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“You’re doing grief wrong.” No-one has ever said this to me. Not directly. And I hope that no-one has ever said it to you, either.
But I have a question for those of you who have grieved: have you ever felt like this is what others are thinking?
Have you ever thought to yourself, “I’m doing this wrong. This isn’t what grieving is supposed to look like. What is wrong with me?”
I have. And I’ve found that it manifests in two ways.
—
First, there are my own realisations that I’m not dealing with grief. That I’ve effectively denied that my father is dead, or my mind hasn’t yet accepted it on the subconscious level.
For years after my dad died, every time the phone would ring I’d think it was him. Not consciously. I’d just bolt for the phone, and then feel crushing disappointment when it wasn’t him. And then supreme embarrassment for thinking, on any level, that it might have been.
Similarly, for years after my dad died, every time the doorbell would ring I’d think it was him. It was a reaction I couldn’t suppress despite knowing that not only was he never coming home again, but that even if he was still alive, he wouldn’t ring the doorbell of his own house. He’d just let himself in.
I would have these reactions, every time, and then chastise myself for having these reactions. Every time.
I was doing grief wrong.
—
Then, there were observations of others that, although (usually) delivered innocently and with no intention of guilt, had that effect anyway.
I remember mum telling us that dad had died. I stared at the floor for hours, trying to make sense of it. I couldn’t make my brain function, let alone react to the news. A relative said, “It’s okay to cry. Don’t hold the tears back.” And I thought, “I’m supposed to be crying. I’ve just found out dad is dead and I’m not crying. What is wrong with me?”
I went back to school a week after my dad died. I had always enjoyed school and wanted to get back to the one thing that would hopefully still make sense in my world. (Spoiler alert: it was different, because I was different.) A friend said, “I can’t believe you’re back so soon.” And I thought, “I’m supposed to stay at home, curled in a ball. I’m a week into having no dad and I’ve come to school like my life is the same. What is wrong with me?”
I was doing grief wrong.
—
Some time after my dad died, I participated in a program called Rainbows (now called Seasons for Growth). It was a program for young people who had experienced change or loss, and within my group of eight teens, there were some with ‘unreliable’ parents, some whose parents were divorcing and some who had lost a parent.
I don’t remember much of the program, but I have a crystal clear memory of one particular activity we were asked to do. Each of us was given some clay and tasked with creating something to represent our feelings about the change we were currently going through, or to represent the person we were grieving for.
I couldn’t come up with anything. NOT A SINGLE THING.
I sat there, watching everyone else get to work to make their objects. Some people divided their clay into segments so they could make more than one thing.
Meanwhile, I looked at my lump of clay and saw nothing but a lump of clay. And I thought, “I’m supposed to make something that reminds me of my dad. My dad meant the world to me, and I can’t think of anything. What is wrong with me?”
When it came time to show the group what we’d done, we went around in the circle. When it got to me I just ripped my bit of clay in half and said that I felt like my dad’s death had ripped me in half. And then I cried. For what I think was the first time during that program.
The young girl who went after me presented her items with a flourish: a tiara and a garbage bin. She said that the tiara represented the rare occasions in her life that her dad had visited and spent time with her, because she had felt like a princess. And that the garbage bin represented the rest of the time, because his absence made her feel like trash.
She said it matter of factly, with a shrug. And I started crying again. For what I think was the second time during that program.
She held my hand and promised me that she was okay. That she was done feeling like trash, and that her dad was the one missing out.
And then I kept crying, because I felt even worse. Because I hadn’t been crying for her. I’d been crying for me. I’d been crying because not once – NOT ONCE – in my entire life had I ever felt like trash. Not once in my entire life, even now that my dad wasn’t around, had I ever doubted – even for a second – that my dad loved me.
And now he was gone.
And that was when I realised I wasn’t doing grief wrong at all. I was doing grief the only way I knew how to. The only way I could.
