Loss and Grieving in our LGBTQIA+ Friends

Life lesson: We are all the same in loss, pain and grieving.

My editor made the observation that Lez is a percentage. We are a small percentage of LGBTQIA+. We are Lez by chance. Most LGBTQIA+ are LGBTQIA+ by chance, but some are by choice. Personal preferences. We are the same.

When my wife and I became a couple, and even before then, we Lez socialized with a mixed group. Back then we were mainly Lez and gay men. We adored each other. The best friend I have ever had was a gay man. As time progressed, my wife and I mainly socialized with gay men. It was comfortable and we all were hiding in those days. Being a Lez from many past generations, I write as a Lez. Consider it generic.

If you have not had the perseverance to read my article on Crisis in Loneliness, Lesbians Are Us, I stated that Lez live and have lived in a “parallel universe.” Our lives are not shared with the “outside universe.” While most of us no longer have to hide, we still tend to keep our lives private from the “outside universe.” And the “outside universe” (I would say a majority) have little understanding of us LGBTQIA+ as persons.

When we have loss, we grieve. Loss creates a crisis. Our entire life is thrust into shambles. When my wife of 50+ years died, I was numb. I was so numb, my mind would not accept the fact the friend who was helping me had hurt herself and was in pain. It was like the fact registered, she was in physical pain, but it was an event somewhere else. I could not totally grasp it, let alone initiate any action to help. My mind, body, and emotional connection was in total disarray.

One of the divisive outcomes of categorizing, is the labeling of “them,” on those who have been grouped. We are “thems” to some not persons, but objects, and objectified. As persons, one can observe and interact according to the situation. “Thems”” cannot imagine someone, us, having grief and pain from the loss of our special loved one. With loss and grieving, we are all the same. When we are cut, we bleed.

Whether those in the “outside universe” understand this or not, we experience devastating pain. We LGBTQIA+ have terrible grief reactions. We tend to isolate, which makes it worse. Our brains go numb and we are in total disarray. We hurt so bad we wonder if we can get through another minute, let alone an hour, or a day. If there was a cliff handy, we would want to throw ourselves off of it.

Loss comes at us in many ways. If it were rated on a scale of 1 to 10, would it be less painful at a 2 than if it’s an 8? Some days I feel like the pain is a 9 or 10. Some days I can stay distracted enough to ward off the pain. Some days it’s like a toothache, with a pain level of 4.

Take a minute. On a scale of 1-10, rate your love for your lost one. This may be your wife, your husband, your lover, your dog, your cat, your other pet, or any other that you love. Declare your love.

On a scale of 1-10, rate your grief and pain. Acknowledge your loss and grieving.

My purpose in writing this blog and baring my soul to strangers, is to share reactions to traumatic loss and potential outcomes, which can be healthy or not, and to struggle to keep us from falling into despair. Others, having losses, have the same struggles to go through. Sharing can help.

Some of us have close friends we can share with, some do not. I am a closed person. I rarely share my deep emotions, let alone the wounds of my wife’s death. It’s like conversation on an airplane. We can talk with a stranger, and sometimes tell things we wouldn’t tell our friend. We know we will never see them again. Our pain, or event, or thing, is floating in the wind, so we never have to see it in the eyes of our friend.

So, I share what is going on in my life in this blog. Events of everyday life, how those events are affected by my stage of grieving, and how my stage of grieving is affecting my everyday life. If it resonates with you, I am grateful.

There is no timeline in grieving. It just is. What it affects is never predictable. There are times of joy and laughter, times when we have to escape, and times of remembrance.

I understand the pain that engulfs us at the most unexpected times. How it knocks us down. How it affects our life. I shout at my wife, “why did you have to die? Why did you leave me alone?”

Life is not fair. We are greedy. I had 50+ years with my wife. I am angry and bereft we didn’t have more time together. In whatever condition either of us was in. Now, I just have our memories.

I try to remember a good one, not the one where she fell butt down in a cactus.

Let me know how you are doing. I care.

Sincerely,

Lynn Brooke

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Photo Credit: © 2023 Rachel Gareau