The Lonely Griever
Some of my closest friends came to me with their grief over the years, and I looked at them and saw the same person I’d always known. I held their hands and listened to them speak, but their faces were the same, and so were their clothes. I didn’t know that underneath, inside, they were unrecognisable - even to themselves.
Since the loss of my brother in September, I have been discovering a world which I was blissfully ignorant of just six months ago. Since then, I’ve felt isolated from those that haven’t felt the complete earthquake that is loss. I’m seeking, searching, for people who can tell me with certainty that what I’m feeling is okay and normal and everything will be fine soon. But no matter how many strangers I connect with through grief over zoom on a Monday night, or articles I pour over with desperate eyes, I can’t get the reassurance I need. If this is you, too, I’m here to hold your hand with complete understanding.
There is no right way to grieve and this is the most important message I can tell you. Even if you’ve heard this before, try to believe it. It’s easy to feel shame at your sadness, irritability, anxiety - particularly if other people seem to be coping with their grief in a softer, more palatable way - but treat yourself with kindness where you can. Even in my own family, where we’re basically the same flesh and bones, as close as can be, we’re taking different roads in bereavement. Similarly, there may be days - weeks, even - where the person you’ve lost barely causes a stir in your mind. Don’t feel guilty for this; it does not define your relationship with them.
I won’t pretend I’ve got this under control. I am merely a passenger on a boat in a rough, cold sea, and occasionally the captain asks me which direction I’d like to head in, with no guarantee they’ll take me that way. But nevertheless, I am slap bang in the middle of that ocean with no coastline in sight and I have been for a while now, and I’ve picked up some wisdom and experiences which I’m sharing in the hope that at best it helps, or you at least feel seen for a second.
Some (maybe most) of the important people in your life will let you down. But look at the ones that are lifting you up!
I spent so much time being angry at the people that weren’t there for me, or who stopped checking in, that I forgot to show gratitude for the angels that were nurturing me.
It is almost guaranteed that you will feel let down by some of the people you love. And actually, how can you expect people to understand? I know with certainty that my friends that have felt loss will have felt let down by me in the past. I didn’t know the nuances - the loss of confidence, the guilt, the pain at past memories lost and future memories absent. My housemate and best friend has not once let me down in my grief and I can’t believe I spent so much time wrapped in anger at other friends rather than appreciating the cups of tea, hugs, and time she has given me.
It’s probably grief…
My periods have been ferocious, the anxiety I’ve been soothing for years has had a growth spurt, I’m so fatigued that my eyes itch after a full eight hours. I’ve been to the doctors, taken pregnancy tests, swallowed multi-vitamins religiously and (briefly) given up caffeine in failed attempts to understand why my body is rejecting me. Spoiler! It’s all grief!
The physical side effects of grief are enormous and something I had no idea about. The Marie Curie website lists oversensitivity to noise, aches and pains, and a lack of energy as just some of the symptoms you might experience.
Relationships of any kind are HARD
My patience has diminished and sometimes I want everyone to leave me alone. Other days I’m desperate for people to message me and make plans. What works for me one day is completely wrong the next, which can make me very hard to be around. I expend so much energy on being professional and productive at work that by the time I’m around my friends and family, my battery is at one bar.
It’s important that I work on this but, also, I can’t purely blame myself. It’s not an excuse but it is a reason.
I have a new respect for strangers and family members alike for the strength they’re showing as they continue to walk through life in the face of grief. I am aware now, more than ever before, that people are striving to find the sun in each day even when the clouds are low and black. I truly cannot believe how resilient we all are.
If you’re reading this, and you too have lost someone, I know you’re familiar with the stomach stumbles and sudden racing heart that springs from somewhere hidden to stop you in your tracks; that make you look backwards even when you don’t have the time to do anything but keep moving forward. Your happiest moments since have been cut short, made brief, by memories of your lost loved one which lurch out of the darkness to surprise you. There doesn’t seem to be an appropriate time in the day to sit with these thoughts, so you keep squashing them back and promising to deal with them later - an annoying task which you procrastinate in favour of cleaning your whole room and probably even the rooms of everyone you know. It’s a box which, if opened, takes hours to seal closed again and leaves you exhausted. So when do you suggest I open that box? If it’s so important to?
But peel back the lid at your own pace. Slowly remove the brown tape and reveal the contents with a deep breath and perhaps a helping hand. Sit in the mess or put the pieces into piles. It hurts in that visceral, brutal way and it can be confusing and frustrating, so take your time and before long we’ll see the coastline.
