Grief & Mourning

You do you

Though I write think of this, as a writing professor, but most of us have had to take Writing/Composition class in college or an AP English class in high school. And one of the things we talk about in teaching writing are the stages or the steps of the writing process. You may not remember that name but I am confident that many of us have heard some of the “steps.” For example, first you brainstorm, then you outline, then you draft the essay, then you revise it, etc.

And we present it as though these neat steps or stages will always appear as such, if you’re doing writing right. So we sell this idea that you finish up one step, all nice and neatly, then move onto another and don’t have to look back or go back.

We do the same with the stages of grief. First you’re in denial, then anger, then bargaining, etc. And too often we send the message that you complete one stage, and you’re done. Then you can move on to the next level, think Super Mario bros.

But neither are so completely smooth sailing like this. They’re not linear. Both would be so much easier if this were the case. I mean, perhaps we could call them models with writing or with grief, but even that is iffy. And I find it a downright misnomer to label them steps. (Because in a process, you complete one step, then move on to another and don’t really often go back.)

Since all members of my immediate family died, I’ve read a lot about different people’s experiences with grief, because that’s how I cope and it has helped me through my own inevitable, unavoidable, process of grief.

I reflected on this the other day when a colleague of mine, who had just—suddenly and tragically—lost her husband, asked others about their processes of grief.

I wrote the following:

“I can only share my experience and insight. This is what I have learned—it is cliche, but time eases it ever so slowly, but slightly; then it comes in waves, ebbing and flowing. Sometimes with tidal waves and sometimes being a whirlpool, the tricky bastard.

Be kind to yourself in whatever you’re feeling. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you’re not doing it right or what you’re feeling/experiencing is wrong, not enough, or ill-timed. It’s non-linear and sometimes it feels so out of your control. It often times feels like it’s calling the shots and taking you for an evil joyride and you just have to ride it out and feel all the feels.

It is not the tidy boxes and nice, passable stages, complete one and onto another as it’s represented as being. It can be a cruel and unpredictable motherfucker because a calm may be replaced by another monstrous tidal wave.

The only through this is is to feel. It may be worse than it was, better, worse than better. But we find our way and some days will be/get better. Though better is always relative. Not great. Not fine. But more bearable. That’s all I got. I am so sorry you have to take this journey.”

I think the single most important thing I emphasize to someone in deep grief is this: don’t feel bad about you and where you are in it.

People should be able to feel whatever they feel. And we ought to support them in doing this grieving thing however they want to, or need to, especially if they’re not hurting others or themselves.

The worst thing, the most cruelest, I think, is when people feel entitled to reign down judgment on others…when someone positions themselves as the judge of the bereaved, evaluating if outward behaving is way compatible with how they think the grief should appear.

After my father died, I remember being at the visiting hours. Much of this time I don’t recall very clearly. When I try to think back, it’s hazy, foggy.

What I do distinctly remember is when a relative came through the line to greet my mother, brother and I. She observed me, very carefully, as she made her way to me. And though we are not close at all, she gave me a very dramatic, big hug and and loudly said, “Are you okay?”

“I’m hanging in there,” I replied steadily.

“Well….I mean…” She said looking at me, studying me.

Before dropping her voice to a whisper so only she and I could hear her:

“…your dad did just….die……...”

…long pause…

(Of suicide. She supplied the addition, not through words but through the elaborate, drawn-out pauses and vocal intonation.)

Now, I am certain I surprised her. His death was incredibly tragic. It was a huge shock to everyone.

And yet, still, outwardly, I was extremely composed. Very calm in my demeanor. My external display of grief didn’t match whatever reaction, behavior, composure, she thought I ought to have had. And she made that abundantly clear to me.

Now, did I fall apart about my father? Of course I did. He was my father who took his own life. I had my moments where I sobbed until my insides hurt. Many nights I cried myself to sleep. I was stunned. Traumatized. In shock.

But I did this on my own time, in my own way, privately. I have always held it together outwardly when greeting others, because I needed to get shit done. And I had to be there for my mother, who I knew was in a very vulnerable place right now. Also, as the hero role/child of an alcoholic, I learned to pushed through. And afterwards, I processed my emotions, dealt with the hard on my own, privately, in my own way.

And you know what? That is okay.

Now, in an ideal world and family, this relative, my elder by many years, would have provided that validation, support and acceptance to me then. But she was unable/unwilling to do so.

So I take this experience, what I wished I could have received from my family, and I proclaim this:

No one. NO. ONE. has the right to state or insinuate that your grief doesn’t look right. But since someone probably will try to do so, at one point, you reject that shit. Especially when that person hasn’t had this loss, your experience, (in my case, it’s parental suicide.) But could be any loss.

But even if they have, so what? There is no blueprint for grief.

It’s devastating. Loss of a loved one can shake us to our very core. And the truth is that we’re all going to lose someone so dear, so important, to us one day. And their death is going to absolutely shatter us. We’ll be left in a million broken pieces and look around, shocked and amazed that our world has forever changed but the rest of life, watching others they just continue on without pause. It is so surreal, so disorienting, so hard, so sad, so unfair.

We’re all going to have to do this; to learn to live without someone we never thought we would be able to live without. And going to permanently change us. And with some lost, loved ones, we never really get over it.

We change from it, but we learn how to go on and to continue to exist.

God, though we all know this, it doesn’t make it easier.

That is some heavy shit. And no one knows how to do this. And what works for one may not for another. And what we need may vary from day to day, moment to moment.

But one thing I am unapologetic and adamant about is this:

No earthly soul has the right to judge you or to deny you your grief process. No one knows what it is like to be you at this very moment.

As a human being, in kindness and humility, let’s remember that and validate and love and support one another. Death and grief and mourning is hard enough.