Navigating Grief the Happiness Way
This week I said my final good-bye to my brother Doug.
Doug was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis almost two decades ago. His journey was long, frustrating, and very painful. Like most people who watch their loved one in extended distress, I feel a sense of relief that he is no longer suffering. But his death seems to have jumpstarted my own “suffering.”
In these initial days and weeks after my brother’s death, there are moments when my difficult emotions are so intense that I can’t imagine how I’ll get through the loss. How can I survive without my only sibling, my beloved brother, my first friend? How can I proceed with life while having such a giant hole in my heart?
Every little memory seems to open up my grief wider. Might my grief open so wide that I’ll fall into a deep crevasse of sadness from which I can never return?
When my father died (I was 15 at the time), I didn’t know anything about grief. I just knew that I was sad that he was gone. When my mom died fifteen years later, I still didn’t know much about grief but I at least I had learned how to say good-bye to her.1 Over the years, I experienced the loss of my grandparents, a couple of uncles, and several beloved pets. With each loss, I learned a little more about grief and I began realizing that, for me at least, there was a process that was somewhat predictable.
With my brother’s death, I’m in the midst of this harrowing process. Predictable though it is, easy it is not. There are lots of tears. There is some guilt. There are painful regrets. At times it does feel that I’ll be consumed by my grief.
But that is only a feeling. Logically, I know that intense grief is a temporary condition. The tsunami of grief always subsides eventually. But for the moment, that is the only tidbit of sanity I have to hold on to.
I’ve spoken with lots of folks recently who are in the midst of their own grief storm. My heart, opened more widely by my own grief, wonders what advice I might give to others who are experiencing loss, as well.
From my own losses, I have learned what works to bring myself a measure of peace and comfort, at least in these early, tender days after a loss:
When the difficult emotions hit, let them be. Feel them. Honor them. Thank them. Your intense emotions can be a reminder of how blessed you were to have had this person in your life. At its core, grief is just love — albeit felt in an unfamiliar and unwelcome way.
Take people up on their offer to help. These people don’t even have to be close to you. They might even be total strangers. Take them up on their offers to bring you food, run errands, or just sit with you. Anyone with an open heart can be present and relieve the intensity of the present moment’s grief.
Grief resolves in its own time. Trust the process and know that it has an end. Don’t worry about when the “end” is. Just continue to feel what comes up and one day you’ll realize that you’ve smiled or laughed or otherwise noticed that the grief actually isn’t endless.
In my own case, I’m doing all of the above and one more: I’m also looking forward to the future. What brings me joy? What will I do now that I’m not consumed by thoughts of my brother’s illness? Who do I want to hang out with that will help me to heal and to move forward?
I may not feel like doing these things today, but even just thinking about singing, playing my flutes, or tending my garden makes my heart feel more alive. When I think about the people (and plants) I’ll be sharing these activities with, I feel even more hopeful.
The key to grieving healthily, I believe, is to find that balance between honoring our difficult emotions and looking toward our healing. It’s OK to cry or show emotion when the grief wells up. It’s also OK to move forward and feel joy when the crack of light opens again.
I know that Doug would want me to proceed joyfully without him and that’s what I intend to do. But I also think he would understand if I have a few more tears to shed.
Love and loss are intimately intertwined and to be fully alive, we must be able to suffer the pain of loss as readily as we embrace the joy of love.
In my case, I said “I love you” and hugged my mom every time I saw her, not knowing when the last time would be. I also bought her gifts when I could. Most importantly, I lovingly let her go on her own terms, even though they were not the terms I preferred.