We’re at the end of our blog series on grief.  I hope you come away with tools to help yourself and support others during the journey that grief takes us on.  I encourage you to bookmark the blogs or print them out, so you can refer back should you ever need to.  That’s the thing about grief.  It’s a journey we go on many times throughout our lives, and each time we learn more about ourselves and just how strong we are.

Why is it so important, this business of attending to your grief?

Because as with any unfinished business, if you don’t, you won’t be able to live fully.

 The holidays are an opportunity for you to tend to your heart.  Are you actively doing things to help yourself and others?  Are you decorating, cooking, getting the tree, giving?  This can be a challenging time of year to manage grief.

Trust that you’ve got this. 

Feelings will come up again, not just at Christmas, but maybe when it’s the time of year you had a loss, an anniversary, or even a memory.  It’s all part of the process.  Over this series of blogs, you’ve learned that experiencing feelings just means it’s time to pay attention - and to feel those feelings.  Letting go of some of the pain.  Then, when you can, connect with positive parts of the relationship or experience.  By remembering and connecting with the feeling of loss, you honor your loved one, or the experience, without being weighed down by the pain.  If it feels too soon for that, too hard to see, it’s okay.  It will come.

How to support others after a loss. 

Many people struggle to support others during their time of grieving.  This stems from an overall challenge people have talking about grief or being around grief: whether it’s their own or someone else’s.  We’ve all felt, or witnessed, the discomfort that shows up at a time when someone wants to be helpful.  “I don’t know what to say.” “I don’t want to go to the funeral.  I never know what to do at them”— said by pretty life-competent, sociable people.

I’ve had the idea to write a brochure called The Stupid Things People Say After A Loss, Even Though They Mean Well.  Like “At least she was older and had a full life,” “You must be relieved.  He was sick for so long”.  Or “God needed another angel.” People actually say that when a child dies… their way of making sense of what doesn’t make any sense at all - the unfairness and the tragedy.  Understandable, yet often unhelpful.  Meet the people you’re trying to support where they are,  listening for them to say those words before you do.

Notice if you’re evaluating how someone is coping with a loss with your own measuring stick.  There’s a tendency to weigh one type of loss over another, which can leave you judgmental.  Rather than supportive as you want to be.  We all have expectations for how grief goes, right?  You see this in the U.S. in company policies: 1 or 2 personal days for a grandparent’s death, 3 for a sibling, a few weeks for a spouse.  A whole two weeks!  Which often puts a person back to work while they’re still numb from shock, just in time for the deep pain to arrive. 

Here’s an example of how our expectations can get in the way of helping.  My friend died at 25 in an accident.  His fiancée was left, not getting to have their dream life together, no chance to say goodbye while he was alive.  At his wake, I asked a relative how she was doing.  Their reply was, “She’s not handling it very well.”  That she was having trouble sleeping and eating.  Not handling it very well?  She was handling it like a trooper.  One person’s “not handling it well” is another person’s “handling it with great strength.”  I noticed a seat next to her remained empty for some time.  Likely, many of us assumed it was reserved for someone.  I learned it wasn’t.  I wonder if it just felt too hard for people to go to her.  I sat with her for a bit; her pain was palpable and understandable.  That was my first lesson in the value of being present, willing to be with the grieving.  I get it; it can feel uncomfortable being near that pain.  Yet often, that’s all the person needs from you.  You don’t have to know the right thing to say or do.  All you need to do is be willing and brave enough to be with them.  And if you’re not sure what to do, just ask.

On keeping your heart open. 

A part of our grieving isn’t about the sadness or loss of that person, pet, role, a chapter of life, etc.; it’s around the perception that a loss of life is the loss of love.  But loss does not diminish our ability to love.  It can feel that way at first, yet it isn’t true, like wondering if you can be happy again.  You can, and you will if you are willing to keep your heart open to love.  Marianne Williamson describes this capacity to love eloquently in her book A Return To Love.

Take a grief break.

Thorough grieving takes time and can be tiring physically and emotionally. We’re not meant to endure continuous pain for extended periods.  It’s not good for us.  No one can feel sad all day, every day for weeks or months on end.  It wears us down, sapping us of energy.  There may come a time when you need a break.  Yet the thought of that makes some people feel uncomfortable, even guilty.  I think that’s because somehow people have it wired that if they feel some happiness, that means they’re forgetting, or not honoring, their loved one, which isn’t so.  Deciding to have a brief respite doesn’t diminish your love or your relationship. 

To help you do this, you might imagine your loved one and what they would say to you.  They may be kinder than you are to yourself.  What do you hear? “It’s okay to let yourself laugh, feel joy, be silly.  You doing that doesn’t take away one bit from how much you love me.  I know you miss me.  I know you hurt.  I know there’s a space in your heart where I will always be.” 

Can you love yourself enough to have a happy moment?  Maybe even a day.  If someone invites you to do something, take them up on it.  It’s not only okay: it’s responsible and wise.

Remember…

Work your grief, or it will work you.

Grief works in mysterious ways.

Your feelings are a call to action.

One who grieves alone does not grieve well.

Letting go (of the pain) honors everyone involved.

Healing with intention will bring you to the day when the thought of what was lost to you brings more smiles than tears.

Previously,  I talked about the possibility of creating a new relationship, one that goes beyond the physical.  This can help you experience the comfort and beauty of what endures, with that person, or that experience.  Not on what has been lost.  I chose this reading for you with that in mind.  As you read, if you feel like you’re “not there” yet, not to worry.  Keep working your grief.  You’ll get there.

I Am a Thousand Winds by Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there; I do not sleep

I am a thousand winds that blow

I am the diamond glints on snow

I am the sunlight on ripened grain

I am the gentle autumn rain

When you awaken in the morning’s hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight

I am the soft stars that shine at night

Do not stand at my grave and cry

I am not there

I did not die