Adrift in A Sea of Grief

Adrift in A Sea of Grief

I am adrift in an endless sea of grief.

As I float along, the world continues to go on around me as if I am walking among the bustling crowds. But my feet haven’t touched dry land since September 30, 2009. The day my 4-year-old daughter drowned, I was unwillingly thrust into this watery journey.

Without warning — and in a matter of moments — my daughter’s sudden death unleashed a monstrous tsunami of indescribable pain. It was so huge and so dense, it blocked out the light of the sun. In complete darkness, it crashed down upon me and destroyed life as I knew it. Then the undertow dragged me kicking and screaming out to the middle of a deep sea of grief where a violent storm of emotions raged around me.

For months on end, the giant waves of grief would crash over me and shove my body under the water where I choked on anguish and despair.

Then the undercurrent of that same wave would spit me back out. Forcing me to tread water until the next waves of emotions pummeled my weakened body. It felt endless and torturous.

I thought many times it would be easier if the water would take my own life in the way it took my daughter’s. But for some unknown reason to my wearied mind, my body just continued to go through the motions and fight for survival.

Without really knowing how, my flailing hands began grabbing lifelines that had been thrown my way. These were lifelines of love and support from family and friends. They came from grief counselors and other bereaved parents. Parents who had already learned how to survive in this very same storm, and whose compassion inspired them to reach out and help others through this treacherous journey on the sea of grief.

Buoyed by their love and support, I began weaving these lifelines together to build a makeshift raft. One that could give my aching body a rest from the constant struggle to stay afloat.

As my raft of support took shape, the waves seemed to come a little less often and didn’t feel quite as intense.

Of course, they still came. And when they did, they still crashed over me and left me feeling horrible and defenseless. Yet, despite my continued pain, my body was able to start the healing process now that I had a raft to cling to.

I slowly started healing. And I began to focus my growing energy towards weaving together more lifelines into a bigger and stronger vessel. One that could better protect me from the stormy sea. I discovered that the more I shared my feelings with those willing to listen, the longer and more plentiful my lifelines became. And it provided more material to build with.

As my raft began transforming into a sturdier vessel of support, I got better at understanding how to navigate the waves of emotions in ways that didn’t feel so debilitating as before.

I began to see that trying to steer clear of the waves altogether only made them more dangerous and damaging. Every time I tried to outrun the wave, I ended up getting caught in the wave’s impact zone. Meaning, the place where it has the most power to pull me under and hold me within the churning currents coming from every direction. This is where grief is the most intense and agonizing.

So instead of trying to avoid the waves altogether, I decided to learn to ride them as a surfer does. I embraced the understanding that these waves of emotions were temporary moments of time that would eventually end.

Over and over again, I practiced finding my balance to ride across the tube of each wave. The place where the water was smoother and had less chance of pulling me under.

It wasn’t easy; learning anything new and outside your comfort zone can be difficult and challenging. But when you keep trying, you learn new techniques through trial and error. And eventually, you get better at it.

Once I became better at surfing the waves of emotions, I was able to ride them to a place on the sea of grief where the storm didn’t constantly rage.

In calmer water, I looked for the land I was taken from. I still desperately wanted to go back there and return to everything I once knew.

But as I scanned the endless horizon, I came to understand that the loss of a child is so profound, there is no going back.

All we can do as bereaved parents is set a new course. We must go to uncharted waters where we must learn to exist in a world without the children we lost.

These days, the water I float on is mostly calm. I’ve learned to appreciate that there is an abundance of beauty and love in this new world I live in. My boat is now large and sturdy, and I can steer it in any direction I want.

Over time, I’ve been able to find water shallow enough where I can touch and walk along the sandy bottom and easily interact with the world of dry land. Even if it is within the confines of the sea of grief.

Unfortunately, no matter how far I’ve come and how many new positive experiences I can create, I always feel the water as it continually blows across my face and body. It is a constant reminder that I will never leave the sea of grief.

