A Tiny Ode to Grief
How long is too long to grieve? Is there a time frame? What happens when you try to go through the five stages of grief but get stuck somewhere along the way to acceptance?
And is it still grieving if you’re not actively sad, you’ve just gotten used to living with the empty space that once was filled with someone you loved, with someone you still love? Is it still grief when what it feels more like is loss that you’ve just gotten used to? Loss as a way of life. Is there a different word for this? Grieving seems so active, but what I’m talking about feels more involuntary, like breathing, or the heart’s automatic beating. When does grieving morph from a season and into a way of life?
Sixteen years ago this month, I lost my Dad to cancer. It wasn’t unexpected, what with him having fought against the crime that started in his kidney before it quietly migrated north, somehow sneaking past us all, even the professionals who are wise to cancer’s tricky ways.
I miss him every single day. I will never stop missing him, or feeling as though I still grieve for him. Honestly, I hope I never stop grieving him. Because I don’t want to live in a world where I’m over him, where I’m okay living without him. He was just too big of a presence, and his absence is blatant still, all these years later.
Elisabeth Kübler-Ross’ classic five stages of grief are: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Looking again, I don’t think I’m stuck in denial/anger/bargaining/depression. The occasional side quests with melancholy? Yes. But stuck in the fourth stage, thankfully no.
Often while grieving, well-meaning and loving people encourage you to move on, and to feel grateful for the time you had together. Sensible words offered in empathy and kindness, but fraught with pressure, connected to an unspoken deadline. What if we re-framed our relationship to grieving; augmented our mindset toward it all. What if we learn to live with grief, maybe forever, setting it down occasionally but never walking away from it completely. What if the norm became to move forward instead of moving on, moving away, moving past?
Living with grief daily but in the absence of actual sadness (mostly); acknowledging loss but still going forward, welcoming the joyful milestones of life, even celebrating them, but understanding that the shadow of your missing person dances always at the edge.
I suppose there is a word for that after all: acceptance.
Welcome to Letters from Along the Way, where you’ll find personal essays and narrative nonfiction written from the heart about life’s beautiful ordinaries, and also, its imperfections.
I write personal essays about the things that most put a stitch in my heart: the big feelings that come with motherhood and empty-nesting, the long term melancholy over losing my dad, the constant pursuit of happiness and gratitude, the inevitable hardships of anxiety, worry, and grief.
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