—
Grief. You can’t do it wrong. You can’t do it fast; you can’t do it slow. You can’t do it in increments. You can’t parcel it out into digestible, bite-sized chunks. You can’t do it in one hit. You can’t binge on it and get your grieving done in one sitting.
When I was a teen, I came across a quote that went something like this: Love is a space in which all other emotions can be experienced.
I feel the same way about grief. Grief is a space in which all other emotions will be experienced.
But there is no timeline for those experiences. And, just to make things confusing, grief is also a space that can push out all other emotions, cocooning itself against those emotions and feelings to make days bearable.
Grief is what it is. Grief is different for everyone, every time that they grieve. Grief takes whatever form it takes, and it takes as long as it takes, and there’s nothing you can do about it except feel it.
Have you grieved? What was/is your experience of grief?
(Why did I write this? Were my dad still alive, he would have turned 60 last week. The thoughts have been percolating. Just like they were last year when I wrote Untabooing grief.)
Oh mate 🙁
I too have done grief ‘wrong’ (ie not the way people would expect).
When my brother died I didn’t want to be around anyone who was talking about him. I didn’t want to engage in conversation about him. I went back to work the following week. I told my best friend not to come to the funeral. I still really struggle to talk about him.
I sometimes wonder if I should have ‘dealt with it better’, if I should have talked about my feelings a bit more. But in the end I’ve decided, the same as you, that there’s no right or wrong way to do this thing. I will never let go of the resentment that he was taken from us so suddenly. But at least these days, when I think of him, I can remember him fondly rather than it being a knife twisting in my gut xxx
Grief is grief is grief is grief. I’m glad the thoughts aren’t knife-twisty these days, Kel. My dad also died suddenly, and I was angry for a long time, and resentful, and guilty that these feelings were often directed at him instead of the universe or fate or whatever people believe in. x
People were upset at my husband the other year for not being upset his dad died. He basically didn’t know him; in his mind his parent is his mum so he didn’t lose anything. Even from me sitting outside of my in laws, it got tiring hearing people expecting him to be sad. It’s not always sad. And that is harsh, yes, but true.
Is it possible he’d already grieved? Grieved his father’s absence, long before he actually died?
Possibly, but more likely because he was pretty much always only raised by his mum, that was normal for him, so there wasn’t a loss to grieve. If you don’t have something and you’ve never missed it, there isn’t anything to grieve.
Thanks for coming back to answer. Vanessa. That makes sense.
Your last comment was my experience Em. My own dad struggled with dementia for his last 5 years, and I grieved in step with his diminishing.
Can’t say that was easier or better or whatever. Grief is grief as you say. I still feel this shapeless hurt, a bittersweetness when I see dad’s photo, or have a dad reverie. A sting. But getting to release him slowly – as awful as that was – might well have been therapy in disguise.
4 years ago, losing a close friend suddenly was a different agony altogether. A shock. A mental and spiritual assault Like some kind of transgression I still can’t believe or accept.
Grief is intimately enmeshed with how we lose – or so it seems. Your dad sounded wonderful and in subtle and ineffable ways that’s also why you’re wonderful. I feel stronger knowing that my old man somehow lives in me. And I carry him, and his loss.
No, not easier. Just different. I’ve also experienced a more drawn-out farewell and while the grieving started before the death, the death still hit with full force. You might think you’re prepared for it, but it’s not always the case.
Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts. Beautifully articulated, as always. And so kind.
Such a beautiful post. Again. I think I would have hurled the clay at the wall. I hate exercises like that. When my Nan died I felt completely numb for so long. I didn’t cry at all even though she was a huge part of my life and I loved her and missed her so much. Then I look back and realise I internalised my grief – which I’m sure is totally unhealthy. I lost vast amounts of weight and took to smoking nearly a pack a day. Grief manifests in so many different ways. #TeamIBOT
SO SO SO SO many different ways. I’m not a hurler. Well, I wasn’t. If I was tasked with something similar now, perhaps I would throw it! (Also, not related to grief, but I now know that I don’t visualise things. I’m not someone who gets upset when characters in movies don’t match their descriptions in books, because I’ve never picture the character anyway. Well, except Tom Cruise as Jack Reacher. Just. Ugh.)
