[2022-05-11] In your words: living with grief

In my April 15 post, How did you overcome grief?, I expressed my intention to write a future piece focusing on the stories of people who had been able to move on positively after losing a loved one. I wanted to know what had helped people to get through their sadness and to find joy again.

The answers to my question were, as you would expect, divergent, but a common theme emerged, namely, that we don't overcome grief; we simply learn to live with it. As one person stated, grief "just ebbs and flows as part of life as we now know it."

Water and waves came up several times as analogies for the process of grieving. One woman wrote to me on the first Easter Sunday without her father in 56 years. She said: "I’ll admit the profound grief returns often. People always say it will return in waves. At first I felt like they were tidal waves engulfing me completely. Sometimes they still are….but I have noticed that my ability to feel them allows me to "ride" the wave instead of being drown[ed] by it. It’s only been 6 months since my dad’s sudden and unexpected death so I don’t know if you ever 'get over it.' My sense is I must go through it. And as I recognize and contemplate the many gifts he gave me the pain seems sweeter and not as jarring."

A friend shared several quotes in response to my April 15 post. One quote, by Vicki Harrison, equated grief to waves: "Grief is like the ocean. It comes on waves, ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim." Another quote, by Mira Ptacin, equated sorrow to water: "We have trauma, and we have grief. People die, and we find it baffling. Painful. Inexplicable. Grief is baffling. There are theories on how we react to loss and death, how we cope, how we handle loss. Some believe the range of emotions mourners experience is predictable, that grief can be monitored, as if mourners are following a checklist. But sorrow is less of a checklist, more like water. It's fluid, it has no set shape, never disappears, never ends. It doesn't go away. It just changes. It changes us."

One woman used the analogy of a hole to explain grief: "Some days grief is a huge hole and envelops everything, and some days it’s smaller and life grows around the hole. It’s always there, just size dependent, …day dependent."

Another woman personified grief: "I had to learn to let grief walk beside me. Not to even try to 'overcome it.' Recognizing that it would be with me all the time like a constant churning in my stomach." Sometimes, she would catch a glimpse of grief, but other times, it would jump in front of her and grab her by the throat, and she would be left sobbing: "Struggling for breath, struggling for control." Now, she tries to "let it run, like Windows in the background."

Several people talked about grief as something you have to get through. One woman suggested: "The only way to the other side is through it." She added that you have to "Sit in it, feel it, get mad, get sad," and then you straighten your crown and move forward like the queen that you are. Another woman maintained: "Getting over it is simply not done. It’s getting through. You get through it. Time makes it less horrifying. But never truly better." My friend sent me a quote that read, in part, "Grief never ends. But it changes. It's a passage, not a place to stay."

One man said this of grief: "It is also about accepting that I may never 'get over it,' that my life will never be the same, and finding a way to move forward towards a different conception of happiness." For him, living with grief "comes down to the wisdom of knowing": "when to be disciplined with myself and force myself to engage in regular, healthy activities such as exercise...when to be gentle with myself, allowing myself to sleep/rest more and eat foods I know [I] shouldn’t normally indulge in; and...whom to confide in and when."

One woman responded simply: "I chose to live with my grief." Her father had fought against cancer for more than a decade, far exceeding his doctors' expectations. Rather than let her grief go, she chose to keep it deep in her heart and to see it as a source of strength.

Another woman related that the pain never goes away, but its intensity lessens over time. "It’s the special moments like anniversaries and birthdays that trigger grief." Still, she added, "It does get better over time."

The grief one experiences often depends on where one stands when the loss occurs. As one woman put it: "I think that loss and grief are one of those funny things, both universal and deeply personal. Suffering is universal, but how we move through that suffering is unique to where we started, and where we are going."

One woman explained that she was thankful that she had reached her father before he died and thankful that he had spent time with his grandchild, which gave them both good memories despite the gap his passing left in their lives. In contrast, she said, her mother's experience of losing her husband was much deeper and lasted much longer: "she avoids anyone who knew him or speaks about him."

