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I Cried, Too
Health Magazine, April 2007
"Meredith? This is Sarah, David Gold’s daughter," said the sweet, young voice on the phone. "I got your name out of my dad’s address book. I’m calling about the memorial."
Memorial. Memorial? The word echoed in my brain. Shock fought denial. Denial won. Must be the funeral of a mutual friend. He asked his daughter to call me because…because...
"Oh. I’m so sorry," Sarah said into my silence. "Did you not know that my dad died on Tuesday?" The room swirled around me. I couldn’t catch my breath. Then I heard her asking the question I’d hoped I’d never hear: "How did you know him? I don’t recognize your name."
"He was my boyfriend a long time ago," I answered. The truth–and an obscene simplification. At the moment you were being born, your dad and I were making love. We loved each other–in different ways, in and out of other relationships–for the next twenty years.
I extended my sympathies to Sarah, hung up the phone. And then I started to cry.
I wanted to call a friend, someone who’d known David, someone who knew what we’d meant to each other. I wanted to pack my black dress and get on a plane. I couldn’t do either. My love affair with David began in secret; it went on that way. Only his ex-wife, Sarah’s mom, knew about David and me. I’d never found a way to apologize to her, and his funeral hardly seemed the time or place to begin. And so I began stumbling through the stages of grief alone.
I did a few rounds with anger. If he’d really loved me, we would have been together; if I’d really loved myself, I wouldn’t have been with another woman’s man.
And bargaining. If I apologize to his wife and daughter, will that heal the hole in my heart?
And depression. It’s just no fun living in a world without him in it.
As for the last stage, acceptance, I haven’t gotten there yet. I visit his town and want to see him rounding the aisle in the grocery store. I write stories I can’t wait to show him, find treasures I can’t wait to send him, wake from dreams I can’t wait to share with him.
Would I ache less if I’d gone to David’s funeral? If I’d had the sympathy of people who knew how he and I loved each other? If our love–and my loss–had earned the Good Housekeeping seal of social approval, instead of the scarlet letter? I’ll never know. I longed in private for my lover when he was alive; I long in private for him still. My longing is all I have left of him.
Sidebar: Healing A Secret Grief
Brook Noel, certified grief counselor and co-author of I Wasn't Ready to Say Goodbye: Surviving, Coping and Healing After the Death of a Loved One, has this to say about coping with loss that must be grieved in secret.
Express your feelings, even if you must grieve in private. Punch a pillow, make a memorial album, write a letter to your loved one, or visit a favorite spot and talk to him or her.
Let yourself grieve--daily. It’s harder to process a loss when the people around you don’t know you’ve experienced it. This makes it even more important to acknowledge and tend to the loss yourself. For the first several months, designate twenty minutes or more each day for a grief session, whether with a counselor, a friend, or by yourself.
Don’t revisit regrets. Keep reaching for closure; go on with your life.
Keep your loved one alive within you. What are the qualities you valued most about the person you’ve lost? Honor him or her by carrying them on in your own life.
Read Grief Steps and Grief Steps Workbook by Brook Noel or check out the website, griefsteps.com. Other resources: