabre need to be near the only part of Steven I have left, his ashes?
Maybe the duality of feeling heartbroken and ridiculous simultaneously rung true?
Probably all of the above because grief is a motherfucker. However….
What I’m about to write next may come as a surprise:
It’s not all bad.
I feel guilty even writing that, but for me it’s true. It doesn’t mean there is anything good about Steven dying at 53 years-old. There is not.
But sometimes I just really want to lean into my feelings of despair because it feels so good to submit to the pain.
Holding it all in is exhausting, but it isn’t always easy to let myself break down.
Do you ever listen to sad songs to get yourself in the mood to cry? Or you’re already in a sad mood, but you need a soundtrack to accompany your wracked sobs?
What the fuck is that about?
Elton John has a sad song about sad songs:
According to Sir Elton, we feel less alone when we listen to sad songs because:
If someone else is suffering enough to write it down
When every single word makes sense
Then it's easier to have those songs around
I cry for what I’ve lost.
Even if by some miracle Steven came back to life, would he even recognize me?
I cry for the person I used to be.
Would the Amy I am today still want to be with him?
I cry for the person I’ve become who only exists because Steven died, and I kind of like her.
Why bother with the what if’s when they can never be?
Because grief is a motherfucker. That’s why.
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