Another woman shared a similar story: "Watching my dad pass away was hard but at the same time it was peaceful.... Even though it was hard to let him go, at the same time it was a blessing as he was no longer in pain. He looked so peaceful.... I feel blessed that I was able to be with my dad until the end." Her grandmother, on the other hand, was never the same after watching her son die, as she felt she should have passed before her children. My friend found it very difficult to watch her grandmother lose her only son. This same woman talked about another experience of grief, that of watching her husband fight cancer for the past 13 years. She wrote: "One of the many hard parts about this battle is watching my mom (who lives with us since my dad passed in 2002) re-live what she went through with my dad." For her part, my friend has learned that every cancer is unique, and each person deals with it differently. "We take one day at a time and tackle one problem at a time," she wrote, concluding on this hopeful note: "I don’t know what the future holds but I know that I am a much stronger person and I feel that I/we are able to handle whatever comes our way with my husband’s journey. Life is short with or without cancer. We enjoy everyday and have no regrets."

Some felt that how a person passes can impact grief or at least how one copes with grief. One woman wrote that her dad loved his life and died quickly. He did what he wanted to on his last day, having dinner with a grandchild. The "last words my dad heard were 'I love you too Grandpa.... If that’s not winning at death….I’m not sure what is." She went on to say: "I choose to believe he got what he always wished for. Quick and painless and surrounded by those that loved him. He got that. You can be sad they’re not here, but I can’t be sad that he got what he wished for in death. That’s a rare thing."

Another woman expressed that the grief she experienced at the loss of her husband and a daughter were very different from the grief my family and I felt at the sudden death of my brother. In her case, both losses were not sudden. There was time for saying goodbye and all that could be said. She noted that she and her husband were careful to iron things out each day or two and always said "I love you" before they went to sleep.

I heard more about the impact of loss and grief than about what had helped people to move past their sorrow or at least make peace with it. One man said that time has helped in his healing process. He knows that it's okay to feel sad. And he has found joy in memories.

One woman joined a gym. It was a place where she could enjoy the surroundings and the social aspect, while keeping to herself and remaining quiet. She decided to donate clothes and food to an organization that had helped her family during a hard time. "I feel a sense of purpose and satisfaction every time I drop off my goods," she wrote.

Another woman told me that she would keep her response to my question in her diary, noting that it is "important sometimes to write too. Helps overcome the grief."

One person, whose mother had died of pancreatic cancer just a few years ago, took solace in music and spending time in nature. She noted that a friend had found that binge-watching TV series helped her to cope with the death of her child.

One woman decided to follow the fake-it -til-you-make-it strategy. She described being in a car "And people around you are normal. And you are NOT normal. You’re devastated. And in that moment you realize life goes on. Without that person. We are still here." So she chose to fill her time and that of her loved ones with people and parties and laughter until the fake-it-'til-you-make-it was genuine. "Some days are harder than others," she admitted.

Another woman spoke about the work she did to grieve her mom, which was informed by the grieving she had done in dealing with many moves and a divorce:

Well, they say time heals all wounds but I'm not so sure. Time can give you distance, but if you don't do your work, all you get is a scab on the wound, one that can come off with the tiniest of bumps. What does that work look like? Well, after my mom died, I spent time crying and missing her for sure, and that took some time. I then moved into remembering all the good things, all the ways I grew and learned to be me as a result of her role as my mom. I remembered the hard stuff too, and I forgave her and myself for the things that needed forgiving. All along, when grief and tears came, I turned towards them and companioned them like I would a friend. That really helped me... turning towards rather than away or ignoring those feelings. It took about three years before I no longer felt that stabbing pain of loss... which I still feel on rare occasions now seven years after her sudden death... but I learned to be gentle with myself when these times of real, blistering loss come up, and I've learned to live with her loss, and take real comfort from all the good that is here because she was my mom, and I her daughter.

