In Mourning
Reflections on Tragedy, Grief, and “The After” Life
When you’re younger nobody tells you the people you love are going to die.
I’m not talking about the old age, long life, years and years of memories kind of death. But the sudden. Tragic. Unexpected. Taken from us too young with so much potential kind of death. The fucking heartbreaking kind that you never fully heal from. I haven’t properly grieved from three very sudden and tragic losses of life. So I’m working through this in a public space because writing is about all I want and can do right now besides cry.
As a disclaimer: I’m not certified in any of this, but I’m writing from the heart as someone who is currently working through a tidal wave of grief. If you’re here because you’re in mourning, I’m not sure if this will help, but at the very least I hope you know you’re not alone.
I vividly remember my first experiences with death. I was young. Middle school aged. Both of them were my great grandmothers. They were 86 and 91. One was an open casket (perhaps both of them were). I remember being sad because everyone around me was sad, but this kind of death I understood.
You are born. You live. You grow old. And then one day you die.
People gather to celebrate your long, happy, healthy life. They wear black. There’s a casket and a cemetery or a decorative urn. The perfume of floral arrangements coats your nostrils for weeks making it impossible not to choke up when you pass by a florist on the street. There is sadness and tears, of course, but there’s an obvious acceptance that this is just the way things go.
This kind of death I’ve always been okay with.
The natural end to a life well lived.
Then there’s the other kind of death. The kind you’re never ready for. The unexpected kind that tears a black hole through your heart and sucks you into a parallel universe of nothingness.
Living to the ripe old age of 80 is celebratory.
50 years on this earth is criminal.
Anything under 30 is a fucking tragedy.
I’m writing, here, about the tragedies.
When you’re in middle and high school, no one tells you people your age, your peers, are going to die before they reach their 30’s. They don’t tell you it will be someone (or five someones) from your core group of friends or a relative just shy of their 21st birthday or your first boyfriend or a kid you used to smoke bowls and skate around the campus with.
Why weren’t we warned about this?
This.
The first call you get (or text or fucking Facebook notification). How it knocks the wind out of you. How your world is literally flipped upside down in an instant.
This.
How in that split second, a foreigner, often referred to as grief, invades every facet of your life and consumes every thought and dictates your every move.
This.
How you wish you never trashed your old cell phones because they contain dozens of texts and voicemails and pictures you’ll never receive or see or replicate again.
This.
When your dreams become better than your reality. Because in your dreams this person is still warm and tangible and their laughter is as clear and audible as the moment it was first preserved in your mind. You force yourself to keep dreaming because it’s easier to go back to sleep than face the day and carry the weight of their loss in your heavy heart.
This.
Waking up for months in fits of suffocation because your nightmares of living without this person are your real, actual life.
This.
You live out your days constantly detached from reality. Some days you forget how to feel and then others you can’t help do anything but feel.
This.
The guilt you experience in your happiest moments because your burdened heart knows the person you love will never have these milestones for themselves. So you call their old phone number or send them a message that will never be read or whisper your prayer into the wind in hopes it will land somewhere among the cosmos and reach the remnants of their radiant energy.
THIS.
Suicide.
Cancer.
Car accidents.
Freak accidents.
Natural causes.
Unnatural causes.
Guess what? Cause of death doesn’t fucking matter.
It’s still the theft of a precious life. One that made this world brighter. One that deserved more time. It doesn’t matter how it happened.
It should never have happened.
Grief and the Four Reminders
Grief is a sneaky invader. How we handle our grief can often be a coin toss.
Some days I’m on the stronger side of mourning, finding beauty and inspiration in the love that I carry for the people I have lost. Others, I’m paralyzed by the sorrow, guilt, or anger of it all. Some days I can listen to the songs or read their favorite books. Others, I have to hide literally everything to prevent myself from crying. Some days I feel like I have the whole grief thing figured out, and then I handle my grief in the worst of ways and I’m back at square one.
I have to repeat these points to myself often so I’m putting them here as worthy reminders:
- Your grief matters.
Whatever range of emotions you are experiencing, every single one of them is valid. You don’t have to get over it already or suck it up or move on. Your grief is not a sign of weakness. It is a measurement of the depths of your love. - Don’t compare your grief to others.
I know I’m not alone in this, but so many times I felt like I didn’t belong at someone’s funeral because there were people there who were closer to that person than me. Or who loved that person more than me. I’m sorry, but fuck that. Your grief is not their grief and vice versa. A parent’s anguish is different than a spouse’s. A sibling’s grief is different than that of a close friend. What matters, what actually matters, is you loved this person and they enhanced your life in some way. Pay your last respects to the people you love and have lost. You’ll forever regret not being there. - Don’t hold the actions of others against them when they are grieving.