This has me in tears. I’ll come back to write something more coherent but for now- I get it xx
Thank you x
What a beautiful piece, to reflect on your Dad. I lost my Dad when I was 18, along with my older brother. I write about them and the experience of seeing them die regularly, it’s just part of who I am. On my wedding day in 2007, our wedding photographer, who was a friend of my husband, discovered that I had ordered button hole flowers for Dad and Grant, and taken them to leave on their graves. She told me “Your family has got to get over it!”. She didn’t even know us! People are strange.
I agree with you, there’s no wrong or right way to grieve, we all do it differently. It never goes away completely.
Your family has got to get over it? I will never understand sentiments like that. I will never ‘get over’ my dad’s death. I’ve simply learned to live with it. I think it’s beautiful that you did that. x
Just wonderful and perfect. Loved this piece, Em x
Thanks, Kristi – means a lot x
Em this is wonderful. Everyone does grief differently and this should be ok. I learnt the hard way when my girlfriends baby died at 4mths. I had never experienced the pain I witnessed and the pain I felt. But it was another friend that seemed OK with it all. I was angry with her for not feeling ( or showing ) this pain. I was wrong
Thank you Nat. It is different for everyone, and different every time as well. Then the taboo around expressing these sorts of feelings adds to it. Such a minefield.
Loved this Em, perfectly written, straight from the heart x
What a lovely comment. Thank you so much.
Such a powerful post Em and I cannot add to your messages other than to say “we all do grief our own way”. May I be so bold to say how much pride I believe your dad would have in his beautiful and gifted daughter. Much respect & love, Denyse xx
GAH. Denyse! Dagnammit. I didn’t cry while writing this post, but you’ve made me well up. Thank you.
Bless xxx
Beautiful post Em. I would have been a total loss at what to do with the clay too. Because, like you my Dad is my world. Isn’t Denyse’s comment lovely xx
Thank you, Claire. And yes – Denyse is too, too kind.
This is really powerful, thank you for sharing. Yes I have grieved wrong, several times. It was until I had to help my children through their grief that I finally understood that their is no wrong. A long and painful journey though.
There is no wrong. Too true. My grandfather died the year before last, and he had dementia. I learnt that you can start grieving before someone has died. But the death still hits you hard, even when you think you’re prepared for it.
Beautifully written and heartfelt, Em. I had tears while reading this. I’m sending you a big fat virtual hug right now xx
Thank you. Virtually hugging you right back!
My grief over my baby who died when he was only 2 weeks old looked very different to some of the other loss mums I came to know. For a long time I thought that meant I was going to slide down a huge grief hole at some point and not be able to emerge. That didn’t happen and although my grief seemed gentler than what other people in similar situations experienced I learned to accept that it didn’t mean I loved my son any less.
Oh, Robyna. To carry guilt around on top of your grief? Awful. Hugs to you. I’m glad you’ve accepted that your grief simply looked different. x
This is really beautiful Em and I’m so sorry for you feeling like you were grieving wrongly. I wanted to reach into that group program with a teenage you and hug you and tell you that it was Ok for you to cry, or not to cry, to make something with clay, or not to know what to make, to not to know how to feel, to know only the certainty of your love for your father and his for you and to not care about when anyone else thought. I’m lucky to have both my parents alive and I can only understand the ‘not knowing how to grieve’ in the context of our infertility journey and pregnancy loss. I know there was no formula then and I don’t think there ever would be when it comes to grieving.
No formula. I like that phrasing. Despite the books and the stages and the blah blah blah, I think you’re absolutely right.
