“The weird, weird thing about devastating loss is that life actually goes on. When you're faced with a tragedy, a loss so huge that you have no idea how you can live through it, somehow, the world keeps turning, the seconds keep ticking.” - James Patterson
When someone loses a life partner to a prolonged illness, words often feel insufficient, even empty. In times like these, only quiet respect, a deep empathy, and a listening presence seem appropriate.
When I heard of Linda’s passing recently, my first instinct was to go to the wake, to extend my sympathies to her family before her remains were cremated. Memories surfaced of my dear colleague, Alex Allan, former editor of People’s Journal, and his daughter Sandy, who used to contribute to our newsmagazine. Losing Linda — first to Parkinson’s, then to complications that placed her in the ICU since April — has been Alex’s deepest sorrow.
The Long Road to Goodbye
Can one ever truly be prepared for this kind of loss?
“I am all cried out inside,” Alex shared with me in a message. Himself a stroke survivor, he added, “I’m tired. I can’t travel, so I am not going to the wake. I don’t want my last memory of Linda to be a body in a coffin…”
When he told me not to attend the wake, I respected his wishes.
I promised to offer my Sunday mass and prayers for Linda, and for the strength Alex would need in the days ahead.
I told him I understood, in some way, as I recalled my own experience losing my father.
Despite being told it was a matter of time, even after preparing ourselves, his passing felt as if the ground itself fell from beneath us.
Empathy and Understanding
Loss is always difficult, draining, and profoundly painful. It is something we each must carry alone, yet sharing the weight — even briefly — with others can help.
Losing someone after a prolonged illness brings a particular kind of weariness, a mixture of relief for the end of suffering and the sorrow that nothing can prepare you for.
Alex’s grief is monumental. No words can soothe it, no sympathy can fill the space left by Linda’s absence. I found myself saying, “Linda is in a better place now.” Though sincere, I realized later how commonplace it must have sounded — how even well-meant phrases can feel hollow. Maybe the truest thing I could have offered was simply, “I’m here if you need to talk or lean on someone.”
Time Heals, Slowly
I sent Alex a hug emoji. He thanked me, saying it meant a lot to know I was there. Sometimes, the greatest comfort we can offer is our quiet presence, our willingness to meet people wherever they are in their grief without pressing them to “move on” or “feel better.”
I understood, too, why Alex didn’t want the final image of Linda to be her lying in a box. It was his way of holding onto the Linda who was vibrant, real, and beloved—not the physical form we often focus on in death.
Respecting these wishes can be a small way of honoring the complexity of his grief and sharing in his remembrance.
Giving Grief Time
Grief is deeply personal, and each person navigates it differently. For Alex, the journey will be long and uneven, and he’ll need space and time. All we can offer is a gentle reminder that he’s not alone, that there are people around who care and who hold him in their thoughts.
In the end, we don’t heal grief—we live with it. But time does help us carry it more lightly, and slowly, the memories become less painful and more a source of quiet comfort.
Until then, we can only walk alongside, honoring the love and the loss they hold.
This revision refines the expression of empathy, acknowledging the unique journey of grief while gently emphasizing that we’re here to support in whatever ways we can. It also strengthens the themes of presence, understanding, and respect for individual wishes and boundaries.
It is not all the same when grief comes. They way people cope with loss vary widely and in time. Alex needs time to grieve.
Time, after all, is a great healer.
(email opinyon.luchie@gmail.com, luchiearguelles@yahoo.com)
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