the price of love

Welcome

Many readers here will have lost someone dear to them recently.

You have my sincerest sympathies. Just a few short and yet endlessly long years ago, I was in exactly the position that you are now. Jenny died of breast cancer at the age of 32. Our children were two and a half and eleven months old.

ocean-sunset.jpgYou will know by now exactly what that situation brings.

A long downhill nightmare. Then shock, grief, bafflement, desolate struggle. Painful fights with family, unexpected fallings out with friends, problems at work, anger, loneliness. Anxiety about raising the children and endless responsibility ahead, tears in the playground (mostly just from you).

The pain of anniversaries, Christmas, birthdays. A quest for new companionship, amidst faltering, embarrassing attempts to find a new love life. Guilt mixed with grief. The love you’d thought would last a lifetime, replaced by a void of loss, fear and longing.

I lived it all.

Bereavement changed my life for ever. It’s not an experience I’d wish on anyone. But somehow I found the strength I needed, from somewhere. I fought long and hard through the darkness, and it took me all I had to survive. Eventually, finally though, I did reach the daylight. And I’m still here – battered and bruised, but breathing and thriving again, nevertheless.

I feel so much for anyone starting out along that road. But it might help a little to know that others have trodden this path before. You’re not alone, however much it seems that life and natural justice have deserted you now.

For a long time, I’ve wanted to write down how it felt, and to share something of what I learned. Now my book is written and ready for publication, you can find out more, read excerpts here and pre-order a copy on the Info page.

Perhaps the death of a loved one isn’t a conclusion, but the start of an entirely different journey. That road has so many pitfalls, but it can lead to a certain invulnerability and peace at its destination. I hope that The Price of Love may help you, just a little, to find your own way through bereavement.

With my best wishes, and thanks again for reading.

Robert Braid

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… meanwhile, now click here to find the start of the story.

14 Comments

14 responses so far ↓

  • marielsgarden // November 6, 2007 at 3:27 am

    Dear Robert,

    Thank you for your words of encouragement. As you know too I’m now on the same “road” you were in not so long ago.

    Thanks too for sharing with us your amazing journey and triumph.

    Kind regards,

    Bong
    Mariel’s husband

  • Roads // November 7, 2007 at 12:10 am

    Hello, Bong from marielsgarden, and welcome to this site. Thank you for your kind words.

    I hope you find something useful here.

    I’m not sure there is really a ‘triumph’ to be found on a journey like this. There are no easy answers or simple cures which I can recommend, either.

    To be frank, it’s pretty miserable when stuff like this happens, and I really can’t pretend otherwise.

    All I can say is that you can get through it. Life’s unkind, and yet you can gain a certain strength from hanging on from deep within the depths of adversity.

    It’s not an experience I’d remotely recommend, or ever describe lightly. I couldn’t ever overstate just how hard a path it is to tread.

    But you’ll be stronger and wiser when you reach your destination, wherever that proves to be. And that much I can say with certainty.

    Do stay with us. You’ll be very welcome here.

  • Linda // November 29, 2007 at 3:25 am

    Dear Roads,

    Thank you for visiting mysteryoriley, and for your thoughtful comments. I’m always so glad to find other people writing on sites devoted to our loved ones who have gone on. The “me, too” part is comforting, and reading about the journey through grief from other peoples’ perspectives is helpful. We all have something to share in this place we never wanted to visit, much less live.

    I’m sorry for your loss of Jenny. I’m glad you have your children as precious reminders of who she was, and who they are becoming because of your love for her, and her love for all of you.

    Linda
    Owen’s mom

  • Roads // November 29, 2007 at 12:20 pm

    Welcome, Linda, and many thanks.

    “We all have something to share in this place we never wanted to visit …”.
    Yes, that’s exactly what this book is all about.

  • Julia HH // December 6, 2007 at 10:07 pm

    Dear Robert,

    I have read the excerpts and would like to thank you. I am now unfortunately on this road with my baby daughter staring at the Surrey hills and driving down winding roads past Ottershaw and other places - made familiar to me by my husband Terry.

    I wish you luck with you book. It is comforting to read that others have survived. One doesn’t think it is possible at the start, to live with your heart ripped out and the world meaningless and completely empty. It is slowly emerging from the dark…Very very slowly.