I think grief is the hardest human emotion to deal with because it is different for everyone, and like you say, everyone has different expectations not only about how they might handle it, but also how other people will perceive they’re handling it. Your Dad would be very proud of you and I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to feel sad or consumed by his passing for the long term.
Yep. There are as many ways to grieve as there are people to the power of people in the world.
And thank you. What a lovely thing to say.
For years after my Grandmother died I would see her in crowds. Of course I didn’t actually see her, just lots of old ladies that had curly hair and for a split second my brain told me it was her. I almost hugged one of these old ladies before my brain caught up and reminded me that Grandma was gone. It was the most horrible mix of emotions, absolute joy at seeing her again, followed by the same overwhelming feeling of sadness and loss I felt when she first died. Even now, 15 years later I can be doing the most mundane thing and just be bowled over by a thought of her and it can ruin my mood for the whole day. I miss her so much, and I actually cry more now about it than I did when she died. I think I was the only one in the church who wasn’t crying at her funeral. I was too numb. Too angry after the initial shock of it had worn off.
Grief is a really weird thing and I think it’s also a unique thing for every person too, not only for you as a person, but the grief you feel for different people and situations is unique as well.
Great post, Em, thank you for writing it xx
Oh, this was me too. I saw and heard dad everywhere. Or saw his ute. (Which I actually DID see after it was sold, which made things more interesting.) Thanks for your comment, Kylie.
A few weeks ago my therapist told me that grief is a lifelong process and for some reason it completely put me at ease. I realize I had been trying to rush grief and get it over with. I felt better, and worse, knowing I have a long way to go. But mostly better. Xo
That IS both mortifying and comforting. Thanks, Dawn. I honestly believe you never ‘get over’ the loss of someone important in your life. You just adapt.
I don’t think there is a right way to grieve but if you think you are grieving wrongly it might be time for professional help? Sometimes though, it can be hard to see through the grief to appreciate you need help and that’s when words from a trusted friend or your GP might need to come into play.
I know personally, I’ve been grieving about my health diagnosis/prognosis and have been stuck in the denial stage for longer than I should. Time to seek some help.
Thanks Raychael. I no longer think I’m doing grief ‘wrong’ – nor that I ever did get it ‘wrong’. It’s just interesting that we feel these pressures to, for want of a better word, perform grief in a way that others find acceptable.
My workmates thought I was weird when I took 3 weeks off after finding out my mum died – because we hadn’t spoken in nearly 20 years. I was a wreck, because any hope of reconciliation was buried forever along with her body. Despite our estrangement SHE WAS STILL MY MUM and I really wish people had realised that!!!
Oh, wow. People need to butt out of other people’s grief. Unless invited, in which case, just BE THERE. Hugs to you.
I can so relate to this post Em. My dad died when I was 10 and he would be 61 this year if he was alive. For the first few months after he died I convinced myself he’d faked his death and had gone to live in Mexico {no idea why it was Mexico specifically but it made sense at the time}. I still think my brain hasn’t processed it properly 21 years later. I think I just got used to him not being around. I still have random moments where I see someone who looks similar to him {or at least what he used to look like} and my heart stops and I get butterflies thinking he’s come back. Even though I know he never will. I think grieving is also very different for those who lose loved ones when young and when you lose loved ones at an older age. I’ve lost other relatives at older ages and I know they’re not coming back and I’ve processed that a lot quicker and easier. Although perhaps its just because he was my dad, not because of my age. Who knows really. Oh and I also went back to school 3 days after he died, but I remember thinking why is everyone acting like everything is normal when my whole life has changed.
My brother plays in the band my dad used to play in. Sometimes, mid-gig, he looks down at the guitar a certain way and it hits me in the chest. My son also looks quite a lot like my dad. Which is beautiful, and I’m so glad, but it also hits me unexpectedly sometimes.
My nanna died about 7.5 years ago, while I was pregnant. I lived in Sydney and she was in Victoria, and my dad told me don’t come to the funeral (because he didn’t think I should fly) so I didn’t.
