Something I read yesterday that Surviving Grief posted got me thinking about what I call in my case the brain/heart disconnect, which is the struggle between knowing someone you love is gone and feeling like they must still be present. I can honestly say I never noticed this as a thing until my son died. Surviving Grief wrote, My mind knows you died. Yet I sit here day after day waiting for you to come back. Yep, I do that.
The first time I remember using these words was the day after Mike died. He was still in Ohio, and I was desperate to get him back to GA so I could see him. I told my husband that my brain knew he was gone but my heart just couldn’t believe it. I needed to see him. There are so many times I want to tell him something, and my brain says he’s gone, and my heart says that can’t be right. I go down into his apartment, and everything is just like he left it. It’s all waiting for him to come back. My heart just isn’t ready to let go.
Each day feels like a battle between what is real and what my heart wishes to be true. This tug-of-war between acceptance and longing colors everything, making even the passing of time feel surreal, as though it carries me further from him and yet closer to the idea that he might somehow return.
Yet, in the quiet moments, I find myself grasping for fragments of him—his laughter, his plans and dreams that were just beginning to unfold. I replay conversations, imagine what he might say to comfort me, and hold on to the echo of his presence as though it might anchor me through the storm of grief. This disconnect between knowing and feeling is like a melody of loss that lingers but never resolves, compelling me to keep searching for balance between holding on and letting go, even when the answers elude me. It’s a weird feeling for sure.
Sometimes, I wonder if this disconnect will ever mend, or if it is simply the way grief reshapes us. I think maybe it’s a way our brain and heart work together to protect us while in this vulnerable state. There is a strange duality in learning to function in a world where Mike’s absence is an undeniable reality, yet his essence feels woven into every corner of my existence. Even in moments of a fragile kind of peace, there is a recognition that though the heart and mind may never fully align, they can coexist in a way that honors both the pain of his loss and the enduring love that persists.
Do you ever get this feeling of disconnection? Perhaps it is not meant to be fixed but rather endured, a reflection of the depth of the bond that once existed.
Walking this path with you
Lynn
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