To describe Complex grief

Photo by Michael Dam on Unsplash

I have read and heard it said - what kind of grief is not complex?

That is true. And I don’t want to minimize any grief or loss.

But, the meaning of complex grief - to me, is grief double or triple or quadruple fold. In essence, multiple losses.

The condition of complicated grief is usually when someone has a hard time processing and has residual grief as the result of a loved one.

It is hard to put into words - if you haven’t experienced it - what it is like to lose multiple people.

The waves of grief topple and turn over; that is a normal part of loss.

Sometimes the waters are calmer - other days it’s vicious.

But when you have too many losses all at once - there isn’t calm waters.

Even when it appears that way, underneath, there are usually whirlpools spinning underneath.

But, suicides are shocking and raw and they take precedence - demanding your attention and navigation.

So, you don’t get equal time to dedicate to the other losses.

This is why it’s residual grief.

That’s why mourning my mother and mourning my babies erupts, unexplainably, at random times -

Because I was never able to give them their proper attention.

I remember trying - after Mom died. I remember that I did what I do, what I know how to do. I bought and read the Dead Mom’s Club and Grief is Love.

But then, six weeks later, Jeremie was gone.

And I was disassociating and numbed and in shock.

I was in a haze of insomnia and cortisol spikes (which, if you’ve never had that, it feels like a perpetual adrenaline rush, which is real annoying when you’re trying to sleep at night. But there is no off button or pause. Instead, your mind/body is trying to protect you and so, it just keeps churning, poised, on guard, hyper-vigilant).

It was all encompassing. It was exhausting. It took over.

It took up all the space. There was none left for the other losses.

So they ended up stuck, inside me, in my bones and energy, the fiber of being.

So, they come out at weird times - like when I’m doing yoga stretches and hip openers, which is where women store their unprocessed emotions.

Sometimes I end up breath-y, because grief is lodged in your lungs.

The body is magnificent in how it keeps the score - of all the trauma, all the grief, all the emotions.

And - when you drink them down or repress the emotions, in whatever method of your own choosing, you end up with even more residual and complicated grief.

I finally am able to feel it all.

I didn’t think I could handle it all before -

It was too much.

People said that to me, afterwards, that’s too much. How much can one person take?

It was too much.

I put up walls- reading and intellectualizing and drinking my wine at night to sleep and numb and relax.

But now, my joy is deeper, precisely because my grief is allowed to flow.

It’s the fuckery and paradox of it all -

You can’t numb the pain and hurt without numbing the joy as well.