Most days the wind that blows the water is a gentle breeze. Other times, a storm begins to brew. The wind grows stronger, and the pain of the stinging, salty water becomes more noticeable and intense. Some storms are predictable each year. Like the time leading up to the anniversary of my daughter’s death. But mostly the storms are random and unexpected.

I can’t keep the storms from coming or completely navigate away from them. But I can sail through them knowing they are only moments in time. And just as they have a beginning, they always have an end.

As I sail along this sea of grief, I will continue to throw lifelines out to those I come across just starting out on their difficult journeys. Thankfully, I’ve come to a point in time where I have plenty to spare.

For those of you reading this who are treading water in the constant waves of emotions, know that you are not alone. You’ll learn to build your own vessel. You’ll find your way to calmer waters. And if you only look, you’ll find plenty of others to help and guide you on your way.

5 Basic Truths That Can Help You Through Grief

5 Basic Truths That Can Help You Through Grief

Grief is universal.

Just as you cannot avoid death, you also cannot avoid grief.

Sooner or later, it will find you. In fact, it may find you so many times, you could start feeling that life is just a series of grief-filled losses.

Some episodes of grief seem a bit easier to rebound from than others. Maybe you got laid off from a job you loved, only to have it open the door to one that is even more fulfilling. Or when a romantic relationship that once seemed like it would last forever devolves into one of irrevocable hurt and disappointment. You can learn from what went wrong and look for a new one that better fits your innermost needs.

Other episodes of grief can be so deep and so painful, they become downright debilitating. Often, they make you rethink and reevaluate everything you thought you once knew about life itself.

This level of grief often happens as a result of the death of someone so cherished and integral to your life that you can’t imagine life without them.

And if you’re anything like me… it is certainly one of the deepest forms of grief you will ever feel and one of the hardest you will ever have to work through.

While there is no universal timetable or sequence of how we deal with grief as individuals, there are plenty of common themes and reactions to grief that everyone seems to experience.

There are also some universal truths about grief — and life itself — that have the ability to help anyone work through the pain of grief.

Based on my own experience and hearing from countless others who have lost a loved one, here are some of the basic truths that have helped me and many others work through the devastation of debilitating grief.

Truth #1: You cannot change what has already happened.

Unlike many things and situations in our life and world, death is permanent. Unchanging. And so is the past. Despite our science-fiction fantasies, there are no time-traveling machines that can take you back to undo what has already been done.

This truth seems obvious. But when you’re in the depths of your deepest, darkest grief… logic has a habit of taking a back seat to wishful thinking.

No matter how hard or how long you try, there are no amount of “what if” scenarios you can run through your head to go back in time and make different choices, take different actions, or say what needed to be said.

And yet… nothing you read here is going to keep you from doing this hopeless exercise if you feel compelled to do so (and so many of us do). It is only once you exhaust yourself of the seemingly endless catalogue of “what if” scenarios in your head, you are able to choose to let it go and move one more (productive) step forward in your journey of grief.

Truth #2: The only moment you have any control over is right now.

This is really an extension of Truth #1, but it is so important, it’s worth going into more detail.

Even when we’re not grieving, so many of us get caught up in the trap of trying to control everything and everyone around us. We do it in the name of trying to control our lives down to every last detail. It seems to be human nature to feel that control = safety; lack of control = danger, stress and anxiety.

But reality is not so straightforward and simple.

It is true that we feel more secure when our environments are seemingly under (our) control. But the reality is that all of the time and effort we put into trying to control what is not ours to control is a HUGE source of stress and anxiety in our lives.

We’ve already covered that you can’t change the past. It is out of our control. We also know that we can’t control the future…. or can we? We can INFLUENCE the future through our current thoughts and actions, but we can never control it. Because it hasn’t happened yet. And because it hasn’t happened, it is inherently out of our control.

What is in our control is this moment, and this moment alone. And even in that moment, we are limited to what we can control: OUR thoughts and OUR actions.

