Love Transcends Mortality
By Kerry J. Bickford, VOICES Founding Editor
I never thought much about the longevity of love until after someone beloved to me died.
We are each born into a relationship that teaches us what it feels like to be cared for, and we come to recognize and depend on the faces, arms, and cues all around us that make us feel cherished and safe.
This evolves over many years of relationships, and we begin to differentiate between the people we can trust and the ones we cannot. Love becomes a complex lesson that includes hard moments and soft ones. We say “No” to our growing toddlers and watch their faces crumple when they realize they cannot have their way. What they haven’t figured out yet, is that “No” is often a word that demonstrates love in a way that cannot be felt like a hug or a kiss. It is a word we use to keep them from harm because we love them deeply.
As children grow into teenagers, love is tested in ways that can create barriers between parents and children – straining the bonds that were formed in the early years. Our love for them plays out in scenarios like taking a stand that often clashes with their desire for independence, excitement, and risk. Love becomes far less warm and fuzzy and can create enormous conflict as it competes with our desire for our children to survive the dangers and decisions they must navigate every day.
Peer support circles for those grieving a lost loved one can be fraught with regret and despair. One theme that resonates is “...if only I had done this, said this, or asked this, perhaps my beloved would not have died. It is magical thinking to assume we have that much power, but it is also natural to feel this way. Our brains need to assimilate this horrific event into some kind of dialog that makes sense, and yet, the outcome will always be the same. Our person is gone and our love could not save them. How is this possible?
We bear witness to the stories people share in our peer grief circles. We hold them close to our hearts and relate our own similar moments. It provides us with a lens which focuses on and highlights the humanity of that memory and gives the whole group a chance to help re-frame it. Here are some examples:
A mother recalls that the last words she spoke to her child were in anger. She is haunted by questions; “Did she know I loved her? Does she know that if I knew I would never see her again, I would have said, I love you?” The group often murmurs in agreement, as this is a huge question regardless of what our last words were. I watch and listen as they take turns reminding this mom of the moments she has shared with us that emanated love. They assure her that this one moment, while painful, does not define the relationship she had with her daughter – shared over a lifetime of loving moments.
A father reports that, just a few hours before his son died, he loaned him money. He did not realize, until he put the pieces together, that the money had gone to the deadly overdose. “How could I have done this?” He asks, knowing that this was a possibility based on his son’s recent history and the disease he was fighting. Heads nod in unison, as this scenario is also familiar to many in this group. Another dad reassuringly says, “We did the best we could. Either way, it was a no-win situation, and we just wanted to do something that might help.”
Another mother reports, “My son asked to come home. This had not been a good arrangement in the last few attempts at recovery, and there were teenagers in the home. I said no, and he died two days later. How can I forgive myself for this?” Tough love is the hardest. Our loved ones aren't used to us saying, “No,” and it doesn’t feel good for anyone. Does it mean we didn’t love them or that they didn’t feel loved? No, it does not.
I believe our loved ones were faced with the proverbial demon from the storybooks of their childhood but without a happy ending. We were all trying to figure out how to avoid these outcomes. Our love for them led us down many treacherous paths that we had to navigate in the most intuitive and caring way possible. Love.
As Valentine’s Day approaches, I find myself reminiscing about the cookies we would bake and decorate with conversation hearts. I remember the flowers and cards that would appear on my counter or pillow when the family was growing up. I remember the cardboard boxes of valentines they would carry to school with messages of love and friendship for their teachers and friends.
What I wouldn't give to have one of those moments back or even a text that says, “I love you, Mom." But I can see it, I can feel it, and I can hear it echo in my head. “I love you, Mom. I love you, Dad.”
I’ve learned to hold my love for my son close to my heart because it is all that is left and it’s as real as the day he was born. Death has redefined what love looks like, but it can never redefine how it feels. Love lives inside each of us as an eternal reminder that no one and nothing can ever take it away.