If you’re lost you can look – and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you – I will be waiting
Time after time
- Cyndi Lauper 1984
The greatest song ever written about bereavement? Here it is.
This book is about bereavement and recovery. But what’s the difference, really, and how can you define that line?
Confusion. Long nights. Memories, almost left behind.
That’s it, you see, in a nutshell. You’d think that loss is the biggest problem in bereavement, and of course that’s true. But moving on again is just as hard.
Death divides us. Dark days and weeks pass, and we suffer. At first we hardly notice, but eventually, we realise. Life looks different from how it did before.
Slowly we come to terms with the awful truth of separation. We see our agony stretching out for eternity, and then it hits us. Will there be a second loss now, still more devastating than the first?
Will this person, who shared their life with us, and filled all our waking thoughts on each and every day we lived, one day become a grey and distant memory? Will our recollections of the essence of that person, fade and die with time, like a photograph forgotten on the shelf?
In bereavement, I think we really know from the very first moment that the past is gone. And yet we fight and struggle, desperately, to cling on to it.
As time drifts uncaring through long and lonely months, we rile and rage more and more against it. Because we fear that the past will simply slip away.
So will it?
This song provides the answer, but in truth, we know it already. If you speak to the recently bereaved, they all say the same thing. That they aren’t alone.
The grieving often speak of clear voices inside their head. They hold lengthy conversations with their lost loved ones. That dialogue will last for weeks and months, and years beyond.
They’ll recall how often they recognised their loved one in the street, and how their hopes were dashed when they realised it wasn’t them. And never would be.
All this sounds daft – deranged – to anyone who hasn’t been there, and yet I’ve lived it. And I’m certain that anyone who has lost someone has lived it too.
So what is this? Do the bereaved all go crazy, and start hallucinating and imagining, in their madness? Or do the dead really stay around?
I can’t answer that question, but in many ways it misses the point completely. This is the ‘time after’ time, and it’s just how bereavement is.
Time moves on remorselessly. The second hand unwinds. And then one day, as this song so eloquently explains, there comes that revelation. The lifting of fear. That unearthly sense of reassurance.
It may be harder to see your loved one. You may not hear them, quite so clearly. But they’ll still be there, inside you, and they always will be.
Their wisdom, their thoughts and encouragement go with you. The very essence of that person remains within you, supporting you, whatever you do in life.
If you’re lost, you can look, and you will find me.
It’s such an important and inspirational thought. 
That you can take one life, and one love with you, as you go forward to find the next.
And it’s true, Cyndi – it really is.
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12 responses so far ↓
rhosie // May 2, 2008 at 8:30 am
I agree with you…I felt exactly the same when my grandma passed away 2 years ago… but until now im still struggling and fighting, the pain and agony of missing her much.Moving on each day is really hard and tough…But it eased the pain to hear other people sharing their thoughts about my grandma.The love and kindness that she shared while still alive, her compassion and generosity.My heart is overwhelmed knowing my grandma has already fulfilled her mission and journey in life with a very meaningful one.That not only us remembered her but also those people whom he touched their lives.
This is so true “Their wisdom, their thoughts and encouragement go with you. The very essence of that person remains within you, supporting you, whatever you do in life. ‘Coz I know like my grandma, your wife is watching you up there in heaven…And they will be remained forever in our hearts, until the day we will be reunited with them.
Godbless
Julia HH // May 2, 2008 at 12:07 pm
As I was reading this latest installement it dawned on me that that this is exactly the stage I am at, fighting, raging against the fear of this second loss. The time seems to march on and I am terrified that the memories of my warm and smiling husband, of his gentle touch, his mannerisms and movements may fade like the fax paper (you know, the type used in older machines) on which the missives of our long-distance early days romance were written.
I just have to believe you that it doesn’t fade, that as I have actually scanned those fading pages into the PC there to remain, my memories will also stay forever. I truly hope for that, because the alternative - the second loss - is unbearable to contemplate.
Thanks for this, I shouldn’t have listened to the music as well, as I am not in any fit state to continue testing my work database now…
Roads // May 2, 2008 at 2:36 pm
Rhosie - many thanks.
I’m sorry about your grandmother, but I’m sure she’s very proud of you.
Roads // May 2, 2008 at 2:47 pm
Julia
Thank you very much for your comment, and what a romantic story - a romance written out on fax paper!
I hope it’s helpful if you can identify yourself just a little through my writing here. It’s very hard to recognise what is happening as you live through grief. I’ve had a year or two to think about it, and to put it into context more than I could do at the time.