I really should have. I wasn’t full term, I could have got on a plane, because not going to a funeral meant she really really didn’t seem like she could be dead. And we’d had about 10 years of “prepare yourself” so it just felt like she was going to pull through and be fine.
So I didn’t cry, for years. Because she was still just pottering around in her little house in my mind and I was always going to call her because I hadn’t for a while.
I was also so angry that I’d told my partner, and he told his sister and his sister told their mum, and so the next weekend we went to visit and my mother in law said she’s so sorry for my loss etc. As you do. But I was so angry that they’d talked about her, because she’s mine, not theirs. (quietly, like I thanked them and didn’t say much else)
Oh, that’s so hard. Hugs to you. While I’m sure your dad meant only the best for you, it sounds like you’re still upset about that. x
Family member’s funeral 5 days ago now. There are no rules on right or wrong…
My sympathies to you and your family, Annette. No right, wrong, allowed, forbidden. x
You’re right, everyone grieves differently and we all need to respect that. I also don’t think you can force feelings, you just need to let them unfold naturally. I’m sorry for your loss Em, thankyou for sharing.
Thank you, Sarah. Agreed – feelings will happen or not. You can’t force them to appear or to recede.
My mother-in-law died nearly 17 years ago. Some days I feel like that was yesterday, and other days it’s hard to remember what she looked like. There’s always a part of our family that is missing because of her death.
I learnt a few things about grief during that season of our lives that have been such deep and important lessons:
1. Everyone grieves differently, because everyone is different and had different relationships with the deceased.
2. You can’t put your expectations about how other people ‘should’ behave onto other people. It just causes strain and disappointment. You can only be responsible for how YOU behave and react.
3. Grief takes as long as it takes. My MIL used to say that you need to let yourself feel all the things you need to feel, and then make sure you don’t just let yourself sit there and get stuck. You need to move forward, but don’t ignore those emotions!
As a family, my in-laws fell apart after Mum’s death. She was the glue that kept us all going and it took a LONG time for the family to be anything close to cohesive again.
Thank you for sharing, Tracy. So sorry for your loss. Totally agree with all of your points. x
Beautiful piece Em x My dad passed away earlier this year so my grief if still very raw. The busyness of life keeps me going but little reminders will bring out the tears, and often. Everyone deals with their grief in different ways and there’s nothing wrong with that. I don’t think I will ever completely heal but I move on because I have to, because I know it is what my dad would want and I know he’s always around. His legacy lives on through us.
I’m so sorry, Erika. Tears will come, absolutely. Thank you for sharing. x
Sometimes I feel like I’m too ok that Dad died, not even six months ago. That I should be sadder, or struggling more or not coping or something.
And then other times it hits me like a brick and I find myself crying in the weirdest places because of course I miss him. How could I not? He was my dad and he drove me nuts and I sometimes felt like I had to overachieve to please him, but he loved me. He loved me in all the ways that he knew how and I miss that love.
I miss him.
But I’m also just like him and know that death happens, and it is what it is, and he would act in just the same way I do, which somehow makes it better and worse all at once.
I don’t really know what I was setting out to say there, but thank you for writing this. Thanks for not making grief weird.
Thank you for understanding why I wrote this. Let’s make grief unweird. Let’s untaboo grief.
I hear you. If it’s any consolation, I think that those ‘hit me like a brick’ moments hit everyone, even those who don’t feel that they’re ‘too ok’ with grief. x
Oh Em, a beautiful piece. I totslly agree. There is no right way to grieve, and sometimes it’s a never ending process. I still am going through the grieving process for my mum. Thinking i shoukd have grieved more quickly, differently, more emotionally, grief for my mum will always be with me and that’s ok.
I hear you. You cried too much/didn’t cry enough, you don’t talk about her enough/talk about her too much, you forget this or that story at the funeral. So many shoulds, and everyone has a different opinion. We just need to let grief be grief.
