I'm really not referring to how I often feel about the loss of my loving husband, though I certainly have asked that question, if not aloud, then in my heart more times than I can say.
What I'm talking about are people who walked away when my husband was diagnosed with dementia. Walked away and stayed away even after his death. It was not just one or two people, but nearly every colleague and spouse we had considered good friends over the course of my husband's long career.
The phenomenon is not unique to my life situation. I have heard similar stories from others...that people who they thought would be a support during tough times, disappeared. I'm not sure what that life lesson is all about. Perhaps it's only to redefine the word, ‘friend.' I've heard it said that grief rearranges your address book. It did mine.
I've been asked why I think so many people left our collective side. I could only say, after much consideration, that, in our case, it was fear. When a doctor sees a colleague fall, it may conjure the ‘there but for the Grace of God go I' syndrome and they run.
Nevertheless, ten years after my husband's diagnosis and 2 years since his death, at times the abandonment still hurts. I know all about forgiveness and maybe I haven't done my best at it, but, beyond forgiveness, I think it's just one of those life injuries that produces a scar that remains.
The good news is that I only run my finger over my figurative scar every once in awhile. When I find myself thinking back, I immediately switch my thinking to the wonderful friends who stayed the course with me. For their steadfastness, love and support I am eternally grateful.
I'd like to conclude by asking that if anyone reading this knows of someone in a circumstance of need, please understand how much a phone call, a visit, a voice that says: ‘I'm so sorry. I care about you and I want to help' means. And putting your arms out there for comfort wouldn't be bad, either. But, please...no emails!
See: Moving to the Center of the Bed: The Artful Creation of a Life Alone
