grief lessons
Grief comes in all shapes and sizes, no one is immune.
Grief follows loss.
It is not limited to death.
It is universal.
It is personal.
It is cultural.
Since becoming a widow I have learned new things.
Important things.
Life changing things.
Cultures and individuals handle grief differently.
In my culture to grieve openly is dangerous.
If you grieve publicly, weeping immediately after a loss is accepted by most, but if you let intense public crying linger much past those first few days, the whispers begin..."they aren't handling it very well"... or some such rubbish.
If you don't shed any tears publicly in those first few days the whispers begin..."they aren't showing any emotion"..."I hope they are okay, I haven't seen them cry"...or some such rubbish.
Bill's death changed my life. Forever. It isn't something I will "get over".
My tears fall more frequently and freely than they did when Bill was alive.
There are people whose presence makes me feel safe. I am thankful for them.
There are people who make me uncomfortable. I try to avoid them.
Some people don't know when to shut up.
Anger flares and I have to stop and search to see what is feeding it.
There are people who want to "compare" their grief to yours. And yours will never be as difficult as theirs.
No one will ever understand exactly what I am going through. Because you are not me. I will never understand exactly what you are going through. Because I am not you. No two people, no two losses, no two relationships are exactly alike. And that is okay. We are all unique. And while I may not understand your grief, I do know pain. It hurts. So let's be kind to one another. Gentle. Patient. Forgiving. Supportive.
Sometimes people need to be told it's okay to cry. Or not cry.
Sadness and joy can and do co-exist.
Peace in the midst of a storm is very possible.
Tears or the lack of them is not an accurate indicator of how I am doing.
Grief doesn't seem to have an end date.
Sometimes the best way to say "I love you" is to simply sit in silence.
"Fresh" grief, a stabbing pain or the heavy "there is an elephant sitting on my chest" weight still visits. Not as frequently, but just as powerfully.
I still catch myself listening for Bill to come home.
Some ordinary days are harder than others for no reason.
There are dumb things said, stupid questions asked.
Sometimes there are no words to explain what I am feeling.
April 12, 2018
I have been a widow for 1,322 days.
Time calculator did the math for me.
!322 days can be converted to:
Grief follows loss.
It is not limited to death.
It is universal.
It is personal.
It is cultural.
Since becoming a widow I have learned new things.
Important things.
Life changing things.
Cultures and individuals handle grief differently.
In my culture to grieve openly is dangerous.
If you grieve publicly, weeping immediately after a loss is accepted by most, but if you let intense public crying linger much past those first few days, the whispers begin..."they aren't handling it very well"... or some such rubbish.
If you don't shed any tears publicly in those first few days the whispers begin..."they aren't showing any emotion"..."I hope they are okay, I haven't seen them cry"...or some such rubbish.
Bill's death changed my life. Forever. It isn't something I will "get over".
My tears fall more frequently and freely than they did when Bill was alive.
There are people whose presence makes me feel safe. I am thankful for them.
There are people who make me uncomfortable. I try to avoid them.
Some people don't know when to shut up.
Anger flares and I have to stop and search to see what is feeding it.
There are people who want to "compare" their grief to yours. And yours will never be as difficult as theirs.
No one will ever understand exactly what I am going through. Because you are not me. I will never understand exactly what you are going through. Because I am not you. No two people, no two losses, no two relationships are exactly alike. And that is okay. We are all unique. And while I may not understand your grief, I do know pain. It hurts. So let's be kind to one another. Gentle. Patient. Forgiving. Supportive.
Sometimes people need to be told it's okay to cry. Or not cry.
Sadness and joy can and do co-exist.
Peace in the midst of a storm is very possible.
Tears or the lack of them is not an accurate indicator of how I am doing.
Grief doesn't seem to have an end date.
Sometimes the best way to say "I love you" is to simply sit in silence.
"Fresh" grief, a stabbing pain or the heavy "there is an elephant sitting on my chest" weight still visits. Not as frequently, but just as powerfully.
I still catch myself listening for Bill to come home.
Some ordinary days are harder than others for no reason.
There are dumb things said, stupid questions asked.
Sometimes there are no words to explain what I am feeling.
April 12, 2018
I have been a widow for 1,322 days.
Time calculator did the math for me.
!322 days can be converted to:
- 114,220,800 seconds
- 1,903,680 minutes
- 31,728 hours
- 1322 days
- 188 weeks and 6 days
What time calculator cannot do is explain how time is deceitful.
1322 days sometimes feel like just yesterday.
Other times it feels like forever.
Grief has given me some precious gifts:
1322 days sometimes feel like just yesterday.
Other times it feels like forever.
Grief has given me some precious gifts:
- a deeper relationship with God and my children
- more compassion
- greater grace
- deeper peace and trust
- clearer eyesight
- ears more apt to listen
- a larger heart for loving
- a greater appreciation for life
- a pressing desire to live well
- a keener awareness of the need to be present
- an eagerness to live with eternity in mind
- permission to weep and wail when I need to, but only privately because I am well past the "recent loss" mark and wailing, especially, is extremely unsettling to most people
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