Grief is not what you think it might be. If you haven't expereinced true loss, you may have watched a movie or read a book where a character grieves the way you anticipate you will too. For the sake of time, movies and books often speed through and miss those everyday moments of mourning. The story line may not include the non-Hallmark moments that bring you to your knees. I hope that this resonates with someone and that you can stop feeling guilty that you don't or didn't handle the loss of someone the way mainstream media says you should.
For me, grief is not:
best done with others,
crying all day,
resenting other people for still having the relatives that I have lost,
avoiding pictures, videos, messages and cards from that person,
drinking myself into oblivion,
sleeping the day away,
waiting for someone else to do the dirty work,
angry outbursts or
being in complete and total disarray.
**DISCLAIMER: There is no wrong way to mourn a loss. I share this to merely connect with others that maybe battle the shock or disappointment in themselves that they are not grieving in ways they expected to grieve.**
I do my best grief work alone. Not on purpose. Not because I think I'm strong enough or because I don't need anyone. Not because I am a working mom (although that has something to do with it. More on that later). I come from a highly sensitive mama and quite the sentimental father. I am called to dive into grief, not away from it. In my experience, I tend to fully embrace the process. I am drawn to old pictures right away. Not always videos, but pictures, or text messages. Handwritten letters or cards bring me the most comfort. I seek out stories from others that I may not know about that person or how touching my person was to them. I want to wear that person's clothes, become , I want to hold on as long as I can. I do these things mostly sober and present in the moment because I don't want to miss out on the soul work. The time spent digging deep and getting right with that void is invaluable and cannot be scheduled for later. I'm always afraid if I were to wait or avoid it, the opportunity will pass me by. There something about the fragility of the time directly after loss that so much soul work can be done. So much raw hurt, but healing too. In the most organic of ways.
When I lost my cousin Jeff, who was three months older than me and like a brother, I was not a mother yet. I had the 'luxury' of grivieing when the tidal waves of sadness would ebb and flow. At that time, I needed to be going through old pictures, creating momentos for the beach memorial, writing my speech, enveloping myself in all of his Jeffness. I didn't have to set aside alone time. It sounds odd, but I've always loved how to grieved for him. No timeline. Just all in. I continued to keep in touch with my Aunt Denise, never letting her think for a second I would forget about him.
The next experience of losing my mom created even more struglges for grappling with my grief alone. I was pregnant with John Boy, Allison was 6 years old and sisters needed me. At the time, family was worried about me and my unborn baby's health. I was hardly alone. I actively planned the memorial, wrote my tribute, went through pictures until I couldn't keep my eyes open and made the photo montage with as much TLC as I could muster. I also feel that I've had to cluster grieve for these losses because of the need to travel. When you know you won't be able to simply stumble across a note, an article of clothing or a memory in that space, the process of grief can feel suffocating or rushed. It's like you have to soak it all in and be present with your grief, your person and your broken heart for fear you may never be in the that same heartspace again.
Not only did I lost my mom, but moments before her memorial would start we learned of her brother's passing. You've probably heard that the weight of loss can feel like the air being suctioned from your body. Without warning. That's kind of the scenario it was,but we were outside and it was more like the air was crushing and forcing everyone down to the ground. Onto their knees. I was huddled on the ground embracing my sisters. I still have an impending doom feeling that something like this is about to happen again and struggle answering a phonecall from someone who doesn't normally call. I can't shake it. It was a sad, sad day for my family.
Fast forward 4 years and here is the writing from my travel day of mourning to Washington:
1/18/22
While today is the day my dad died, it's also the day the loss of mom becomes raw and broke open. A time I am wallowing in my own self-pity. I am 40 years old and both my birth parents have died. This loss is harder because he had seemed 'ok' just a few weeks ago. He had plans. Big plans for wolf advocacy, and taking John to Yellowstone for the first time, and... the list goes on. I still have his special food requests from the holidays in my fridge. How can he be gone? This morning before I found out, Allison had been hellping me pack. So I asked her to consider writing something for G-Paw because I didn't want her to regret not doing something. Even though the two of them shared corny dad jokes often by text in recent weeks, I still wanted to give her the opportunity. She left the room but and undoubtedly wrote this note before hearing me fall to the floor when learning the news. Her message makes me cry every time I read it. So, yes,I asked for a token from Allison, but didn't anticipate these heartfelt sentiments. I know he's read it by now although it physically pained me not to hand it to him directly. She knows tragedy and heart ache. I have not nor will ever hide that from her.
The silver lining of loss is the abundance of love. The outpouring of support from others. It can really bring out the best in the people who are not mourning themselves. It is often a helpless feeling when someone else is grieving. All you can do is show up, reach out, drop things off, send a card, or give a hug. These all may feel like small gestures but are the ONLY things you can offer. I am of the philosophy that saying/doing something is less likely to be misunderstood than doing nothing. Yes, it can feel uncomfortable to express condolesences, but don't worry that
you are going to make someone feel sad; they
already feel sad. I feel sad when the memory of my person begins to feel out of reach or brushed under the rug. Not when soemone brings him or her up in conversation.
This is all my heart can take for now. Onto more photo scanning and relisting wolf postcards addressing...
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