Darling girl, this was beautiful. My heart goes out to you xxx
Thank you xx
This post is so well written Em. Loved reading every word of it. Grieving is different for everyone and I don’t think there is a right or wrong way to grieve. But I know that this post will resonate with those that question if they are grieving wrong. Sending hugs for this sad time of year. xx
Thanks Bec. If this post makes one person feel less ‘wrong’ about their grief, then I’m happy it’s out in the world.
I’m new to your blog Emily, but I agree with all your fellow readers – this post is so well written and you express your experiences and feelings so thoughtfully and beautifully! Grief is a tricky topic to tackle and a brave one as people do unfortunately have ‘opinions’ about how one ‘should’ grieve. Good on you for advocating so well for all who grieve. “Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break”. Shakespeare, Macbeth.
Welcome, Bronwyn! Thank you for visiting the blog. It’s a heavy one to be introduced too – thank you for your words and for that beautiful quote. Bill was a genius.
An exceptional post, Em. Thought-provoking on every level and written like the best kind of song. x
What a lovely, lovely comment. Thank you. x
Beautiful piece and I can’t imagine dealing with that at a young age. My grandmother whom I was super close to passed away when I was about 9. We didn’t go to the funeral because Dad thought we were too little, to this day he says it is his big regret. I didn’t cry then but a few years ago she came to me in a dream and said she was with me and it was all going to be okay. I woke up bawling for the first time about her death, aged 33.
Oh, your poor dad. I’m sure he thought he was doing the right thing. I wonder what decision I would make in that instance. I was 12 when my dad passed away, and my brother was 10. I don’t think our younger cousins came to his funeral. But to be honest, I can’t really remember details like that from that day.
This has broken my heart. Thank you for this little insight into your grief. This is a really important post and should be shared far and wide, cos I guarantee you’re not alone in this. x
Thank you, Lisa. Another kind comment. I’m feeling blessed by the response to this post so far.
Beautifully written Em, and thank you for talking about something that’s so hard to talk about. Grief is a crazy little buggar that sneaks up on you. I often question why the world is full of criminals and hateful people yet beautiful loved ones are taken too soon. My Dad and grandparents are grieved for some days more than others. A little memory will trigger me off. If anything grief has taught me to love hard, and play today not just tomorrow xx
Yes, some days are harder than others. And not always the ones you think will be. The anniversaries and birthdays can fly past, while a day with back-to-back favourite songs on the radio becomes a sob fest.
I haven’t yet lost someone that close to me. I do miss my maternal grandfather but weirdly, because I wasn’t around when he died in 2006, I still feel like he’s there somewhere. I don’t think there’s a right or wrong way to grieve. I have had some people tell clients of mine that they shouldn’t feel a certain way or stuff like they didn’t know their dead parent anyway so why are they grieving. It makes me so angry because it’s so invalidating for the young person.
Thank you for sharing your grief story…I don’t think there was a right or wrong way to do the clay task but it must put a lot of pressure on young people!
Oh, that would be hard. And I dislike the word ‘should’ when it comes to grief. I don’t think there’s a place for it. (Is that ironic? Or hypocritical? Because I could word that as, “You should never use the word ‘should.'” Whoops.)
Beautiful post Em – thank you. Although I haven’t experienced the loss of a close family member, I can still relate. In my case it’s been a case of feeling bad for being too upset, as though I really had no right to be grieving over the loss of that friend from high school who I hadn’t seen for years, or at the loss of my cousin last year, because we always lived in different countries anyway and weren’t in regular contact. I felt as though my grief was somehow inappropriate, shameful and taking something away from those with “real” grief over those losses. All these layers of extra emotional burden we put on ourselves…very unhelpful!!
I hear you. I attended the funeral of a friend’s father a few years ago. I’d never even met him, but spent the rest of the day feeling his loss. And not on behalf of my friend, or thinking in terms of my friend, but really just grieving the passing of someone I only knew through a eulogy. I felt silly, but I think you have to give yourself permission to feel these things.