Not those of your kids or your spouse. Not those of your parents, boss, coworkers, friends, or random strangers around you. You can influence them to be sure, but you cannot control them. They are not yours to control.

So when you are suffering and feeling completely out of control in grief (and life), here’s what you CAN control…

You can focus your thoughts and attention on THIS moment. You can close your eyes. You can take a deep breath — or as many as you need. You can pay attention to what you are feeling — emotionally and physically. You can remind yourself that what you are feeling is not permanent. You can decide what specific action you want to take right now that may influence a change to what you’re feeling in the next moment.

Maybe that action is to write about what you are feeling in your journal. Call someone who you know who will listen (and not judge or offer advice). Take a walk outside. Hit some pillows. Allow yourself a cleansing deep cry. Do something kind for yourself. Whatever you choose to do, it is the one thing you can control at this very moment.

All of this takes practice. It is not a quick fix. And it will not prevent any future moments of painful or uncomfortable feelings. Which brings us to…

Truth #3: Whatever you’re feeling at any given moment is what you’re supposed to be feeling.

There is no script or manual for what you should feel in grief. Or in life for that matter. Feelings are your (very personal) reactions to your thoughts. And I’ll say it again: whatever you’re feeling at any given moment is what you’re supposed to be feeling.

Why? Because you ARE feeling it. So you might as well accept and honor it.

Sadness. Anger. Rage. Despair. Guilt. Helplessness. Hopelessness. Whatever you are feeling at this — or any — moment is your REALITY.

The very definition of “reality” is, “the world or the state of things as they actually exist, as opposed to an idealistic or notional idea of them.”

Just remind yourself it will not last.

Of course, plenty of people can (and will) tell you how they think you should feel. When people get frustrated or tired with your seemingly endless grief-filled feelings that make them uncomfortable, they will make it known they no longer want you to feel those feelings. Some will feel entitled to bluntly say it to your face; others will try to change the subject and ignore your feelings; and some will drop out of your life completely.

Which brings us to…

Truth #4: Your relationships with others will change.  

This truth is a result of basic cause and effect. Your relationships change because YOU have fundamentally changed. As I said earlier, grief on this level makes you rethink and reevaluate everything you thought you once knew about life itself. And when your basic life perspectives change, you change with them.

And not everyone is going to like that change in you.

In the early stages of intense grief, existing relationships with those around you usually take one of three paths: 1) they grow deeper and stronger, 2) they become strained and problematic, or 3) they become estranged or end completely.

Remember Truth #2 and the part about you have no control over what other people think and do? You can certainly influence your relationships by what you say and do… but you cannot control their thoughts and actions. And many times, in the wake of a significant loss, their thoughts and actions are going to feel hurtful.

So if someone doesn’t support you in the way you think they should (or wish they would); if someone you care deeply about falls out of your life because they can’t handle the intense grief; if someone is downright nasty and verbally abusive… you don’t have much (if any) control over it.

There’s usually only a few things you can do…

If someone means well but doesn’t support you in the way you want or need, you can explain what you need by giving realistic examples. If someone is hurtful and doesn’t feel the need to change their behavior, you can distance yourself from them (in hopes that eventually you can re-engage…or not). If someone drops out of your life, you can try to reconnect when your intense grief has softened some.

And the reality is, you’ll most likely make new friends with people who have experienced the same level of loss as you. These new friends will be a welcomed source of comfort and understanding.

Truth #5: You’ll survive this.

Most of us have heard this famous quote from A. A. Milne’s Winnie-the-Pooh:

“You’re braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.”

But you may not have heard the larger quote it is a part of:

“If ever there is tomorrow when we’re not together… there is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we’re apart… I’ll always be with you.”

I can’t think of a more wonderful quote for someone who is grieving the loss of a loved one. And it is the absolute truth.

For anyone who is in the deepest, darkest depths of grief, you need to look to others who have been where you are to see that just like them, you will brave the horrible feelings and thoughts; you will find an inner strength you never knew you had; and you will come out of this with a new level of hard-earned knowledge and wisdom.