It’s common for people in mourning to lash out in anger or frustration. Trust that these emotions are driven by grief. They are speaking from a dark place and it has nothing to do with you. - Make space for your grief.
There is no right way to grieve, but I recognize the importance. When I say make space, I mean give yourself the opportunity to grieve properly. This can be physical, mental, or emotional. If being around others causes deeper anxiety. Make space. If you feel like running away from these emotions, I promise they will rear their ugly heads later. Make space as they come and work through them as you can. Make space for the people in your life and be present for them in their mourning. It’s also important to make space for yourself and others for grieving on birthdays, anniversaries, and during the holidays. Lean in to each other in those moments. Though you may be grieving in your own ways, for your own reasons, you don’t have to grieve alone.
Navigating “The After” Life
I’m still struggling to figure out what the after life looks like.
Not the afterlife of where we go when we die.
But “the after” life.
The one where you pick up the fragments of your shattered heart and do your damnedest to carry forward without your person.
Your lobster. Your pillar. Your soulmate.
There’s nothing pleasant about “the after” life. It’s one of the hardest realities we are forced to wake up to every day. Again, I don’t have all the answers and I’m not certified in any of this, but this is what I’m doing to make “the after” life one that is worth living.
1. Practice transparency.
Even with the messy bits. It’s not worth pretending everything is peachy if you feel like you are existing in a permanent state of unraveling. Too often we project a perfect persona and it’s just not reality. You don’t have to live with your heart on your sleeve or blast your problems on social channels. Try responding truthfully instead of the default of greatness when someone asks, “How are you?”
2. Make self care your priority.
It can be something as simple as getting outside for some fresh air and a little bit of sunshine. Maintaining a healthy diet makes a difference, too. What we put into our bodies matters. Especially as we age. Grieving is emotionally draining and you’ll need as much energy as possible to get through these moments. Your mental health is equally as important as your physical health. Don’t let any one tell you otherwise.
3. Find your truth and live that truth. Every. Single. Day.
Do it for the people you have lost who will never have the opportunity to do it for themselves.
4. Take more photos.
And for the love of god, PRINT THEM. Between Shutterstock’s unlimited prints on their app and SnapFish’s annual penny print sale you literally have no excuse. You’ll wish you had a shoebox stored somewhere with what you deemed in the past as “junk”. It’s not junk. It’s a piece of these people you will never be able to get back. It’s never too late to start your shoebox.
5. Don’t be afraid to ask for help.
I know coping mechanisms vary from person to person, but internalizing tragedy doesn’t help. Reach out to someone. Anyone. It’s not a sign of weakness. The people in your life want to help. If you’re not comfortable reaching out to people you know, there are thousands of hotlines available with genuine humans who are trained to help. A few of them are below:
- Crisis Call Center
800–273–8255 or text ANSWER to 839863 - Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors (TAPS)
800–959–TAPS (8277) - National Mental Health Association Hotline
800–273–TALK (8255)
6. Tell people you love them.
Even if they never say it back. Never let someone you care about go through this life questioning if you ever cared about them. Say I love you even if you’re in a fight. Say it as many times as you possibly can because one day you will no longer have the chance.
7. It’s never too late to start.
To start being a better person. To start chasing after your dreams. To be kinder to others. To write that book. To buy that plane ticket. To say I’m sorry. To say I love you. To change mentalities. To bury bad habits. To take care of your body.
It doesn’t matter what it is or what your dreams may be, just start.
If you or a loved one is dealing with grief of any kind, I am so sorry for your loss. I wish I had the answers or could tell you it gets easier with time, but I don’t and it doesn’t. And that’s okay.
Instead I offer you two pieces of literature that were sent to me in my moments of grief and tragedy.
This one was written by Sheryl Sandberg after her husband passed away tragically. She now has a book called Option B which I highly recommend:
The other was sent to me by a dear friend who passed away tragically eight months later. I’ve read her message a million times as it’s the only thing that reminds me of the beauty in our scars.
Had it not been for the both of them, both of these pieces, I don’t think I would have seen the other side of grief so soon. And I’m not even on the other side. I’m honestly in the thick of it right now. I ran away from mourning for so long it’s time for me to finally face these tragedies.
Though this has been a challenging piece to write, I’m also grateful I was finally able to put these thoughts and emotions into words. I’m thankful for being able to feel everything, even the not so manageable emotions. Most importantly though, I’m thankful to have loved at all. Love will carry me through this, no matter how much the loss continues to hurt.
