Grief and Relief

Have you ever felt relieved when someone you love died? Have you felt guilty or selfish because you experienced relief?

Feeling a sense of relief has nothing to do with the depth of love we have for the person who died. Nor does it have anything to do with the depth of our grief. Relief is most typically described as a feeling of relaxation following release from anxiety or distress. There aren’t many things in life as anxiety ridden and stressful as the anticipated or unexpected death of someone we love. And there aren’t many things more calming than the relaxation that comes with relief.

Relief often accompanies grief. For example, if our loved one had a life-ending illness, we may be relieved their suffering has ended. After a suicide death we may be relieved their long, hard battle with mental illness is over. When a loved one dies from addiction, we may feel a sense of relief that they no longer have to fight this terrible disease.

We may also feel a sense of our own relief. The event we dreaded has now happened. We no longer need to be on high alert. Maybe for the first time in months we have the freedom to make plans. Maybe for the first time in years we don’t have to worry about relapse or wonder if our loved one is safe. We may be relieved that the hours and hours of caregiving have ended.

If offered the choice, most of us would gladly take on all the worry, stress, and caregiving again if we could only have them back. We still love them and would be there for them for as long as they needed us. Whatever relief we may experience is overshadowed by the deep, painful grief we carry in their absence.

It’s important to understand that grief and relief often walk hand in hand. This is natural and normal It’s up to us to give ourselves the grace and space to experience both.

In Search of the Dash

On most tombstones and grave markers we find two dates – the deceased’s birthdate followed by the date of their death. The birthdate is typically a day of celebration as a new life comes into the world. It’s filled with promise and hope. The death date often elicits a moment of sorrow as it marks the end of a life. It’s filled with sadness and finality.

Grief work mainly focuses on the end date and how to rebuild life in the days that follow. Grief tends to draw attention to the tough, difficult moments that hold the memories and visuals of the closing of life. This season of grief provides the opportunity to process the loss of our loved one and to grieve in a healthy way.

Somewhere along the way the intensity of the pain begins to decrease allowing soothing, happy memories to resurface. Our loved one was so much more than a birthdate and a death date. The little dash holds the beauty and fullness of life they lived between their birth and death dates. That simple dash reveals the joy they brought us, the precious times we shared, and the meaning and purpose they fulfilled during their time on this earth.

The dash is hidden by our grief in the initial days and months following their death. As we grow in our grief, we begin the search for the dash. We want to remember all of who they were, not just the ending. We long to remember everything about them including the beautiful and hard times we shared with them.

As you continue your grief journey, hold on to the hope that the ending of your loved one’s life will become less vivid as you move closer to finding the dash.  When you finally find it, you’ll reclaim the joyful memories and the true essence of all they were. Until then, keep moving forward. The dash is just ahead.

My Grief through Dad's Alzheimer's

Anticipatory grief occurs when a loved one is given a life ending diagnosis or when we come to understand that they are declining and will not recover from any cause. It’s important to understand that this is a normal reaction to their anticipated death. We grieve for them long before they physically die. I experienced anticipatory grief when my father was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease. I share my story in the hope it will help someone who is on this difficult journey.

My dad was the best man I’ve ever known. He was honest, ethical, hardworking, humble, and so very caring. He was a big, fit man who was still walking three miles twice a day on his treadmill at age 75. He was very humble and quiet and always stayed in the background drawing no attention to himself. He was the rock of our family.

One of the things I admired most about Dad was his brilliant mind. When he began to have lapses of memory I attributed it to his advanced age. Before long, it became obvious that his cognitive issues were much more serious.

When he started repeating questions and telling me about the same things over and over again, I knew in my heart he had Alzheimer’s. When the doctor confirmed the diagnosis, it became very real. My dad looked the same, but he was becoming a very different person. I grieved the diagnosis and his decline.

I knew intellectually that I couldn’t stop the progression of the disease or save his life, but I tried. I realize now I felt as if I stood between my dad and death, and I fought his decline and death for a very long time. New medications, therapies, and cognitive exercises all failed. The first time he didn’t recognize me I sobbed my heart out. From this point on, the game plan changed. It was no longer about saving him. It was about salvaging as much of his dignity as possible and keeping him safe and comfortable. I grieved the death of the hope I had for slowing the progression and saving his life.

