What is grief?

I lost two loved ones this spring within a span of five weeks. One was my grandfather, and one was a very close friend. They played different roles in my life, but they were both needed very much. I spent a great deal of time with each of these people in my thirtysomething years... and yet I don't think these two people were ever in the same place at the same time, let alone MET.

When my grandmother died, some twelve years ago now, I could not be there for the funeral. "You spent time with her while she was alive," my mother said, "and that's most important." I believed her, and yet I still felt this weight of... expectation. I remember experiencing waves of guilt, thinking back to the week she died. Should I have put myself in seclusion the day of the funeral, my own way of mourning, since I couldn't be there? Was I a worthless person because I could smile at someone else while she lay cold in a casket? I couldn't figure out what it was I was SUPPOSED to be doing. What was a grieving granddaughter supposed to look like? How much time had to go by before I could laugh or say her name? So many questions I never really found answers to...

When my dear friend died this April, I'd been mourning for about a week before then. We'd all been told that it wouldn't be long now, and I struggled with guilt for being so far away. I was angry over all the things we never got to do together, the conversations that wouldn't happen anymore. But I knew that there was no getting better for my friend, and I knew how painful the present was. So my friend's death actually brought me more... relief, I suppose. I grieved and wept more during my friend's dying than because of my friend's death.

After the funeral, one of my friends remarked that "you cannot judge how people grieve," meaning that we cannot put expectations and rules on people about their behavior when they lose someone. The statement was an unexpected gift to me. I'd been stressed about what I was supposed to be doing and feeling, rather than just letting myself experience grief in whatever form it took. I could tell stories about the people I'd lost and laugh at the memories without feeling guilty. I could take a moment to bawl privately in the car, weeks after the burial, and know that it was okay. I could just...be.

When my grandfather died, a scant few weeks after my friend's burial, I almost felt... prepared. I'd never wish back-to-back funerals on anyone, and it certainly wasn't the way I wanted my life to be. "Can I catch a breath, God? I haven't wrapped my head around my first loss yet." But at the same time, with all the struggling, thinking, and grieving I'd already been doing, my coping skills were already warmed up. I could use what extra energy I had left to handle the drama of my family without worrying about how I was feeling or reminding myself that denial just leads to bad indigestion and monster headaches. I could wear my heart on my sleeve if I chose, or I could crack jokes with my uncle about the clothes some people wear to visitations. I finally understood that there wasn't an expiration date on my grace period for grieving. God would be there with me, whenever, wherever. I didn't have to explain myself to anybody. I could just...be.

As always, the only lessons I've ever truly learned have been through experience. I can read books about handling loss, I can do my empathetic best to listen to someone who's grieving and try to understand...but I'd never have gained this development of who I am without this spring, my own season of loss.

There is no coming to life without pain. --Carl Jung