5 Things about Grief that you won't find in a Pamphlet:

There is a lot of literature out there on grief.  However surprising as it may seem though, things are still missed.  In this age of information overload, how can that be?  I’ll give you my opinion.  People don’t understand grief.  It is constant and yet ever changing.  My experience is totally different from anyone else’s and in addition, people don’t like talking about it.  I understand all of this.  Still, I write this blog with the hopes that someone will be touched.  Someone will read something and understand that they are not alone in their feelings and maybe I can use my pain to help someone else.

1. The answer to the unanswerable question

Are you ok?  How are you doing?  The question lingers there unanswered as I struggle for words.  If my attempt at skillfully avoiding the question with a smile and a redirect falls short, then I am left floundering for an answer.  The truth is, I don’t know how to answer that question.  Am I ok?  Obviously, yes, I am ok.  I’m still here aren’t I?  I’m not having a break down.  I haven’t gone mental on someone.  I am still working out at the gym and showing up at my job.  For all intents and purposes, were you to ask any innocent bystander, I believe “ok” would be exactly how they would describe me.  On the other hand, obviously no, I am not ok.  A huge part of me died recently.  In just a short time, my mom went from being totally there, to not being there.  That is hard.  And, no I am not ok with that.  I am not ok with the fact that I will not have a mother/daughter picture on my wedding day, or have a person to call for advice if I have a child who gets a high fever.  Nothing about that is ok.  So, to answer your question…I don’t know if I am ok or not.  I don’t know how I’m doing.  The question causes me a lot of stress when I hear it.  The over thinker in me starts pondering whether someone actually wants to know the truth of how I’m feeling at that moment.  If I am honest with them, will it overwhelm them?  I don’t like being fake either though.  In our society this question has become more of a salutation than an honest inquiry.  And “good” would not be a sufficient answer for me right now.  Truthfully, the question “am I ok” or “how are you doing” has no answer.

Still there is a confusing kicker to this little rant…here goes…please don’t stop asking.  I know that seems contradictory to everything I’ve just said.  But, right now I can’t imagine myself being ok ever again.  I can imagine the alternative.  I can imagine never being ok again, and never feeling right again.  And that thought fills me with fear and makes me feel helpless and alone.  The only thing keeping me from drowning in my own despair is a connection to the light.  I’m talking about you.  People.  People who ask me if I am ok.  People who ask me how I’m doing even if I don’t have an answer.  People who don't get frustrated by my lack of response.  People who don't expect a response.  The question may not have an answer but please continue to ask.  Because one day it will.    

2. You say you know…but I hope you are wrong.

Please don’t tell me that you know how I feel.  Chances are, you actually probably don’t.  Even if you have experienced something similar, all the literature says that everyone experiences grief differently.  Grief is a very isolated path and there are times when my only wish is to reach out to someone who could relate.  However, the overall feeling of loneliness that comes with going through something like this does not, for me at least, outweigh the fact that I don’t want you to know how I feel.  I would never wish this feeling on anyone, not even my worst enemy.  So, hearing that you know how I feel doesn’t bring comfort, but more sadness.  I hope you go through your life never understanding this feeling.  Because it is the worst feeling I have ever experienced.  I don't want to hear that you know how it feels.  

3. Grief is like a work-out

In an attempt to stay healthy, I have been working out every morning at 5:30.  This is one aspect of grief that everyone seems to agree on: lack of sleep, inability to sleep, sleeplessness, restlessness, and too much sleep, are all symptoms of grief and loss.  Still, what you do with those symptoms is your own bidding.  I seem to have ended up with some combination of the following: late night cleaning frenzy, followed by early morning passion for my work out, and then an afternoon crash at my desk at work where I struggle to keep my eyes open.  Anyways, in my trips to the gym every day I have picked up on another metaphor of grief.  Grief is like a weight.  It is there and it is heavy.  I can totally ignore it, but it is going to stay there.  However, I can wake up every day and decide to face it, to attempt it, to deal with it.  Weight doesn’t change.  Every day the dumbbells weigh the same as they did the day before.  What does change is my strength and ability to pick them up.  The more that I show up and work out, the easier it gets to carry the weight.  In 20 years, the weight of grief will not have changed.  The loss of my mom will still be just as horrible as it is today.  It will never get better.  The only difference is, that I will get stronger.

4. Worthless

For a lot of my life, and officially for the past 18 months I have been a caregiver.  Except for all of this, taking care of my mom when she had cancer was the hardest thing I have ever done.  There were many days when I felt like I would not be able to go on.  Still, with it came unsurpassed purpose and calling.  It was difficult, but I was doing something that mattered, and I was happy to do it.  In addition to losing my best friend in the world, I lost that.  I am no longer a caregiver.  I am no longer doing something that has such great meaning and sense of accomplishment.  It has left me feeling incredibly worthless. People don’t talk about the worthlessness that comes from death, but it lingers there with everything else I feel.     

5. Peace that surpasses understanding somehow brings a tiny glimmer of Hope

Things will get better.  There is a small part of me that gets this.  There have been moments when I have felt genuine relief and peace over all of this.  I don’t understand why, but it is there.  Because I don’t understand where it is coming from, I often can’t replicate it.  I wish I could give steps for how to get there but that would kind of defeat the point.  If I had a formula or an outline for you to follow then it wouldn’t truly be peace that surpasses understanding.  All I can do is tell you that it is there.  Everyone, including myself, has an expectation for how this grief should look and how I should feel.  I am slowly, and I’m talking snail’s pace here, beginning to see that letting go of those expectations is super important.  There is not a time limit.  There is no right or wrong.  Just be.  Because peace that surpasses understanding cannot be explained.  It can only be felt.  So, I have to just feel.  I have to allow myself to feel.  Feel it all, good or bad.  Because, amidst the bad, peace that surpasses understanding will creep in and with it comes a glimmer of hope.  And, things will get better.