Morning all
I just wanted to write something as I had such a bad week with the grief process this week.
I lots my Mum last month I I’ve hit a real wall with feeling so very sad.
The loss feels so overwhelming
As I continue to try to work it’s so hard to see everyone going about their daily routines.
I just feel so low & empty .
Energy levels just so low.
This grief ride is so hard.
Is there any advice from anyone?
I know this is so different with each person
But it’s good to reach out to people feeling the same.
Love for now
Will
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So sorry for your loss Will. I hope you have family and friends there to support you.
I lost my wife last October so, I’m 24 weeks into my grief journey. These are some of the things I’ve learned about grief:
Grief obeys its own trajectory and there is no timetable for the feeling of pain after loss; nor is it possible to avoid suffering altogether. In fact, attempts to suppress or deny grief are just as likely to prolong the process, while also demanding additional emotional effort.
Grief is not a disorder, a disease, or a sign of weakness. It is an emotional, physical and spiritual necessity; it is the price you pay for loving someone. The only cure for grief is to grieve.
Grief is not linear. It’s not a slow progression forward toward healing. It’s a zigzag, a terrible back and forth motion from devastating to OK until finally there are more OK patches and fewer devastating ones.
I don’t know who wrote this piece “Grief comes on Waves” but it’s a very good description.
I’m old. What that means is that I’ve survived (so far) and a lot of people I’ve known and loved did not. I’ve lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mother, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbours, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can’t imagine the pain it must be to lose a child.
I wish I could say you get used to people dying. But I never did. I don’t want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don’t want it to “not matter”. I don’t want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life.
Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can’t see.
As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float and stay alive.
In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out but in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything and then the waves comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.
Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, Christmas or New Year. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, spluttering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.
Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.
I hope some of this helps. Take care.
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Dear Wilson
Thank you so much for your wonderful writing & words of wisdom.
I know this grief journey is so tough & individual.
But hearing your experience & understanding is helpful to read & take onboard.
I’m in my mid fifty’s & have a small family ( my Dad & brother ) I have no children, so our small family are all struggling with the loss .
But we are very close & supportive .
I have a lovely group of pals for support which helps too.
Again thank you for your words & writing which I appreciate you reaching out with.
All the very best
Love for now
Will.
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Wilson9, that is the best description of grief I have ever read. Thank you.
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You’re welcome Will.
David Kessler, the American grief specialist, may be of some help to you.
Try watching some of his videos on YouTube. I’m sure there is one on the loss of a parent. Well worth watching.
As the man said the waves of grief will never stop coming but you will survive them
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So sorry for your loss Whydidhedie.
David Kessler, the American grief specialist, may be of some help to you also.
Try watching some of his videos on YouTube. I’m sure there is one on the loss of a child. Well worth watching.
Words cannot adequately describe the pain you feel when you lose a loved one but this beautiful poem by Zoe Johansen comes pretty close.
Will you hold my hand for a little while?
I don’t need you to save me.
There’s no need for you to fix anything.
No need for you to hold my pain
But will you simply hold my hand?
I do not need your words or your thoughts.
Nor your shoulders to carry me.
But will you sit here for a while with me?
Whilst my tears they stream.
Whilst my heart it shatters.
Whilst my mind plays tricks on me.
Will you with your presence let me know that I am not alone, whilst I wander into my inner unknown?
For my darkness is mine to face.
My pain is mine to feel.
And my wounds are mine to heal.
But will you sit with me here, while I courageously show up for it all my dear?
For I am bright because of my darkness.
Beautiful because of my brokenness.
And strong due to my tender heart.
But will you take my hand lovingly, when I sometimes journey into the dark?
I don’t ask for you to take my darkness away.
I don’t expect for you to brighten my day.
And I don’t believe that you can mend my pain.
But I would surely love if you could sit for a while and hold my hand, until I find my way out of my shadowland!
So will you hold my hand until I return again?”
I hope you have family and friends there to support you through your grief journey.
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Thank you.