As he continued declining, I had to adjust my definition of dignity. He moved to a wheelchair and then diapers and then came the fetal position. My smart, strong dad transformed into an infant in a man’s weak, dying body. I grieved for him and all he had lost. And I grieved for me as I helplessly witnessed his decline.

When he died, I was relieved for him. He would have been mortified if he had known the state of his body and mind. I was also relieved for me because the battle and the constant surrender were finally over. I grieved my “Alzheimer’s dad” but I had difficulty remembering who he was before Alzheimer’s. Months later, the memories of my strong, brilliant dad began to resurface, and I found myself deeply grieving the dad I had known before this heartbreaking disease stole him from me. All of who he was came rushing back and I grieved him in a very different, much deeper way.

Through this difficult journey, I discovered how little control I actually have over most of what happens in my life. I learned to surrender this false sense of control and to respond as the unknown unfolds. I discovered that although love is strong, some things are stronger and cannot be changed by love. I learned how beautiful it is to return the love and care my dad had always shown me.

Life’s most important lessons often come through difficult times. I’m grateful for all I learned on this journey and for the best dad anyone could ask for.

A Lesson From The Elephants

Grievers often express the desire for someone to simply sit with them in silence. They grow weary of clichés and well-intended comments that are meant to help, but harm.

They don’t need advice. They don’t need a friend or family member to tell them about their own losses. They simply need the presence of compassionate people who are listening to understand, not respond. Believe it or not, we can learn a lot about how to walk alongside someone who is grieving from elephants.

Elephants demonstrate an exceptional level of emotional depth including a profound understanding of grief and loss. They form very strong bonds with their herd, and when a member dies, their behavior teaches us a lot about our own behavior as we support someone who has experienced the death of a loved one.

The most beautiful expression of the herd’s grief is the vigil they hold around the body of their deceased herd member. In one instance, a mother elephant was deeply grieving the death of her calf. The other elephants made a circle around the mother and her baby’s body and stood in silence for hours. They stood motionless as they joined the mother in her mourning. They didn’t make a sound. They stood in sacred silence. They surrounded the mother with love and empathy. They made sure she knew she wasn’t alone in her grief.

We often struggle to find the “right” words to say when in the presence of someone who is grieving. We never seem to find them because there are no “right” words. Often, we have a need to say something that we think might help, but grievers don’t have a need for words. They simply need family and friends to gather around them in sacred silence to assure them they are not alone.

Let’s remember the lesson from the elephants and go and do likewise.

The Crushing Power of Never, Always, and Forever

Have you ever thought about how powerful words are? They can build or destroy. They can motivate or deter. They can save or devastate. They can illuminate or darken.

We often think about the way our words impact others, but seldom realize how profoundly our own words affect us. Whether said aloud or silently spoken in our thoughts, words can change the course of our grief journey.

I’ve always been aware of how healthy or how harmful our words can be, but recently one of our support group members shared how they manage their grief through their choice of their internal and external language.

They explained they came to identify three words that held them hostage to their sorrow and, in fact, increased the depth of their grief. “I discovered that I was repeatedly using never, always and forever when processing my grief. I came to understand how devastating these words were in my grief journey.”

They continued to share they would often think, “I will never see him again. My life will never be the same. I will never get over this.” They explained the devastating impact of “always” as they would think, “I will always be alone. I will always remember his last days. I will always be this sad.” They shared the difficulty of “forever” thoughts. “This is how my life will be forever. Nothing will change because this will last forever.”

Once they realized the crushing power of these three words, they made a conscious decision to remove them from their vocabulary. When they came to mind, they quickly and intentionally stopped the thought and stayed in the present.

Grieving is hard enough without projecting into the future and clinging to the nevers, the always and the forevers. It is so important to stay in the present and take one day at a time. Managing grief on a daily basis is hard. Projecting into the future makes it even more difficult -- even to the point of feeling a sense of hopelessness. Our internal language is a huge part of moving forward in our grief.

Think about your own grief. What do you tell yourself? What messages do you give yourself? What words keep you hostage to your grief? What words help you move forward?

You have the power to manage and control your inner language. It’s up to you to be intentional with the words you tell yourself.

