Grief Over Grief

I have grief over my grief.

Grieving Briana is my least favorite version of myself.

Believe me when I say I’d like to not feel any of this. I know I’m miserable to be around; better than anyone else does. I can’t get away from myself. I’m here all the time and I am an absolute downer.

My poor husband (a candidate for sainthood at this point) sees me crying, or going to bed at 7pm, or saying “I don’t care” when everyday life stuff comes up. We tried to go listen to live music last Saturday. One of my favorite local bands. I enjoyed myself for about 30 minutes, and then I hit a wall and hurried us home.

I know it won’t always be like this. I just don’t know how much longer it will be. Grief doesn’t have a timeline. Nor does it let you ignore it. I hate that part.

I get why people look away from grief. From trauma. From pain. From the unpleasant stuff of life. But, it hurts when people do. And it’s the hurt on top of hurt that’s especially hard to process. Because it’s not just the primary loss you feel when someone you love dies. You also have to grieve all the ancillary losses as well.

You know the ones:

-The people who stop checking in.

-The ones who never bothered to at all.

-The relationships that aren’t built for hardship.

-The version of yourself before you became so sad.

-The version of the world when your person was here.

-The excitement you had for upcoming holidays.

-The plans you had made with your loved one.

-The belief that others get it, or even care.

-The naiveté that life would be status quo for a while.

-The person you were to your loved one, and will never be again.

Etc etc.

*****Quick caveat: Not all of these are things I’m necessarily experiencing right now (some are, for sure). Many are things I experienced when I lost my Mom. Or things I’ve heard others say they’ve gone through.

That said, grief isn’t about processing just one loss. There are a ton of things that get packaged into the mourning. I don’t only feel sorrow over losing my father (that in and of itself has upended my life). I also mourn what I thought life would look like right now and in the near future. I’m sad that the world keeps spinning at the same pace and doesn’t slow down when someone leaves it. I’m super bummed that there are people in my life- people who have had losses and that I’ve been close to- who have barely acknowledged my Dad’s passing (if at all). And I miss feeling normal and joyful.

I don’t have any great wisdom at this moment, especially not about grief. But, I will share what resonates most with me:

•  The absence of people when you’re grieving feels particularly awful and makes grief especially lonely. Don’t be the person who abandons someone in grief.

•  Grief is one of the most universal human experiences. And, yet, we are still wildly uncomfortable talking about it. We can do better.

•  Grief can make us hard and bitter, closed and protected. But it doesn’t have to. I fight all the time to let my grief open me, make me more human, and make me more loving. It’s a battle sometimes, though.

•  When someone is grieving, it’s hard to know what to say or do. But offering love, offering condolences, offering your presence, and offering to listen to the awfulness is more than enough (you’d be amazed by how few people will actually text, let alone call).

•  While there’s sometimes a tendency to focus on the void, it’s important to pay attention to what’s arriving to fill it. There’s no replacing my Dad. There’s no replacing the relationships that won’t make it past this season. But, there is a lot of love that’s showing up for me. I don’t want to miss the blessings of that.

•  When you go through something terrible, it temporarily becomes the lens through which you view everything in your life. Clarity can be painful, but it is useful. Use what you learn to help you realign your priorities.

•  Be gentle with people. This life stuff can be so hard.

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Xoxo, B