Death is more than the loss of a person
Reflections on secondary losses
“When someone you love dies, and you're not expecting it, you don't lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time — the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers. Gradually, you accumulate the parts of her that are gone. Just when the day comes — when there's a particular missing part that overwhelms you with the feeling that she's gone, forever — there comes another day, and another specifically missing part.”
— John Irving
When Brad and I started dating 20 years ago, the Garden State soundtrack was the musical score of our love story. We burned CDs of the songs that we listened to on repeat on long road trips and posted lyrics as our AIM away messages. It was the first movie we watched together, on a laptop perched atop a pile of books on the bottom bunk of his bed.
Even now, two decades later, when a familiar song from the soundtrack plays, I’m transported back to that college apartment with Brad, the flags of Switzerland and South Africa donning his walls. Two young kids in lust before they were in love.
Even now, two decades later, I can’t help but get emotional when a familiar song plays.
So when Zach Braff announced he was bringing all the musicians from the soundtrack together, on one stage, for one night, my heart lurched.
My immediate thought? I have to tell Brad. Followed by the abrupt discernment that I can’t.
7 years and 10 months later, and still, a punch to the gut.
The grief of that moment, remnants of a life that no longer exists. Tiny crumbs of our life, swept away, and with them, the shared memory of that time.
Another micro1 loss that no one else would know.
Losing your partner is considered one of the most — if not the most — traumatizing losses a person can endure. But with the death of the person comes so many other losses, most unseen to the outside world — called secondary losses.
Like the loss of a shared love for a movie and its soundtrack.
And the loss of friends who are uncomfortable sitting in your grief. And the future milestones you no longer get to experience with your person. And your self-confidence, as you walk into parties and bars and weddings solo. And those “oh shit” moments when you’re sitting on the toilet and realize the roll is empty, and you have no one to yell at to bring you another (I mean come on, who hasn’t felt that loss?).
Losing your partner is one colossal primary loss and a thousand other secondary losses.
Below are just a few:
Financial stability
Sex
Past memories (Book of Stories can help with this one)
Family structure/co-parent
Sense of purpose
Security
Personal cheerleader
Friendships
Planned future
Driving buddy
Milestones & anniversaries
Mental stability
Job
Grief companion
Patience with others
Future memories
Motivation
Sense of safety
Faith
Travel companion
Support system
Physical intimacy
Secret keeper
Bag stacker on flights
Traditions
Inside jokes
Community
Physical appearance
Familiarity
Everyday noises around the house
Dreams
Being part of a “we”
Privacy
Family
Purpose
Dog walker
Self-confidence
Sick caretaker
Sense of place
Ability to concentrate
Home
The belief that bad things don’t happen to good people
Emotional intimacy
Future kids/grandkids
Romance
Appetite/enjoyment of food
Feeling of lightness
Libido
Inner joy
Hope
Trust in your ability to make decisions
Patience with self
Someone to share food with at a restaurant
Best Friend
Routine
Trust in time
Shared plans
Loved one's friends and family
Stress management
The belief in fairness
Health
Role as a spouse
Bringer of toilet paper
Identity
Sense of humor
Ability to read
Shared household duties
Income
Expectations
Self-care
Relatability to others
Hand holder
Trust in others
Energy
Previous version of yourself
And now adding to the list, the loss of seeing the entire Garden State Soundtrack live, in person, together.
So many of these secondary losses are invisible and grieved in private. Many are felt daily. All feel life-altering.
Of this list, how many have you experienced? Which is most unexpected? And if any are missing, I’d love to hear those too.
But oh so big.
Each and every one, except for income, but she was the reason I wanted to make money.
If I could add one more, I would add "The reason to cook." Or "the reason to eat." I cooked because she liked it and would tell me if she didn't. She would affirm my clumsy attempts or success. And since her death I have only cooked one meal, a meal she never liked but one which I could eat for several days and freeze for other weeks. And while I am eating, despite the stated concerns of family over my wieght, I really do not care. I eat so that my stomach isn't annoyed or my stress increased and I don't know that this will really change.
There are very few items on your list that I have not experienced. Some of them have ebbed and flowed over the last seven years, like hand-holding. I've held the hands of new partners, but it's never really the same, is it?
The most surprising change for me, though, has been the loss of a sense of security. In my marriage, I was never a damsel in distress. I was independent, self-sufficient, and did things on my own. Yet, after Dave passed, I distinctly remember feeling unsafe in places I once visited without a second thought. Even something as simple as going to my local grocery store became daunting, despite the fact that my husband and I never grocery shopped together.
Grief transforms you in ways you can't predict.
Will you go to the show?