I’ve tried to sit down and write this post so many times, but the truth is, sitting down to write means reliving everything I’ve been through in the past year and a half. I want to start with a disclaimer: I am not a therapist, a doctor, or anyone claiming I know what is right. Instead, I’m just a girl who has been through some really hard shit. I’ve walked through it, I’ve lived with it, and today I’m finally ready to share my story.
Maybe you’ve never experienced anything like I have. I pray you haven’t. It’s not a fun club to be a member of, although, I know many of you are from talking to you. Maybe grief has looked different for you, and that’s ok.
In fact, that’s lesson number one. If there is one thing I can tell you, it’s that grief looks different for everyone.
We’re all human. We all feel things. We all have eyes, a nose, and a mouth, but we aren’t all exactly the same. We need different things, express love in various ways, and most of all handle grief in our own way.
Before we get into all that, let’s rewind. I’m going to be very honest, I never expected this. My entire life my family has been extremely close. I was blessed with two incredible parents who love/loved me without bounds, and four older brothers that I have idolized for as long as I can remember. Don’t get me wrong, no one is perfect but simply put, I was blessed in the family department and have always been very grateful for that.
I still remember where I was when I got the call from my brother Casey, who is closest to me in age, telling me that our dad had cancer. What the hell… I felt like someone had sucker punched me in the gut. I didn’t understand half of what my
Mom said on that call following my brother’s call, and the things I did understand, I didn’t want to.
I won’t get into everything that happened during the months in-between the day I found out and the day he passed. There are some things that I believe should stay personal, but just know it was brutal. Rip your heart out and throw it down the kitchen sink disposal kind of brutal.
I was there the day my dad passed. I will never forget that day. The dark and foggy day that I saw him for the last time. The trillions of emotions that coursed through my veins. He was my person.
But the story of grief is what happens next.
I spent the next month in a fog. I woke up and went about my life, feeling like I was in a haze at times and normal at others. That’s the thing. For me grief wasn’t really a constant state. Sometimes I was sad and in pain—the sitting on my bedroom floor can’t get up type of pain, and other moments I was so genuinely happy, filled with joy, laughing and living in the moment. I will forever be grateful for my childhood best friend spending many of her days with me while she was going through a similar thing with her grandmother….our Granny.
I get asked a lot about what to do to help a grieving friend or partner and my best advice (in my experience) is to just be there. Show up. Laugh, cry, hold them, talk about it if they want, don’t if they can’t, cry more, distract them, love them. The reality is that there is truly nothing you can do to fill the void or soothe the pain they feel. There is nothing you can say to erase their hurt, but if you show up, they will feel it, and even if they can’t articulate it at the time, I promise, it will help. Oh, and don’t worry about saying the right thing, there isn’t a right thing to say, just be there.
Back to the story. I’ve always talked to my mom about everything. My mom has always been my sounding board and is no doubt the strongest women I know. Her strength and perseverance have been nothing short of astounding. I pray I can one day be half the woman she is and the wife she was. But, like I said earlier, people grieve differently. I lost a dad, but she lost her husband, her partner for the past 49 years, and I wanted to respect that and let her go through the process in her own way. The truth is, no matter how close you are with someone and no matter how much you normally lean on someone, when grief hits, you have the go through the process yourself.
If I could summarize my grief in one word, without trying to sugarcoat it, I think it would just be lonely.
I had (and still have) an astounding sense of peace knowing my dad was no longer in pain, that he was with God. I knew he was in heaven and that washed constant waves of warmth over the sometimes-numbing feeling of loss. I’m not really sure why, but I was never truly mad at God, just kind of broken feeling. I think the best way to describe it is this: my dad is a big part of who I am today, and I felt the void of his absence. I received several signs after my dad passed that he was watching down on me. I get chills just thinking about them. I still get the signs and they always make me smile and feel just how potently God’s love can cut through anything.
It’s time for the third major lesson that grief taught me – it’s not easy, but you can CHOOSE what happens next.
You can lay down and give up, succumb to the sad feelings and just coast on cruise control. Or you can fight and live and even thrive. I decided to thrive. I filled my time doing things I LOVE. Again, this looks different for everyone. For me that meant spending time with people I love. Doing things that I knew my dad loved (always makes me feel close to him), and honestly, throwing myself into working overtime at a job I had a love/hate relationship for!
Why do people think they have a right to judge the way other people grieve?
I never understood that. Connecting with you guys and doing things I truly enjoy, helped me so much. The kind messages, comments, and prayers from you all helped me more than you know. I also got moving and did things like work out, get out of the house, and just keeping myself busy.
The hard truth is that there isn’t really anything that takes away the pain of loss, but time, just hours and days and years that will chip away at the sting. I often get asked if it ever gets “better”? I’m not sure better is really the right word, but ya, it does get easier. You learn to live inside the world of your new normal. I LOVE talking about my dad. I miss him every day but I like talking about him and seeing photos or videos and sweet reminders of how lucky I was to have him for the years that I did.
So, here comes lesson number four… grief isn’t linear. It’s up and down and all the way around.
There are good days, bad days, and everything in between, but isn’t that life? It’s kind of this beautiful ball of yarn. All tangled and intertwined in itself. I can truly say that while I wish this wasn’t a fire I had to walk through; it has forged me into a stronger version of myself.
Lesson number 5, grief can give you perspective, if you let it.
The past year has given me perspective and has also given me a strength to distance myself from anyone who isn’t a positive character in my life. We all have those people who we know don’t really wish us well or maybe aren’t the best friends, but they stay in our lives anyways. I no longer have time for that. Instead, I focus my energy on the relationships and things that add value and good to my life. Life is too short to surround yourself with the negative. Do what you love with who you love. Life is too short to do anything but live and do it well. Do it for the people who aren’t here to do it with you.
Don’t let the pain of their loss cripple you, let it drive you to be better, and live fully.
To me, grief feels like getting dropped in the middle of a stormy, choppy ocean. You’re trying to swim but each rush of waves pushes you deeper. You may go under for a minute, but you fight and come back up, gasping for air, breathing it all in as the rain hits your face. Sometimes you swim and struggle while your body burns and aches, and other times you just need to roll on your back and rest. Maybe you even see a beautiful dolphin swim by, and you take a ride. One day after lots of swimming, you find a boat, you get out of the water and you can finally breathe again.
Then, you learn to drive the boat, navigate your new normal and you start to head to the shore. Every now and then a storm will come that blows you backwards a little, but you keep on going, following the light. You finally reach the shore that once seemed so far in the distance. You dust off all the sand and ring the salty water out of your hair, but there’s still sand left in places you can’t see and your hair is a little wet—the sand rubs in spots and the texture of your hair is different but you’re finally safe on shore. You’re OK.
The truth is, loss has changed me. I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t, but you see, sometimes change has a negative connotation and I don’t mean it that way. I love the person I am today. Instead I mean it in the truest sense of the word. I know I am a little different from I was before, but it’s part of me now. I hope a part of me that I can use as a gift to help anyone swimming in their ocean, even if in the smallest way.
What I’m trying to say is that I wrote this post for anyone who needs it today or one day, but I also wrote it for me. You are not alone. That’s what life is all about really, isn’t it? Loving others well and human connection. Whether you’re swimming through the stormy waters of grief, or trying to throw someone you love a lifeline, just know you’re not alone.
We got this. Life is full of goodness if you look for it, so open your damn eyes and live.
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