. . . Have another truth to add to this list? You can share it with others by adding it in a comment to this post.

Renaming the Stages of Grief

Renaming the Stages of Grief

Chances are, you’ve heard of the stages of grief. Dr. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross introduced them in her 1969 book, “On Death and Dying.” The stages are:

Denial
Anger
Bargaining
Depression
Acceptance

Breaking grief down into defined segments that have a clear beginning and end is a very nice idea. This way, you would know when you’re done with one stage and when to move onto the next. You would follow this progression until you’ve accepted your loved one’s death. Then you could come to peace with it.

The problem is, reality isn’t so simple most of the time.

There is a common misconception about the stages of grief.

I talked to a psychologist who specialized in end-of-life and grief counseling after my 4-year-old daughter’s sudden death in 2009. I asked about the stages of grief. She said she had studied under Dr. Kübler-Ross when she was younger, and explained there is a common misunderstanding about the stages of grief.

Dr. Kübler-Ross used the stages to describe the similar experiences of many terminally ill people facing their impending deaths. The stages were not in reference to someone who had lost a loved one. However, grief from losing a loved one shares very similar emotional responses. So the stages of grief became widely assigned both to people who were dying and those they ultimately left behind.

Most explanations of the stages of grief now include the caveat that grief is a unique journey and many people don’t experience these stages in a prescribed order. It is also pointed out that some people may never experience all five stages.

Instead of a roadmap, these “stages” might be more accurately described as “reactions” to grief.

They should be used to help us understand common emotions experienced on the journey of grief.

But the problem with words is they can carry different meanings to different people based on personal experience. The five stages didn’t resonate with me because my definition of those words didn’t match what I was experiencing.

So I set out to change the existing words into ones that better describe the common experiences shared by those who’ve lost a loved one.

Devastation replaces Denial.

Initially, a terminally ill patient might deny the validity of their diagnosis. After all, we continually hear feel-good stories of people who beat the odds. We hear stories of misdiagnoses or people who are miraculously cured by alternative treatments. So it would be expected that a person’s instinctual survival mode would kick in and convince themselves that they will be one of the lucky ones. Because the alternative is too scary to accept.

The pain is overwhelming in the immediate aftermath of a loved one’s death. So much so, it is impossible to comprehend how you can survive it.

You cannot wrap your mind around how you will go on living in a world that no longer includes your loved one. The word that best describes how I felt during this time was complete and utter devastation.

Just like the denial of a terminally ill person, your mind can pretend the death didn’t really happen in an attempt to avoid the pain. You might continually expect them to walk through the door, or be on the other end of the phone when it rings. Or you might keep telling yourself that this has to be a nightmare you’ll soon wake up from.

While some people never experience these illusions, for others it can go on for months or even years. But unlike a terminally ill patient who is told of a future probability that hasn’t happened yet – and therefore is not absolute – you cannot change the fact that your loved one died. You are simply trying to avoid the devastating pain that comes with that reality.

Anger is still Anger, but also Avoidance.

There is no denying that you are bound to experience some amount of anger with any kind of loss. You may be angry if you feel your loved one’s death was avoidable. Especially if it was at the hands of someone else. You might be angry at God or yourself. Some become angry at family and friends for saying unhelpful (or even hurtful) things. Or because they’re not supporting you in the way you want them to. Others may even be angry at their loved one for dying.

Many people often become angry at the simple fact that the rest of the world continues to go on as if nothing happened.

You are angry at a world that doesn’t seem to acknowledge or care that you just lost one of the most important people in your life. And you can’t figure out how you’re possibly going to live without them.

I’ve heard anger can be your mind’s way of deflecting other, more vulnerable emotions you don’t want to feel. Emotions like fear, shame, guilt, or helplessness. Or a pain so deep and intense, you have not developed the emotional tools you need to deal with it.

Anger, on the other hand, is familiar. It is a primal defense against external threats.

