Wednesday, June 17, 2020

There's Something About Brad - and Grief


Grief is a strange thing. My world stops, but the lives of others just keep on going as if nothing happened. How is that?

My mom took me to breakfast this morning. I watched the girls in the booth in front of us, on their phones, chatting, laughing. Do they not realize the world stopped turning for me Monday night?
A few booths over, a couple fed a happy, curious baby. Bringing life into this world? My world which stopped spinning?

Conversations, clinking of metal forks against glass plates, the cadence of life as normal. But nothing is normal about life – not mine. Not right now.

Grief – she is fair, and she is sly. She changes shape and slithers and sneaks, catching unlucky prey by the neck.

I realize now the different faces of grief. The grief for my cousin and grandma were empathetic grief. I could not stop thinking about the family and what they were feeling. I could not stand the stillness and silence.

With Brad, everything, every memory, has come back center stage, flooding all my senses. I spend long stretches in silence. This grief is different. It is MY grief – MY pain – MY memories.

I want to feel something for his family, and although I love them and know the heartache they must be experiencing, there is no room in my heart to both empathetically grieve and to personally grieve. This pain is selfishly all mine.

Today, I listened to the song he wrote for our wedding. Not many people can say they have a love song written for/about them. I can – and this will be something I will cherish for as long as I live. This song reminds me of the good that once was and it helps me hold onto the joy we once shared.

Thank you, Brad, for sharing your gift with me.

I have been listening over and over again. I even found the ring and a part of the written lyrics, a treasure I forgot I still had.

Brad, hearing your voice over and over again, reading your handwritten lyrics, and seeing the ring you picked reminds me of the good times. We loved each other well once upon a time, you and I, and we never ceased, not really. It turns out that love alone could not sustain us. We did the best we could for where we were and who we were back then. I miss you. I have always missed you. Now I am thankful that we can both let go of the painful past and that I can simply hold onto the sweet memories of you – and although I mourn you now, I will smile again. You will always be with me - who we were once upon a time. Have fun jamming with Joe Diffie up there!

Click HERE to listen to Something about Renee by Brad Ruthven
supported by Google Drive


hand written lyrics and the ring
Brad singing the song during the ceremony 



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