    Thank you.

    Julia

  • Roads // December 7, 2007 at 9:24 am

    Many thanks, Julia. It’s good to hear from someone based in familiar territory.

    I feel for you now, starting down this road, all alone with your little daughter. But you can do it. Someone told me once that there is an irreducible store of strength, deep inside, which we can call on when we most need it. I found that hard to believe at first, but eventually I discovered that it is really true.

    How long ago did you lose Terry ? I know those first weeks and months seem to last for ever, however many of them have actually gone by.

  • selfbilge // December 17, 2007 at 10:40 pm

    Hi Roads,

    Thanks for your comment on http://www.Singleparentdad.blogspot.com

    I’ve started to have a read through your site, and thus book, all looks good so far, you know what I mean.

    Will come back soon for more of a gander and for inspiration

    Thanks

  • Roads // December 17, 2007 at 11:00 pm

    Ian
    Thanks for your comment, and it’s good to hear from you. I’m adding your site to my links - meanwhile you have my admiration and full support.

    Spirits up.

  • Loni // January 4, 2008 at 5:07 am

    I just happened upon your website, and I am sorry, I can too relate too well. Just over three years ago we lost our 16 year old son to the “choking game” - a tragic death in our home. It rocked our family, our marriage, friendships, etc. to the core. We not only lost our son, we lost several years in grieving. We lost close friendships because friends did not understand. We lost family relationships, because they too did not understand. Our marriage almost did not make it - but had to for our children’s sake. Our faith was tested, yet God held on when we were not. Joy does come again - but the amputation of our loved one (as C.S. Lewis calls it) remains painful. Thank you for sharing, and I look forward to reading more.

  • Roads // January 4, 2008 at 11:42 am

    Thanks, Loni. Grief is hard - there’s no doubt about it - and as you say, it affects all the relationships around you.

    Your tale tells me that you will be interested in mysteryoriley. The author of that site lost her 20 year-old son in unexplained circumstances last summer, and the site is a powerful and wonderfully written exploration of her emotions and loss.

  • canadada // February 13, 2008 at 3:49 pm

    So, back again. Nice voice, Robert.

    When my father died of lung/bone cancer it was without a doubt one of the most painful experiences of my life. Yes, he was elderly, and had lived a good long life, but even so it doesn’t make losing a loved one any easier. He was such a kind, gentle and loving dad … the best. I was lucky that I was able to help both him and mum during those final two long cruel years … The end ‘grief’ was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. So much more than mere ’sadness’. The grief was like a black cloud that just hung over us all for a good 12 months. It definitely affected more than my heart, it affected my wee pea brain. It was like losing something that you can’t find anywhere - no where no how - even though you KNOW you’ve got it tucked away somewhere secure and safe. Magnified a thousand fold. That sense of ‘loss’ is border-line ‘crazy making’ … All I can say is that time DOES seem to heal the open wound.

    Certainly Death is the antithesis of Life, and yet, strangely, where would we be in Life if we did not KNOW death? The greatest gift of this mighty pairing is that it gives us, teaches us, deepens our sense of compassion and empathy. Death, dying and grief deepen our connectedness to ALL things, especially if we have been lucky enough to know that other wondrous ‘element’, Love.

  • Roads // February 13, 2008 at 5:28 pm

    Thanks for your comment, canadada, and I’m sorry about your father.

    I know what you mean about that sense of ‘loss’. To have someone always there, and then to have them taken away from you, and placed somewhere apparently unreachable and untouchable is torture, of a kind.

    One of my senior work colleagues back then memorably described bereavement as requiring ‘a long process of adjustment.’ I thought he was barmily insensitive in his simplification of the issues, but perhaps he wasn’t that far wrong, after all.

  • yaketyyak // March 28, 2008 at 10:34 am

    I lost my brother in a boating accident in October of 2006. Blogging through my bereavement helped me to get through the horrific ordeal. Thank you for sharing your experience with us.

  • Roads // March 28, 2008 at 12:06 pm

    Thanks, Yak. I’m very sorry about your brother, and you’re very welcome here. Spirits up.

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