Past Tense Conversations

I don’t want to talk about you in past tense yet it seems I must

I recently attended a training to be a grief facilitator with a local organization that serves people walking in grief. After two nights of learning how to best support and facilitate a group, we did a "practice session." This group included a wide array of grief experiences, loss of spouses, children, parents and close friends. The timeline of grief extended from one year to 17, at least. The time was beautiful and hard. It is emotional to participate in a group collectively and openly talking about love and death (and crying!). 

There was a point where I shared about Josh and I found within my own story that so much of it had an element of “was” and “were.” We were married 17 years, it was a hard time, our love was beautiful. He was my guy. While I know this love deeply resides within me each day there is still an element of past tense that I can’t deny my current reality.

I wonder things like, "Do I say, He was my husband?” He is not still in the practical sense. Within the group conversation this concept came up, as it has before with friends and family. A parent simply stated, “He is still my son”. In talking with my sister-in-law she shared she says, "I have two brothers, one who has died." The fact is we can’t just erase these people from existence – even through sometimes it might seem easier in some conversations for fear of an emotional trigger.

It is complicated to talk about someone who has died. It’s also harder to say died than passed away, no longer with us, in a better place, lost, etc - those words might take a long time to work out of our minds and hearts even. They may never feel right.

For me, this week brought a new layer of grief discussion and processing. Still, the opening line of this post keeps sticking in my mind. Part of me still wants to have a small tantrum like a toddler, stomping my feet and saying, “I don’t want to.” I don't want to talk in past tense, I want you here now.

Is there a solution? Not completely, but what I can do is actively love my dearly departed people with the same depth as before. Love is ever present. It is timeless. It does conquer all.

I can easily get caught in the grammatical mystery of how to describe my specific reality. I can spend hours wondering which words to use. I can also take a deep breath and simply say a word of gratitude to the God of mysteries. “Thank you for letting me love him,” - there's no tense in this. This same sentiment carries over to many others in my life as well but maybe this week especially it’s for Josh, my dearly departed husband, whom I love.

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