The Hollow Ache

This past week I was invited to speak to two grief support groups in Minnesota. The groups were smaller than my previous talks, allowing for a more intimate discussion of our shared experience. In contrast to the previous groups I addressed, most of the individuals in these groups had experienced the loss of their loved one in the past two years. Several had lost their spouse in the last few weeks.

As I sat and listened to their stories, I heard and felt their raw emotion. Their experiences were all different, but the heavy, gnawing emptiness was all too familiar. I vividly recalled the physical pain I often experienced the first couple of years. For me it often struck in the mornings or evenings. I could feel pain and tightness in my chest. It also occurred whenever I would became overwhelmed with my grief, typically when I was alone. I used to call it the hurting, but perhaps a better way of describing it comes from those who study grief. They label it as the hollow ache.

It never occurred to me prior to my own loss that grief generates very genuine biological responses beyond our control. Researchers on grief have formulated data that supports three main causes of this physical pain; systemic inflammation, intense cardiovascular stress, and a hyperactive neural threat response. Far from these symptoms being “all in the head,” a person’s grief alters how our biological systems function which frequently manifests itself as pain, exhaustion, and structural changes to the heart.

I am not an expert on any of these subjects, but it has been documented that broken heart syndrome is a real phenomenon. The surge in stress hormones stuns the heart and weakens it. Researchers have also documented the widowhood effect, an increased risk of illness or mortality following the loss of a spouse. A comprehensive study published by the Public Library of Science (PLOS) found that within the first year of losing a spouse, 70% of Men and 27% of women are more likely to die compared to their non-widowed peers.

I think there is something to this research. In the first two years of my own loss, there were numerous times I felt intense physical pain in addition to the emotional ache. I would experience a sharp pain in my chest and become short of breath.

As the group recounted their losses, familiar themes kept entering the conversation. The shared experiences included the difficulty and pain of cleaning out a closet (or the inability to do so), the frustration with being excluded from social gatherings that you were once routinely included in as a couple, or the loneliness of dining alone at a restaurant or at home. As these topics were explored, I could see the same physical pain in some individuals, as well as their emotional anguish.

It struck me, however, that I no longer share that intense agony as I once did.

It is wrong to say I have moved on. One can never move on from the loss of a soulmate and partner. I still grieve for and miss Amy every day. But I no longer am experiencing the hollow ache. I can best describe my status as this; I have learned to live with grief and joy side by side. The emotions of pain and loss have begun to gradually fade.

They have been replaced by feelings of gratitude and appreciation for the love and memories we shared. For the blessing of being able to share 32 wonderful years of my life with Amy, not to lament having only 32 years with her. Now, I recall Amy’s life and instead of crying, I smile. At least most of the time.

It is my hope that members of these grief support groups can weather the storm of the hollow ache and someday experience the perspective of gratitude for a shared life well lived with their loved ones. Amy wanted me to seek joy amidst my grief. I know their loved ones would want the same for them as well.

Hang onto hope my friends. It will come, just ever so slowly.