Yet anger isn’t meant to be prolonged or a tool for avoidance. You shouldn’t deny your anger, yet you shouldn’t let it keep you from learning how to better understand and then deal with all of those scarier, more vulnerable emotions.

Bargaining is replaced by “What if…?”

I understand how a terminally ill person would feel compelled to try to change the prognosis by making a deal with God or the universe. But we don’t have any bargaining power if our loved one has already died. Instead, many people find themselves replaying the events that led up to their loved one’s death.

We do this in a futile attempt to re-engineer and alter the outcome.

The bargaining of a terminally ill person is replaced by, “What if…?”

What if they had gone to the doctor sooner, or understood the warning signs for what they were instead of brushing them aside? What if they hadn’t gone on that fateful trip, or went on a different day? There are endless variations of decisions we could have made and actions we could have taken.

Many of us go through this heart-wrenching exercise for weeks or months on end. It becomes a desperate attempt to regain the previously held illusion that we are in control over what happens to us in our lives.

But try as we might, all of these “What if…?” scenarios only end in feelings of regret, helplessness, guilt, or misery. The sooner we decide to stop asking, “What if…,” the sooner we are able to begin the slow journey of tending to our broken hearts.

Overwhelmed replaces Depression.

Read a list of the symptoms of depression when you’ve recently lost someone dear to you, and you’ll likely identify with most of them. However, I’ve heard some psychologists and grief counselors argue that instead of calling it clinical depression, it is simply our natural response to such a significant loss. It includes feelings of sadness, emptiness, and hopelessness. It causes complete and utter exhaustion, sore muscles, loss of appetite or mindless eating. Grief can cause severe insomnia or feeling the urge to escape a painful reality with constant sleep. It can even bring feelings of wanting to end your life; thinking it is the only way you’ll ever escape the unrelenting pain.

Regardless of whatever you or others want to call it, it is completely overwhelming.

Problem can occur when the overwhelming feelings and emotions interfere with your ability to go back to work or go about your daily life. Some people choose to take medication. Others oppose it. Regardless of what you decide is best for you, the important thing to remember is that what you are experiencing is a normal reaction to such a devastating loss.

In my personal experience, it is important that you be patient with yourself and allow all of these feelings to wash over you in order to process them and eventually let them go. The more you try to repress them, the longer they will stay.

Acceptance becomes Healing.

In the case of a terminally ill patient, the idea of acceptance is to stop fighting and find a way to come to peace with the inevitable reality of impending death. I can imagine this is the most difficult step of all. And some may never reach it. Similarly, some who have lost a loved one – a child in particular – may never come to “accept” the death. To many, acceptance often implies agreement or approval. To others, acceptance may imply severing ties to a past we cannot let go of.

Acceptance doesn’t have to mean any of this.

In the case of losing a loved one, acceptance may simply mark the moment we are ready to begin our journey of healing.

Our loved one is dead; we can’t change that. Instead, we have two choices. First, we can choose to stay wrapped up in a security blanket of misery. Why? Some feel it is the strongest, most palpable connection we have left to our loved one. It may feel as though we would be betraying or diminishing our love for them if we were to ever be happy in a world without them. I have been there myself, and place no judgment on those who are not ready to leave that world.

When you are ready, you can choose to begin to find a new way forward in a world that may not include our loved one, but continues to acknowledge and incorporate the deep, profound love we still feel – and always will. We can choose to embrace the overwhelming pain and learn from it. We can learn to allow joy and happiness back into our lives. And ultimately, we can choose to heal.

Those are my choices for new words to replace the traditional “stages” of grief. If those don’t resonate with you, then replace them with ones that do. Ultimately, the stages – or reactions – of grief are only there to let you know you’re not alone in this journey.

Wishing you peace.

Grieving a Future I’ll Never Have

Grieving a Future I’ll Never Have

When grief is new, it is excruciating and overwhelming. Many people get stuck in a quicksand of pain that is so thick and intense, it feels impossible to escape. You can’t imagine how you’ll survive as you struggle through those first few days, weeks, and months.