It’s amazing just how contradictory the process really is. On one hand, you desperately want to move forwards, and yet at the same time you find it enormously hard to let go because you’re afraid that you’ll lose the past forever. The result is that you can get stuck in a rut of depression for what seems like an interminable age. I know just how hard that really is.
I’m delighted if my writing proves helpful in presenting another way of looking at the progression of grief. If I can achieve that, then this book and this project will be more than worthwhile.
Thanks again for writing. I’m sorry about the teardrops on your keyboard from the music. All best wishes to you and Ulyana, Julia, and spirits up.
marielsgarden // May 5, 2008 at 5:41 am
I’ve heard it a million times, maybe even hummed it from time to time. But never really bothered to take a second look till now. And then it hits you.
Thanks for sharing Robert. Thanks so much too for leading the way, I’m sure your book and project have helped so many others you’ll never even meet. On their behalf, our sincerest gratitude and good wishes. And I know Jenny’s beaming with pride now. All the best.
Author // May 5, 2008 at 4:22 pm
A beautiful understanding post - I know exactly where you are coming from here.
I too have “seen” a dear one who died, walking in the street. I chased after them calling their name - and couldn’t understand when they didn’t stop and turn round. The within reach, grabbing out for their arm - only to see the face of a stranger glance at me, puzzled.
It is the most uncanny experience ever. And it’s happened many times to me. I guess we so want to see that person that our mind and imagination plays tricks on us.
shadowlands1501 // May 5, 2008 at 7:46 pm
…”All this sounds daft – deranged – to anyone who hasn’t been there, and yet I’ve lived it. And I’m certain that anyone who has lost someone has lived it too.”
I come from a family that has experienced this kind of thing quite routinely. My father told us of the time that my mother appeared to him behind the barn. It brought him much comfort. That isn’t the only member of my family that has had these kinds of experience. Growing up in a family that takes this kind of thing for granted is a blessing. It taught me that
death isn’t the final barrier and that fact comforts me the most as I walk this journey with my husband. I will miss having someone “with skin one”, but the essense of the man will always be a part of me.
I am sure that he will come to me in my dreams and that he may even come to me when I am in a very difficult point in my future life without him.
I believe that those we love are an essential part of who we are, and as the marriage vow said, “The two shall be one.” For me, that will not stop and the only thing that I am concerned is when he appears to those who are doubtful about these kinds of occurance, how will I explain it effectively to them…
He is a part of me that will live on, just as I will always be a part of him.
I am sure that I will hear the voice of wisdom that was embodied within them. I will see something wonderous that he admired and I will observe it through his eyes as he once did.
What a wonderful gift that is given to help us find comfort at a time when nothing or no one can….
Thank you, Roads for giving this kind of experience a voice so others will know that they are not “daft” and that those we love can never be lost to us…
Roads // May 5, 2008 at 8:35 pm
Thank you, Bong - I’m sure this music will echo well around Mariel’s Garden once in a while, as well.
Many thanks for reading.
Roads // May 5, 2008 at 8:43 pm
Yes, Jan - you’ve hit it there. Sometimes the mind plays tricks on us, and we see what and whom we want to see.
The irrational seems quite logical then, and you only think, ‘It must be them.’ It’s only later, when you realise that it isn’t, that that it can’t be, and that it never will be, that the depth of separation really strikes.
Most of us realise in the first moment of bereavement that the past is really gone. And yet it takes some time - quite a lot of time - for our deep subconscious to assimilate that truth, as desperately undesirable as it is.
Roads // May 5, 2008 at 9:11 pm
Yes, Shadowlands,
All I can really say is that time forges a deep bond which is not so easily broken.
As you describe, it’s a comfort to know that there are inner resources and wisdom deep within us that we can call upon, when we need them, and which simply will never fade away.
Perhaps it seems a small reassurance, in the scale of things. But it’s not to be discounted, either - and anyway, you must hang on to what you can.
Linda // June 4, 2008 at 3:56 am
I’m finding fewer and fewer people think I’m daft (one of my favorite words, by the way). Or, if they do, they are kind enough not to tell me.
Your description is spot on, and I’m thankful you continue to offer these narratives. They are reassuring in a way that only comes from experience, and that is most unfortunate. We share because we can, yes?
I never realized why I loved this song so much. Another rehearsal, I guess.
Linda
Roads // June 4, 2008 at 6:11 pm
Thanks, Linda. This was a difficult post to write, for reasons you will understand, but your comment makes the effort all worthwhile. Spirits up.
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