He’s Gone but He’s Everywhere

the ones we lose don’t die in our heart

Everybody grieves individually, in their way. Yet, there are some things that, in my opinion, grievers have in common. We never forget. We keep our loved ones alive in us.

I lost the love of my life five years ago. For me, it’s a long time, a lot has happened in my life, giving me an extended sense of time.

I am a strong independent woman, with strong beliefs and acute survival instinct — I’ve been through hell and I always got back to my feet. This is mainly because one of my main belief is “if you are alive you must be happy”. What’s the point of life if not to live it the best we can? So I invest in that purpose.

My partner had the same philosophy. In our last conversation (I’m grateful we had a chance to say our goodbyes), he made me promise I would be happy. This was also his way to keep me safe. He was a carer, the oldest of five brothers. All his life he took care of others and, besides his son, his major concern was that I was safe. And happy.

At the time, when we had the conversations (which I hated but now I wish I said more), it was hard to imagine being happy without him. We were together for thirteen years, and I became a better person with him by my side. I loved him as I never loved anyone.

But I promised him, sincerely, that I would be happy. I can’t live a life without joy, smiles, hopes and achievements. I have to be happy.

Besides, if it was me on his shoes, I want him to be happy without me. For him to love again, to smile, to have fun. It’s our human nature.

I lost him, but I couldn’t lose myself.

After the tragedy, I did lose myself, I was allowed to. I lost my love, my best friend, my safety port; my hug, my emotional everything.

But after the deep sadness, after feeling the most hurtful emotion I ever felt, I knew it was time to come back to me. Now, me alone.

I left Portugal behind and moved to England. In baby steps, I built a new life. First in reclusion, then socializing with colleagues, then making new friends. Nine months later, my 21 years old son came to England as well. He also needed his time — and on his own terms — to grieve his (step)father.

One year after I shift from an us to a me, my life started to make sense again.

I was going out, to dance, to celebrate, to enjoy people’s company.

Another year passed, I had a new career, friends, a good social life. I started to date again, and even be to open to the idea of loving again.

After five years, it didn’t happen: my few dates and the two (very) short-relationships were important to my personal growth — I learned immensely about myself — but the feelings were shallow and ephemeral.

My grief carries some guilt, but not about dating again, for wanting to be in love again. I have no hope to live again the love I had with him. It was too deep and beautiful, hardly happens twice in a lifetime. I am so grateful it happened with me.

I’d like to love again, to have companionship, acceptance and respect. Love includes all that. I trust one day that person will come into my life. If not, that’s alright, I love my company, I know how to keep me happy.

In the five years since I lost my Love, there wasn’t a single day I didn’t think about him and (mentally) talked to him. At this point, it’s rare to be tearful when I do it, usually, I smile at him. I terribly miss smiling with him.

The love of my life is gone but he is everywhere.

Everything - important or trivial — brings him to me. Not in a negative way, I’m not stuck in the past. I had to let him go, for my own good. I have him in me in a warm and safe way.

Here are some occasions when we are together:

In the morning when I walk my dog I think how much he’d like to walk in these marvellous British parks. Sometimes I call his attention to a detail he’d like, like a tree dropping its dead leaves. Like me, he loved nature, we used to go for walks and admire the details.

Every time I have a job interview (which, these two months were a few) I ask him to wish me luck.

When I’m in physical pain I recall him, how he used to bring me medication and food to bed. How he distracted me so I wouldn't be focused on the pain.

When I’m driving, if I use a trick he taught me, I always say to myself: “see, I’m doing it.”

When I’m browsing on Netflix, I comment about the movies we watched together and the series we never ended. I never watched them again.

When I have to make a hard decision, I always close my eyes, awake him inside me and, together, we think about the pros and cons. I hear his smooth, patient advises on my impulsivity. I think about what he would say. Like before, I usually go with my guts, but I like having this discussion with him.

During the day there are numerous occasions that will remind me of him. I accepted it is a natural part of me. The same way we remember the living ones, we remember the ones we lost.

My love for him will last forever. He will always be a part of me. Whenever I go, whatever I do, he’s with me, inside my heart, part of my soul.

I don’t live alienated from my life, I don’t hide behind grief, I don’t torture myself with sadness. No: I am happy, living a life I built for myself, with the memory of him. Forever with me.

I loved how I was loved.

I loved how I was capable to love.

We don’t exist anymore. What exists are my memories, my love and respect for him.

He will always be present in my life. Even if he’s gone.

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