Grief is tricky. No one is prepared for losing someone. No matter who you are, at some point in your life, you will experience the feeling of loss. Grief comes in all shapes and sizes, and no one’s grieving process is truly the same. While some may feel anger from loss, others may experience sadness, confusion, or even numbness. I went through all of these emotions when I lost my mom to Acute Myeloid Leukemia in 2014. I was barely nineteen at the time and thought I would get to spend my entire adulthood with my mother by my side—watching me graduate college, get married, have kids—the whole adulting lot.
We had four months to say goodbye, not knowing that goodbye was so close. Even then, it didn’t feel like an adequate amount of time. Infinite years with your loved ones are still not enough! The hardest part of grief for me was the images of her being sick. I couldn’t get what she looked like as a cancer patient out of my subconscious. It started to taint all the beautiful memories of her alive and healthy—playing with my niece in the yard or dancing on the front lawn to “Some Kind of Wonderful” while mowing the grass. All the beautiful collective pictures of who she was—the smell of her perfume, the taste of the best meals she would cook, and the sounds of her boisterous, raspy, bigger-than-life laugh—were all covered by a fog of grief, dominated by images of her sickly body.
I would experience recurring nightmares of her asking me for help but me not being able to understand what she needed. Sleepless nights and anxiety-filled days became my new reality, followed by bouts of numbness. I lacked the motivation to shower or study for an exam. There were so many times I wanted to smash a sledgehammer into glass or drive out to the middle of nowhere and just scream until my lungs physically gave out. The ups and downs and the uncertainty of emotions became so exhausting. I thought everyone around me grew tired of hearing about her, so I stopped talking about it. Even if I did talk about her, everyone around me was grieving so deeply that I couldn’t say something without hurting someone close to me.
The day of the calling hours and funeral were the longest days of my life. I remember feeling so strange that I was the one grieving, but for some reason, I had to uncomfortably hug a bunch of people crying and saying the same robotic phrase, “I am so sorry for your loss.” It was such a strange concept to me—to comfort the guests who came to say the same thing to you for hours, hug after hug, same phrase after same phrase.
Once all the baskets stopped coming, the flowers stopped showing up, and fewer people came by to check on us, I felt so alone. People get on with their lives—back to work and school and their normal schedules—while you are stuck in a pit of despair. Your life is forever changed, and no one gets that. You don’t get to wake up to the smell of her coffee anymore, or come downstairs to find her reading the Bible with her glasses perched at the tip of her nose. You don’t get to snuggle in bed with her and watch true crime TV shows at midnight. Those things you counted on, desperately looked forward to, and found such comfort in—knowing that no matter what, those things were there to bring you back down from all the crazy things in life—well, those things are gone, and you’ll never get them back.
How do you get over something like this? How does this feeling of complete darkness and hopelessness pass? Will it ever feel whole again?
Have you ever wanted to punch someone in the throat after they tell you, “It gets better with time”? SAME! Every time I heard “it will get better,” I wanted to roundhouse kick that person right in the face. No, it doesn’t get better with time. Unfortunately, you will always miss that person you lost, and no one will ever take their place. However, your life does go on, and you find ways to cope with the loss, which does make the hole just a smidge smaller. And as you continue to go on through your day-to-day, you begin to process that grief better, and you become mature in your grief. The sting doesn’t feel so stingy, and you start to heal.
If you yourself are not experiencing grief but you know someone who is, I have compiled a list of questions to ask them to offer support:
How are you feeling today?
Is there anything specific you'd like to talk about or share?
Would you like some company, or do you prefer some time alone?
What can I do to support you right now?
Are there any tasks or responsibilities I can take off your plate?
Would it be helpful to talk about your loved one?
What has been the most challenging part for you lately?
How are you taking care of yourself?
Would you like to do something together, like a walk or a meal?
Would you prefer I just listen or offer advice?
Remember, the goal is to offer support without being intrusive. It's important to listen more than talk and to let the person guide the conversation according to their comfort level.
I hated hearing advice. I knew what to do—but sometimes doing those things felt impossible. For me, I just wanted someone to listen, not to tell me it will be OK, but to truly just let me cry and listen to what I had to say. It might have been a memory or maybe a quick note of my feelings, but to just be heard felt like the best support someone could have given me.
If you are grieving and finding it hard to cope on your own, don’t. There is no shame in asking for help.
About Thrive Counseling
We are offering counseling, home-based and group programs through telephone or online through ZOOM. Call us for your mental health & substance use needs! Call Warren, (330) 469-6777 or Youngstown, (330) 355-9998 TODAY!
Anyone can call for assistance or support. Assessments are based on the individuals' needs and what will work best for them. Thrive can provide immediate assistance for mental health crisis situations. Medicaid and most other insurances are accepted.
Comments