Since grief has become a permanent part of my identity, I have not found any person – in real life, on podcasts, online or in books, with whom I feel a connection. I have tried. I’ve read dozens of books with stories of people who lost a beloved spouse, child or pet. I tried to listen to podcasts focused on grief and widowhood. I’ve browsed many forums.
With few exceptions, I can’t get through any of them. Even the stories from people who share similar experiences I find tedious and unrelatable. Many of them speak about their religious faith, their close connections with children & grandchildren, and of remarrying.
Can’t relate.
Those who are older than me tend to be much older senior citizens who lost their spouses when they were all in their late 70s and 80s.
Can’t relate.
Those who are my age or younger usually have young children. They often focus on raising the kids, looking for a new partner, and careers.
Can’t relate.
As for the pet grievers, I can relate to their sadness but usually not much else.
I don’t feel like this is a bad thing. On the contrary, it’s made me realize that I don’t identify myself primarily as a grieving widower or a grieving dog owner. They are both part of me, but not all of me.
You know how I am can relate?
I can relate to the woman I talked to while we were waiting to enter the pool on Sunday who said the older she gets, the longer it takes to complete her laps.
I can relate to the walkers I see everyday – rain or shine, cold or hot – who get in their steps even when the weather is abysmal.
I can relate to the few people I know who have chosen a path that diverges from being money and shopping focused. Every once in a while, these fellow frugal people reveal themselves in conversations about home prices, cars, or work.
I don’t feel bad about not relating. In a way, I’ve always valued being different from the pack. Being an outsider has always been part of my identity.
I suppose that will never change.