Musings on Grief
Navigating one of life's most difficult feelings
Grief isn’t something I’ve really written about before. Even in my own personal journal, it gets little airtime. I find it quite difficult to convey my thoughts and feelings because, really, what can you say?
It’s shite. An all-round horrible experience. It can feel like a deep dark hole in your chest, carving out a pain of longing.
Not the cheeriest of subjects, but one that, unless you’re in with the Cullen clan (a throwback reference to the immortality of key characters in the Twilight Saga), all of us will experience and need to navigate at some point in our lives.
February is a pretty busy month of grief-related dates for me. Two death anniversaries (a term I really loath – but what else is there?) of two beloved grandmothers, and the birthday of a much-missed grandfather. It’s been 3, 12 and 15 years respectively since these wonderful people have been missing from my life – at least in human form, because luckily my family and I, and even some friends fortunate enough to have known them, have kept their spirits very much alive. (I’d also like to acknowledge here the privilege of being able to know all four of my grandparents - I appreciate it isn’t something that everyone gets to have, and I’m very grateful for having had the opportunity to love them all.)
Experiencing these losses at different ages impacted the way I was able to deal with each of them, and of course my individual relationships with each grandparent played a part in that too. As did the relationships that the people around me had with them, and how they coped, cried, rallied, sorted, continued.
The most recent loss, in some ways, hit me hardest. We had a tight-knit bond, it was more unexpected than with my older grandparents, and having been living away from home for a number of years, I felt I hadn’t spent enough time with her in the years leading up to her tapping out of this life. But, as awful as it felt in the beginning, through the ensuing weeks and months – which in this case felt somewhat extended as a result of the COVID-19 lockdowns – the pain does start to change. It becomes little less raw, less brittle, less cutting; though still it sits deep.
Such was my experience that around six months after saying goodbye to my grandmother, I decided to try therapy for the first time. My grief was mixing with work-related anxiety, each felt like it was adding flames to the other’s fire, and I didn’t know what to do to calm the blaze. I had thought I should have been feeling better than I was. I thought my feelings should be less intense than they were. I thought I should be coping better.
But actually, I learnt, or was assured that, I shouldn’t be feeling better. Who says I should be feeling any which way? There is no right or wrong. Grief is what it is, and it’ll come and go as it pleases. As will anxiety for that matter. All we can do is try to look after ourselves to stave off any particularly negative consequences of a flare up - but also consider that we’d do well to succumb to it on occasion. Accept that if tears are creeping through in the middle of the supermarket because you just saw a lost loved one’s favourite chocolate on the shelf, let them spill out. If you can later laugh out loud at watching one of their favourite shows – or even laugh at how much they would have hated something you love – go ahead. Feel the emotions. They exist to be experienced.
Discussions around this with my therapist at the time led to a lot of tangents on authenticity; whether we show up as we really are, how to do that more, how that can make us happier. More on that another time perhaps, but a book she recommended, Authentic by Professor Stephen Joseph, which I diligently gobbled up, was quite thought-provoking on the matter.
Something else she often talked about was the notion of letting those we grieve for still live with us, by telling stories about them, continuing their traditions, wearing their jewellery or doing activities we associate with them. This was also comforting, but more so because it was something I felt came very naturally – to me, and my family. Never had we stopped speaking about my grandparents, their parents, husband and wives. Never had we been afraid to laugh or cry together – sometimes both at once – or still feel annoyed at something they’d done. I was lucky to have inherited a few pieces of jewellery from both grandmothers, as well as other pieces which I wear less but still cherish – vintage neck scarves, jazzy blazer jackets, a long winter coat and purple trilby hat.
If there is one thing I could recommend, if it is an option to you as a reader who has experienced the loss of someone close to you, it is to carry around a piece of them with you. They are of course always in your heart, and your head, but having their ring on your finger, their keyring in your bag, their card holder in your pocket, can bring, I think, a new level of comfort and a warm reminder of the love you had – and have – for each other. After all, as you may have seen on a ‘live, laugh, love’ style post or print, they say grief is simply love with nowhere to go.
You might think it sounds daft. And fair enough, the idea isn’t for everyone. We all have our own coping mechanisms, and this isn’t intended to be a ‘how-to’, but as the title suggests, merely some musings on my navigation with grief. When I’ve visited a new, exciting place, attended an anxiety-inducing event, felt upset about something entirely unrelated, turning their ring around my finger, looking down and seeing their bangle wrapped around my wrist, or feeling their scarf around my neck has brought a smile, a moment to breathe, and a reminder to put things into perspective. Life is short, make the most of it – whatever that means to you.
When a friend loses someone close to them, there is nothing you can say to make it better. Let them know you are thinking of them. Send flowers. Turn up at their door with a hot meal. Don’t be offended if they don’t reply, or invite you in. But be present, don’t avoid the situation. In time, ask to hear stories. Focus on their loved one’s life, not only the death. Though I do make a note of close friends’ relatives death anniversaries (uchhh, again!) in an attempt to send a little note of love around those tough times. I know they appreciate it, and want them to know I am thinking of them, and the person they’re thinking of, on what can be a pretty grey day.
Some people have words or phrases they feel it’s more appropriate to use. I still struggle with died/death, and more often use lost/passed away. Others will feel ‘lost’ sounds as though we just misplaced a family member one day, entirely accidentally. If only it had been as easy as sending out a search party to bring them home.
At this stage, you might be thinking, what’s the point here? Where is this little essay going? Well, really, its not going anywhere. It’s a meander through a topic, an issue, a feeling, that itself goes nowhere, isn’t linear, nor has a nice strong conclusion after a well written beginning and middle. Grief is a strange thing. A funny thing. A heartfelt thing. A terrible thing. But, if there is anything to take away here, know that there are eventually more good days than bad, whatever you’re feeling, you will not be the first and certainly will not be the last – and hey, you might even get a bright purple trilby out of it!
Grief is one of the most difficult journeys we will ever navigate. Hang on in there, and if there’s anything that helps you through, feel free to share in the comments.
PS…
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