Grief is far more complicated than being sad and crying
4 days ago (Medium.com)
August 9th marked 15 years since my dad died. I could tell you that it was a difficult, or sobering day, but that would be a lie. It was instead a rather uneventful day. I didn’t even realize it was the anniversary until I looked at the calendar. I would not have believed you if you’d told me 15 years ago that would happen. In fact, I would have most likely told you that I would never feel good on that day ever again. Today, August 30th is National Grief Awareness Day. As I reflect on my journey through grief, I am thankful to be on this side of it. I also think about those who are still in the throes of their grief. I know there’s so much that we don’t talk about when it comes to grief, and there are some things I wish we did. We would help ourselves through some of our most difficult moments if we did. I wish someone had told me more about grief so that I didn’t suffer as much as I had.
I wish someone had told me it was ok to grieve. Lots of people told me they were sorry for my loss. Lots of people told me to be strong and to let them know if I needed anything. But no one told me that it was ok to grieve. So many people showed up when my dad died. There were over 7,000 people at his memorial service. There were so many people in my parents’ home afterward that there was hardly any place to hear my own thoughts. But once the day ended, people retreated to their own corners of the world. It was treated as if the customary time to acknowledge his death and allow for sadness and tears had been given, but it was now time to return to normal. The problem was that my normal was forever gone and I had no idea how to get back to it. It felt like people were disappointed when I failed to return to the expected homeostasis. It wasn’t until I went to therapy a year later and told the therapist what I was feeling and experiencing did someone kindly said to me, That’s grief. And it’s OK.
I wish someone had told me that there isn’t necessarily an endpoint to grief. I woke up every day after my dad died fighting to get to the moment when I would be over it. I felt like a failure each time I awoke to find that I wasn’t over it. To be honest, I thought it was a fool’s mission. But once I set my mind to something, I set out to accomplish it. I repeatedly broke my own heart on this impossible quest. It was once again in therapy when someone told me that isn’t how it works. During one session, my therapist said to me, He was your father for 30 years. So why do you think you would, or even should, be over his death in such a short amount of time? No one had ever said that to me and I remember breathing a sigh of relief upon realizing that I could give up my ridiculous quest.
I wish someone had told me that grief is not linear. We hear a lot about Elizabeth Kubler-Ross’s Five Stages of Grief. We talk about them as if they are a blueprint for what happens when we grieve. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance — in that order. Except, that’s not how it works. Grief is incredibly complex and while there are threads of similarity woven throughout the collective, we each experience things in our own unique ways. Furthermore, those 5 stages weren’t meant to be applied to those grieving loved ones, job losses, missed opportunities, etc. They were applicable to terminal patients who were coming to terms with their imminent deaths. I would have moments where I felt like I made progress in my grief, only to stumble backward when I’d find myself breaking down over a memory or triggered event.
I wish someone had told me that grief isn’t just tears and sadness. As I mentioned, grief is complex. The Five Stages of Grief model doesn’t even encompass the full experience of grief. While I was sad, depressed, and cried a lot after my dad died, I also experienced anger. I was angry at old men for being able to become old men when my dad didn’t get to see his 51st birthday. I was even angry at some of the people in my life because surely, they shouldn’t have gotten to live when my dad didn’t. It wasn’t fair and I hated it. I also experienced guilt. I would replay this one moment in my mind when my dad unexpectedly showed up at my house when my daughter was a baby. I was ashamed because I was struggling with postpartum depression and didn’t want him to see me like that. He rang my doorbell for about 5 minutes until he reluctantly left. I couldn’t let that moment go after he died. My shame stemmed from the guilt I felt for not opening the door, and so the loop of emotions commenced. And yet, even amid those emotions, I found myself experiencing brief moments of gratitude for the 30 years I had with him, for the time he got to spend with my daughter, and for all that he instilled in me. And as quickly as the gratitude would surface, a lingering ache would appear because the things I was grateful for served as painful reminders of what I would now miss.
I wish someone had told me that my grief was valid whether others understood it or not and there was no proper way to grieve. I found myself feeling alone for the first time in my life after my dad died. All the people who I thought loved me were either unwilling or incapable of supporting me. Some of those closest to me turned on me in a most hurtful way. They talked about me behind my back. There were even some people who said my father would be so disappointed in me. I believed them for a time because I didn’t know any better. I thought something was wrong with me for grieving. Once again, therapy helped me. My therapist helped me to understand that no one else could understand what I was experiencing because no one else was my father’s daughter. She also helped me understand that their understanding wasn’t what I needed. Instead, I needed their compassion and support. My grief was valid, with or without those. We have a lot of ideas about hypothetical scenarios. We think we know how we’ll feel and what we’ll do when we encounter situations. Truthfully, we have no idea and we won’t know until that hypothetical situation becomes an actual experience for us. Oftentimes, we find ourselves surprised because our responses are far different than what we imagined. Grief is no exception. We think we know how we’ll react when that time comes, but we really don’t. And because we don’t, we can’t tell anyone else how they should grieve. Instead of being quick to shame or judge others for how they grieve, we should be more quick to support them in the ways they need.
It’s been a long road to get to this side of grief. I understand now that I will never “get over” my dad’s death. I’ll never not miss him or wish that he were here. I accept that he’s not here despite my dislike of that fact. And while I’m grateful to be on this side of grief, I still wish people had told me these things. Since no one told me, I guess that’s why I’m telling you.
Writer, mother, and daughter of a famous dead guy. Still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up, but I hear growing up is overrated.