And yet you do survive. Despite all odds, you wake up each morning. Your body still functions. You find a way to quietly camoflauge yourself within with the “normal” world around you. You learn to live one day at a time. One moment at a time when the day is particularly hard.

Slowly – and painfully – you begin to acclimate to a world without your loved one in it. You do it because you have no other choice.

Over five years after the death of my 4-year-old daughter, Margareta, I’ve acclimated as best I can. I’ve continually faced and dealt with those painful feelings and emotions using every tool I can think of. Writing about my grief helps immensely. I go to grief support groups and talk to a grief counselor when I feel the need to. I talk about Margareta with those who want to hear. I’ve come to terms with the impossible reality that she is gone and never coming back.

My grief over my daughter’s death will never go away. Ask any grieving parent and they’ll tell you the same.

We’ll never “get over it.” What we have to do is accept it and learn how to live life despite of it. I’ve heard some bereaved parents don’t like using the word acceptance. That is because they associate the notion of accepting their child’s death with being okay with their child’s death. But you can accept the reality of something without ever being happy about it; without ever being okay with it. You can’t change the past, so you might as well accept it in order to begin to be able to heal from the devastation you find yourself in.

I have healed a lot over the years. The open, oozing, excruciating wound of my broken heart has since scabbed over. I’ll always have the painful scar that reminds me throughout every day that my daughter isn’t here. It’s that constant reminder that is the hardest for me now.

I’m grieving a future I’ll never have. I’m reminded every day of what could have been, but can never be.

I’m grieving lost hopes and dreams. And the loss of my only daughter and the mother-daughter relationship I only had a glimpse of. Instead of the intense, searing pain of early grief, it has transformed into a dull ache I’ll never escape from.

I don’t think I’ll ever feel fully at ease with this constant ache. I’ll always miss my daughter. I’ll always regret that I didn’t get to watch her grow. But I’m dedicated to learning how to live a happy, meaningful life despite of it. I do this in her honor and in the honor of my other children, husband, and family. I do it because I didn’t physically die when she did.

In her four short years, my daughter lived life to the fullest – full of love, honesty and without fear. It is now my goal in life to do the same. I know she would have wanted it that way.

You’re Not Alone In Your Grief

You’re Not Alone In Your Grief

If you’ve lost someone who meant more than life itself to you

You’re not alone

If you can’t believe they’re gone
or think they’ll walk through the door at any moment
or they’ll be on the other end of the phone when it rings
or you can’t bring yourself to delete them from your phone contacts

You’re not alone

If you can’t fathom how you’re going to go on living
yet you inexplicably wake up every morning
and somehow go back to work because you have to
and can’t understand how the world can just go on like it was before they died

You’re not alone

If you’re angry at your god or the world
and can’t stand hearing people laugh
and don’t think you’ll ever be able to be happy again
and bite your cheeks to keep from smiling at something funny
because you think if you are anything other than miserable it is a betrayal of your loved one

You’re not alone

If you sob uncontrollably
and make those around you uncomfortable
or can’t cry at all and wish you could
or cry over things that aren’t sad and have nothing to do with your grief

You’re not alone

If you feel like you’re going crazy
and think things like how cold and wet they must be at the cemetery when it rains
and can’t seem to remember simple things anymore
and hear their voice when you know they’re not there

You’re not alone

If you feel so exhausted you can barely stand
and every muscle in your body is sore
and your heart literally aches
and feel nauseated
and either can’t sleep or can’t stay awake

You’re not alone

If you feel isolated and alone
and completely misunderstood
and feel like you no longer relate to your family and friends
and even lose some relationships you thought would last forever

You’re not alone

If you feel like you’re losing all hope
and feel like life is not worth living anymore
and have thoughts about ending your own life

Please reach out for help
because you’re not alone

While your loss is unique to you
others have experienced similar losses
and similar thoughts and reactions
and made it through those impossible early days of grief
and learned how to be happy once more
and learned how to live a meaningful life
and are here to support you on this journey

Because you’re never alone
and people care about you