On Grief
Grief takes on many shapes. There is no one set way to go through loss, change, and absence. We need to be free in the process and patient in the timeline. Grief becomes a way of living, a new normal. Although grief is different for everyone, I do believe that three things ought to be present for a healthy process of grieving: time, space, and grace.
You have 24 hours to learn everything you can about funeral homes, wakes, caskets, and cemeteries. Another 24 hours are devoted to perusing a lifetime of memories, deciding what stories to share, and picking which pictures accurately depict the life of a person filled with joy and sorrow, responsibilities and hobbies, a voice and nuances. How can you possibly convey the emotions behind a soul that hosts them all? How can you meaningfully share the deep heart connection you had with another human being? It’s as if you have a common anatomy, her veins sending the very life source to your heart. And you are given one more day to read the sympathy messages, greet people whom you don’t know, and share a meal with those you’d never spend time with outside of your loved one’s company. All the while, you know full well that tomorrow is Monday and each person will go back to their regularly scheduled lives and day jobs. They will hang up their formal black attire and lose interest in the happenings of your life and your grief. Finally, there is time. Time away from the planning and hugging, the sympathy receiving, and the number crunching. There is now time to actually feel. There is now time to go through the pictures that induce sobbing at every smile, funny face, and family portrait seen. Finally time.
There’s no telling how much time it will take to arrive at a “new norm”. You cannot put a limit on tear production or empty tissue boxes. Wouldn’t it be amazing if there was a designated time for grieving, especially at the beginning? Unfortunately the culture and country where I live does not have this. Sadly so, we are expected to go back to our regularly scheduled day jobs after a few days. We are socially allowed to have our melancholy mood for a short time, but a smile and upbeat attitude is imminently warranted. Sure you can wear black for the funeral, but people can’t wait to see you back in your bright patterns and gorgeously manicured hair, face, and nails. My dear friends, we need more time to be sad. We need more greetings that allow a “not well” when asked how we are. There must be an allowance for our lives to not look like they once did – in any shape or form. Dear Lord, let us slow down and take time to grieve.
Image from Canva.com
Everything has changed, and similar to time, you need space. Space to grieve and space to be. Space may have a completely opposite meaning from one person to another, but it is still vital for us all. In my own grieving, old friends have embraced me as if we were little kids on the playground again, and distant friends have sent me the sweetest of messages. They assure me that they are here in whatever way I need them to be. They give me the space to laugh, cry, talk, or be silent. And when I’m silent, they understand that it is my process and not theirs to intrude upon (unless I really need them to). My husband has given me the space for anger and ugly thoughts. My church has given me the space to not be around, not be happy, and not pretend like I’m on perfect terms with God right now.
Sympathy cards are great and sweet messages are longed for, but expecting me to put on a smile and go to social gatherings before I’m ready is not acceptable. Give me my time; allow me my space. I can’t tell you when I’ll be back to my bubbly self, because I’m not sure that self exists anymore. If you’re truly my friend, I know you’ll be okay with this.
And grace, sweet grace, amazing grace. Please be near in this time. Show me that I’m okay and that normal doesn’t exist, but that my normal is perfectly where it needs to be. Help me to be kind to myself as I cry and wonder why. Teach me to sigh and take it one day at a time. Give me a hand to walk this road with no expectations or comparison. Help me filter out the voices so all I have is support; judgement is nowhere to be found.
My sweet friends, show yourself compassion when you hate your life. Give yourself time when you wish you were “over it” already. Let yourself grieve with space and no game-plan for getting better. Feel whatever you feel and let no one tell you how to do it. Let the emotions roam free as they find a place to land among grace. My hope is that you find the right balance of time, space, and grace in your journey of grieving. Grief will be present in one form or another the rest of your life and mine. Loss is right here, a current trend and present reality. Change is constant. As you grieve, let there be no hindrance or analysis. Listen to music, go on a walk, talk with a safe friend, or cry on your bed.
Grieve well, my friend.
