What IS Grief Anyway?
Part 3: Moving Forward
In the first post of this series, I shared some definitions of grief and some personal thoughts I have about how grief behaves in our lives. There are many different types of grief, some that we feel simultaneously or some we feel because of the main event that caused grief, which I described in the second post of the series.
Sarah and me with Grampa (my great-grandfather).
LEARNING TO GRIEVE
I was fortunate to know four of my great grandparents and one great-great grandmother. The first death in my family that I can remember was my great-grandmother’s, my Nana’s mother. I have a hazy memory of going to the funeral, at a funeral home, but not being allowed to approach the casket. Everyone was dressed up and very sad. I must have been one of the only young children there.
It was some time before another great grandparent died. This time it was Busia, my Dziadzi’s (grandfather) mother. I don’t remember going to the funeral, though I’m sure I did, but I do remember being at my dad’s cousin’s house afterwards. I was a young teenager and had just started writing poetry. While I read a poem for Busia, I saw an image (spirit? ghost?) of her sitting in a chair, proudly presiding over her family like the matriarch she was.
I don’t need to go through all of my great-grandparent’s deaths, but I want to touch on one more point: I don’t remember anyone grieving or mourning after the day of the funeral services. When my great-grandfather died, however, my mom took it hard. One day she found a cassette tape that had a recording of Grampa saying he wanted to be buried with it because it recorded him and me together. I must have been a toddler when it was made. I walked in on my mom crying in the corner of her bedroom while listening to the tape. I was around 16 then and had no idea what was happening. This was my first awareness of how grief could be expressed and it scared me.
HIDE IT AWAY
Grieving has become a private act. It used to be communal and visible, with wakes in homes and public notices. Funeral Parlors were called that because the deceased’s body was typically displayed in the parlor. Funeral Parlor is now interchangeable with the more common term Funeral Home, which I find linguistically interesting.
Expectations have changed. Many people are opting for cremation or other alternatives to burial, and celebrations of life or memorials are happening weeks or months after the death. We aren’t even expected to wear black anymore. With the decline of local newspapers and the rise of celebrations of life that happen outside of funeral homes, obituaries are no longer automatically published.
COVID-19 made grieving even more private, since we simply didn’t see each other in person. Memorials and celebrations of life were held virtually (thank goodness for video meeting spaces!). Once the cameras were off, however, we all went back to our lives alone, left to grieve without support.
The consequence of moving grief to private spaces is loneliness. Humans need community. Lockdowns during the beginning of the pandemic proved that; we are still recovering from the loneliness epidemic.
WHAT Can WE DO?
I’m determined to talk about grief openly whenever I have the chance. I don’t apologize when I cry. I want to create spaces where the words grief, death, and loss are not taboo. I want to be able to cry in the grocery store and have a stranger gently rest their hand on my shoulder, not to stop me from crying, but to remind me that they care. I want grief-informed workplaces and a national bereavement leave policy to give people time to attend to the business of grief and to grieve.
I’m thinking of the day my dad died. I was with my mom when we stopped at a 7-11. The cashier was forcing my mom to take a bag for her purchase, but she didn’t want it. She was still in a state of shock from my dad’s death, which had only happened a few hours before. She blew up, threw the bag down on the counter and stormed out. I went in to grab her purchases and explained that my dad had just died. The cashier looked terrified (reasonably so), but did not offer any condolences. Instead, they tried to explain the policy to me. How frustrating! Wouldn’t it be nice if instead of being afraid of grief, people had compassion? That’s the world I want to live in.
I’m afraid that with people starving in Gaza, wars and “conflicts,” attacks on transgender people, stripping support from poor and disabled people, and overt racism, we have a long way to go. But you and I can practice compassion. You’ve probably heard the annoying statement that a smile is contagious. Let’s make that true about compassion and empathy. No need to smile (please don’t tell women to smile!), but let’s try caring.
What can we do?
Center yourself in the present moment.
Acknowledge Your Feelings.
Listen to what your body needs.
Talk about it with others.
Self care. Download my Calming Tools Guide here.
Give yourself grace.
Act. Not all grief needs to be transformed into activism or your life’s purpose, but it can be used to kindle change.
Seek help if it all becomes too much. There’s no shame in talking to a professional, whether that’s your primary care physician, a therapist, or a spiritual leader. The crisis helpline is 988 (also no shame in calling or texting them), and The Trevor Project has a dedicated crisis helpline with counselors trained in working with LGBTQ+ young people.
Continuing on
This series of posts has presented a lot of information and personal stories. One truism is that grief is different for everyone. I encourage you to continue learning about grief, listening to what your grief needs (it’s a good question to ask yourself from time to time), and talking to others. If you can, find a community that supports you. Remember that I am always here if you need someone to talk to, and I host groups and workshops that center grief in a community setting. I am accepting new one-on-one clients, and there are grief support groups and circles, as well as collaborative workshops, where grievers can cry openly while they share the precious stories about their loved ones or about their losses. I’d love to see you there and hear your story.
Most importantly, be kind to yourself. You matter, and your grief matters.
