Grief part 2

In the beginning, grief is a fog; a thick, dense, and never ending barrier between you and the world as you once knew it. At one point you figured it would lift, as fog tends to do, but after days and then weeks spent under its heavy cloak, you begin to wonder if it’s become a part of your everyday life. In those moments, you might have thought, “All I want is to feel better,” because you want to feel normal, whatever that may mean to you. Yet the simplicity of a ‘normal’ existence seems unfathomable. Impossible even.

Then one day you look around and realize you can see a little further in front of you, things are more colorful, and they’re coming into clarity. The days start getting a little bit easier, the nights a little more restful. The tears come a little less and things like laughter, joy, and gratitude are once again a part of your emotional repertoire. The smallest sliver of light cuts into the dark and you realize that this must be what ‘healing from grief’ looks like. You also realize, that progress doesn’t feel as sweet as you imagined.

“Something feels off,” you say to yourself. “I should feel better about feeling better.”
Grief is funny, you know? You desperately want it to go away, except for sometimes when you don’t want it to go away.

Over the course of time, it seems, love has gotten all mixed up with pain and grief. You realize your pain has become the expression of love lost; the way you honor your loved one; the one consistent link between life with them and life without them; and an element of proof that their life left an indelible mark on those they leave behind.

Apparently, while you were wishing the pain of grief away, it turned into something else entirely. Maybe, in some ways, grief has even come to define you in the context of life after loss. Who are you if you are not someone grieving the loss of someone very special? And who are they if you are not here, in life, holding vigil for them?

If you are grappling with any of these thoughts or concerns, you are not the only one. These sorts of feelings come over many people and they might look a little something like this:

I feel okay today, this must mean I am forgetting my loved one!!

My suffering is a sign of how much my loved one meant to me. If I’m not suffering my love for them must be diminishing!

If I stop feeling the deep pain of grief it is a sign life can move on without my loved one and I just won’t let that be true.

I knew how to be a daughter and I know how to be a grieving daughter, but I don’t know how to be a daughter who has good days and is moving forward.

The only thing that keeps me connected to my loved one and keeps their memory alive is the deep pain of my grief. Any little piece of that grief that disappears is another piece of my loved one disappearing.
These feelings are oh-so-common, I promise. It is common to feel extremely conflicted about feeling better and, although it may not seem rational, it is also common to gravitate towards the pain. When it feels like the alternative to feeling pain is losing connection to your loved one, what other choice do you have?