"Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go."
Jamie Anderson
My grief is my own. I say that knowing grieving is a uniquely universal experience without a singular meaning; this special kind of pain offers a different version from one person to the next. There's some familiarity in those experiences, but how we deal with loss is based on the individual.
I think that's important. Often times we hear that message but we don't always take it in. To allow ourselves to grieve without self-judgment and to allow others to grieve without judging, however, means we have to unapologetically accept that we all deal with this pain in our own way.
I don't always know how to help myself, especially lately. What I can do is share my experience and let those of you who are suffering this holiday season, too, know that you're not alone in your grief.
I sometimes think that I'm not dealing with my dad's death well at all. My counselor, Cassie, helped me understand that I am dealing; this is what my grief at losing a parent unexpectedly and far too soon looks and feels like.
There's a real struggle when all you want to do is stay in bed day in and day out and isolate yourself, but the rest of the world keeps spinning. You can only pause life for so long; eventually work, school, or familial responsibilities come knocking.
It's even harder when people around you move on with their lives as you and your family are left reeling feeling emotionally abandoned, knowing that there was no intention to cause harm. There's a genuine feeling that maybe because we hide our pain around others that perhaps they just assume we're fine. But we're not. We hurt, we cry, and we are struggling. The laughter and smiles don't take away from our mourning as we attempt to accept that this hole will never be filled again.
My dad was a very integral part of my life, and not just because he was my dad. We were close and had many things in common, similar passions and excitement I only shared with him. I didn't just lose my dad; I lost everything that he brought into my life that ceased to exist in one, terrible moment, and I will never get any of that back. My brother had his own experiences he shared with our dad that are only ever just memories now. My mom, who was with my dad since she was 14 and he was 16, lost everything they shared and the potential to grow old together.
So, no, we're not okay. Our ability to hide it doesn't change that reality.
As I write this, it's only been about six months since we lost him. Love and pain are everlasting. I've been told it's about getting to a place where you can think of the person without that pain taking over. I know how it works, because this isn't the first time I've lost a loved one. But this was my dad, and I'm not even close to that place yet. Some days I doubt that I will ever get there.
There are many helpful articles with lists of tips on how to deal with grief during the holidays. Some encourage on planning ahead, setting boundaries for yourself, honoring memories of those gone, doing something for someone else and asking for help.
Others explain the importance of taking care of yourself, maintaining schedules, taking things as fast or slow as you need to, give yourself permission to cope however you need to and seek out positive experiences.
This is what I've learned about grieving: You have to allow yourself to feel everything and not be upset with yourself over it. I've experienced days and nights of nothing but depression, tears, pain and that terrible emptiness that makes you question your own continued existence. Then, it passes, and a day comes where you're laughing and experiencing humor and joy, even when you thought it was no longer possible.
I've experienced the guilt that comes along with those ups and downs and mix of emotions but I try to remember this: Grief is as complex as human beings are. We get to be happy, angry, sad and everything in between. If today is the day you feel down and like nothing will ever get better, let yourself feel it and cry. When you're done crying, seek out something comforting, no matter what form that takes. I often seek out my favorite shows or movies, forms of escape to distract and to help get me through the day. Sometimes I force myself out of the house and spend time with friends and family; other days, I barely get out of bed.
The trick is not to succumb and remain stuck in those heavier emotions. Feel them, if you can; even that can be difficult. We are naturally inclined to avoid scary or painful situations, and there are some days where I refuse to allow myself to feel because it's overwhelming. And that's okay. But when you can, feel them, and then do something nice for yourself or someone else in order to not let the darkness win.
Be selfish about your self-care. Whatever self-care means to you, make sure it is front and center. You can't face this or be there for others if you don't put yourself first every once in awhile. Don't feel guilty if you have to say no to someone or if you need to excuse yourself to a different room if you're in a house full of people celebrating a holiday that feels a little less bright to you.
Pay attention to those hurting around you. My mom covers well, but after many tear-filled conversations, I know better. My brother and I lost our dad. My mom lost her husband. That pain is different. What's missing out of each of our lives is different; but it is just as significant for each of us. Most likely you're not the only person who lost that loved one. Sometimes offering comfort to someone else and allowing them to vent or share how they're feeling in order to try and heal can help your own broken heart.
As I sit here writing this, Thanksgiving is only a couple days away... And I feel guilty. Does my grief impact my brother's grief, or my mom's? Is my grief and my lack of excitement for the upcoming holidays ruining everyone else's experience? How hard do I have to go out of my way to make sure my relatives are enjoying the celebration, when I, and my family, need the comfort the most?
There are a lot of thoughts that flood in, and ultimately, all you can do is face the inevitable and hope for the best without expecting the worst.
My dad never missed Christmas. Ever. Thanksgiving will hurt, but Christmas feels like it is going to be impossible. I don't know what Christmas and our holiday traditions are without my dad. I don't know how to feel excited or merry about my favorite holiday without him.
I'm managing to maintain a certain personal joy through one of my favorite parts about the holiday: gift giving. I have spent this past week scouring through sites like Amazon and Mpix, coming up with present ideas for friends and family. Doing so has given me back a little piece of the holiday I love. It's something I can hold onto on the days when I want nothing else to do with what used to be my favorite time of the year.
Writing this has been an incredibly hard process. I've cried through most of it, but the entire point of this is to not only vent my grief but more importantly, to let you know you're not alone. As long as you're taking care of yourself, there's no right or wrong way to grieve. If grief for you is crying or yelling or laughing at memories or finding those escapes to help you distract from the pain, whatever it is, there's nothing wrong with that. Holidays are painful when you've lost someone; it's just inevitable.
But keep fighting. Allow yourself to breathe and take that time for yourself. Hug your loved ones. Call or text the people who matter to you and tell them how much you love them, if you don't have the chance to tell them in person. Let yourself cry. Let yourself laugh. Let yourself be angry - just don't let it consume you. Find any moments of happiness or positivity you can, and know that you are strong enough to get through this.
If I can survive this, you can, too.
Happy Holidays, and much love to each and every one of you.