Years after her passing I still thought about one of my best friends every day. It’s a funny thing. We are about 15 years down the track now and I can finally think back with a wistful smile and only a little bit of onion-eye. Grief is a strange thing. Beautiful post x
Thanks for the comment, Mel. The hurt and anger and pain can overtake the memories and the love, sometimes.
This is a beautiful post. So very true too.
My father died when I was 23 and all these years later, I still get shocked by his ‘return’ on occasion. I do the same with my grandmother who died when I was 13.
Earlier this year, I grieved for my own life after a medical diagnosis. That was intense and very horrifying on a new level.
There’s no right or wrong way to grieve. I was judged on my grief process for my father when I was 23, by certain family members. I still have not forgotten their behavior to this day. Grieve how it feels right for you.
Some moments are just always going to hit with force, aren’t they? And I’m so sorry. I can empathise. I have grieved for my own health and also for the natural birth experience, but at least I had time to grieve long before children were on the horizon.
What a beautiful post, Em. I don’t think there is a wrong way to do grief, because the right way is our own way and for each of us it will be different. That said, 20 years on every time the phone rings, I still think it’s my nana x
It’s like Pavlov’s dog, isn’t it? For me, now, it’s usually certain songs that my dad’s band performed. I hear it on the radio and I hear his voice and guitar-playing instead. I can even see him sticking his tongue out during complicated riffs.
Thank you for this lovely and helpful post. I totally agree that you can’t grieve wrong! Everyone grieves differently and at a different rate. There is no right and wrong way to grieve.
Thank you, Ingrid. A lovely thing to say.
Beautifully written post Em. Can’t believe people feel obligated to tell others how to grieve, no doubt it usually comes from a place of trying to be helpful, however misguided. But grief is so intensely personal and everyone has different ways of coping… or
I agree – it (usually) comes from a genuine place of wanting to be helpful. The ‘it’s okay to cry’ statement, for example. That person genuinely thought I was holding back the tears so as not to make them feel uncomfortable.
Lovely post Em and I’m the sort of person who would normally worry about not doing ‘anything’ right but strangely I don’t worry about that on the ‘grief’ front. Well, grief as it relates to death I guess.
My father died 4yrs ago and I still miss him every day. I can’t think of his last days without crying and I dream of him often. But… I don’t expect anyone else to remember him or grieve for him in the way i do. I know my mum goes through waves of grief and misses him dreadfully after 48yrs of marriage. I’m sure my brother misses him.
I suspect I felt some grief over not having a child and think that’s a bit different – something i felt I should have gotten over. Many of my friends don’t get that and haven’t had a lot of sympathy. Even I kinda think it’s my fault I didn’t fall in love and settle down in my 20s or 30s. Or even my early 40s. I think I feel I’m not allowed to grieve if it’s something I caused myself.
‘Grief as it relates to death’ – excellent point. We can grieve for things and experiences too, can’t we?
And I’m sorry both for your grief for not having children, and the lack of sympathy. I don’t see it as ‘your fault’ at all. Hugs to you. x
Emily, that is so beautifully written. I haven’t had a close family member die, but I have my in laws. And watching the my husband and his four siblings grieve very differently (let alone my feeling and those of the other in laws, friends, etc, etc) – you realise: there is no right way, other than being true to you. What a lovely man he must have been xx
Thank you, Helen. Appreciate the comment.
And yes, he really was. x
Great post Em. A few years ago, all 4 of my grandparents passed away within a few years of each other. Cancer, dementia. I think being a nurse made me feel more comfortable with grief but in the older generation it is easier to farewell them as they have lived full lives. When it is a younger person or someone taken suddenly from you then it is harder to wrap your head around it all. Big hugs xx
Thank you, Lisa. All so close together – that must have been difficult, even if there were aspects of it that made you more comfortable. Hugs to you.