My friend’s words left me nearly speechless. I’d never been able to articulate exactly how I felt, but she just had. I didn’t know I was grieving someone who is still alive.
“It’s like you’re mourning a person who’s still alive,” she said, lying on the bed with her face propped up against her hand.
Yes, that’s exactly what it was. What it still is.
Even after I left the weekend conference we were attending and came home, I continued to ponder her words. Those words that described a relationship with a loved one who battles addiction. An addiction that consumes their life. An addiction which consumes their soul.
When you love a lost soul, you may be grieving someone who is still alive.
You grieve for a relationship that’s been severed in a way you’re not sure will ever be repaired. Only the person is still living.
And the grief is perpetual. There is no closure, no final conversation. But sometimes the fear creeps in and you wonder. You wonder if the brief exchange you have via text will be the last. You wonder if what they said was true, or a cover up for something they thought best to hide.