One last thing: I don't think we "overcome grief" but rather learn to live without the physical presence of the person we are missing. I think we learn to live with grief until it's less... demanding of our attention and heavy on our heart. Let's face it, if we didn't care, we wouldn't miss their absence.

Now, there are many different kinds of grief, I've spoken to the sudden death of my mom, but in my lifetime, I've moved 22 times and been divorced; I've raised two sons and grieved their moving away... how I managed these and other grief processes I'd have to consider a little further. Did the same things help? I didn't know. To be honest, the moves happened when I was younger and less prepared—I coped with them by avoiding the feelings, and much the same can be said of my divorce. I unpacked these long after they happened and found my peace with them only then. Honestly, how I handled the grief of my mother's death was informed by the lived experiences of moving and my divorce recovery... I think that's the best way to put it.

Another woman commented that we often turn away from death and sickness and, in doing so, miss opportunities to really sit with our humanity and appreciate all aspects of life. She shared her experience with grief:

I have sat with death and grief many times, and it is a topic I have pondered and carried in my heart for years.

I lost both my parents to cancer. My mother was my *person*, and my rock. Even at my worst, rotten-teenager phase, I knew how special she was and how much she loved me. My values, my integrity, my sense of humour all flow from her and the lessons in my childhood. I see her in my daughters and it is simultaneously gutting and breathtaking. She would have loved them so ferociously and she would have laughed her head off at how bold and sassy they can be (and the white hairs that I sprout as a consequence).

My father and I were estranged and I was pregnant with my first child when I learned that he had died. The grief that I felt was more a reflection of the door closing on any reconciliation. We hadn’t had contact for many years so there was no real change in my day to day life. Instead, it crystallized that any closure I needed had always been my responsibility. After his death, my half sister and I became closer than we’d ever been. We had both lost our mothers, and now this. It felt very much that we were all we had, and I am grateful I had her with me as we sat in our grief....

When my mom died, the light in my heart dimmed for a long time. It was 16 years ago and it has shaped much of my adult life, how I move through the world, what I prioritize, and how I weigh choices. But because of her, I know that I have an iron core (though I appear squishy on the outside), and the strength to survive anything. I survived the worst thing that could happen to me, losing her, and yet the sun keeps rising. She is gone but I see her in my daughters, in the stories friends and family tell, and in how my husband and I have shaped our life.

Grief changed me on some pretty fundamental levels, by stripping away what isn’t essential. I was left with real clarity about who I am, what I need, and what I want to offer. True growth is always hard, and I think grief can be a powerful catalyst if we are open to the experience.

I was struck by the opportunity to learn from our grief, as this final commenter suggested. The lesson I took from my brother's passing is that I should check in with my loved ones more often than I might otherwise—to make sure they're okay or, at least, to let them know that I care and that I am here for them.

One final theme that came up a few times is this: "Grief is the price of love." My friend who sends me quotes in response to my posts shared this one by Orson Scott Card: "Life is full of grief to exactly the degree we allow ourselves to love other people." The more we love, the more we grieve if we lose that love.

What inspired me most in the responses I received were these ideas:
  • Grief ebbs and flows as part of life as we now know it, meaning our lives are forever changed by the loss of a loved one. We, the ones who are left, continue to live, but in a new expression of life.
  • Sorrow is like water. It's fluid. It has no set shape. It never disappears and never ends. It doesn't go away. It just changes. It changes us.
  • Grief is a passage, not a place to stay.
  • Living with grief requires finding a new conception of happiness.
  • Suffering is universal, but how we move through that suffering is unique to where we started and where we are going.
  • "I remembered the hard stuff too, and I forgave her and myself for the things that needed forgiving."
  • Coping with grief requires that we learn to live without the physical presence of the person we are missing; we retain their abstract presence through our memories.
  • Death can close the door on the possibility for reconciliation, which can trigger its own type of grief.
  • Grieving can be a catalyst for growth.
I thank everyone who contributed to this post on grief, including the person who inspired the idea for this piece and shared his own story in How did you overcome grief?

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