Getting Through the Holidays

Holidays are difficult when someone we love has died. The empty chair at the table, seeing families who are still complete and remembering holidays past magnify the absence of our loved one. Everyone else seems so joyful and full of the holiday spirit. We sometimes wonder if they even remember that we are grieving.

Grieving during the holidays is typically exhausting and overwhelming. We hope these simple suggestions help you make your way through this very hard time of year.

Acknowledge that you are sad and that this year is different. You are not going to be blissfully happy and filled with holiday cheer. You are grieving the loss of someone very special in your life. Grief doesn’t disappear on holidays. Give yourself permission to experience all of your feelings and to process all of your thoughts. Be aware that you may have grief bursts or grief tsunamis as the holidays magnify your loved one’s absence and you miss them even more. Remember to take good care of yourself. Rest. Spend time alone if you need it. Give yourself permission to cry, to laugh, to smile and to do whatever you need to do to get through the holidays.

Keep your expectations realistic. Keep holiday plans manageable and bite sized. Remember that the anticipation of the day is often more difficult than the actual holiday. Decide what you are going to do on the day. Keep it simple and remember you can change your mind depending on how you feel when the actual day arrives. Remember that it’s perfectly fine to get away for the holidays and to do something entirely different this year. It’s also perfectly fine to do nothing and ignore the holidays.

You don’t have to do it all even if you’ve always done it all. Ask others to take some of the responsibilities you have done in the past. You don’t have to accept invitations to gatherings, even virtual ones. Follow your heart and do only what you think you can manage. It’s helpful to practice responses in anticipation of invitations that you may choose to decline if you aren’t up to attending or if the host/ess pressures you to attend. You don’t have to give an immediate response. Simply say, “Thank you. Let me think about this.” You can also say, “Thank you. I’m not up to it this time, but please ask me again.”

If you do participate in a holiday event, have an exit plan. Before you go, decide how long you are going to stay and leave when you need to leave. You can always change your exit plan if needed.

Remember that just because you do something different this year doesn’t mean you’re going to do it this way the rest of your life. Remember that you have the opportunity to keep some traditions, put some traditions on hold, change some traditions or add new traditions.  

Remember you can honor your loved one by preparing their favorite dish, buying or making an ornament in their honor, lighting a candle, etc. You can share with family and friends that you are honoring your loved one or you can do it privately. It’s okay to buy a gift for your loved one. Remember that your need to get something for them is important. You know in your heart that they don’t need a gift, but you may have a need to buy one for them.

Be proud of yourself for making it through this very difficult time of year. Grief is hard. It’s not a question of “if” you can get through the holidays. You are already doing it.

Grace and Space

I often wish I could sit down with every person who experiences the death of a loved one and share two of the most important things they can gift themselves as they begin their grief journey. Although it may seem oversimplified, grace and space lay the foundation for healthy grief.

Grace is extremely underrated, but so very crucial. All too often, we are hard on ourselves because we think we have to live up to the expectations of others and mourn the way they think we should. Even more difficult is trying to live up to the expectations we have set for ourselves. Grief is a process, not an event. Slow down and take it one moment at a time.

Give yourself lots of grace as you walk through the wilderness of grief. Be gentle with yourself. Forgive yourself when you make mistakes. Try not to “should” on yourself. You did the best you could at the time you had to do it. Hindsight is so much wiser than the present. And please understand that you need to take care of yourself. You are not responsible for another’s grief, only for your own. Be as kind and forgiving to yourself as you are with others.

Space is the gift of slowing down and exhaling. Take the time to grieve and mourn. Don’t bow to the loving pressure of others to participate in events and activities when you need time alone. Solitude can be so very healing. Create the sacred space you need to remember, to mourn, and to slowly find hope again.

Give yourself space to take care of yourself. Although you may have always been everyone’s “go-to” person, you may be running on empty and have nothing to pull up to give to others.

One day, you’ll have the capacity to take care of those you love, but for now, focus on yourself.

Grace and space offer healing and solace on the journey. Embrace them both.

Be a Part of our Village

Working with children, teens and adults who are grieving the death of a loved one takes a village. Some of us work directly with our clients. Others work behind the scenes. Others provide financial support making it possible for us to continue our work. Did you know that our services are free of charge and that we rely on donations to keep our doors open?

North Texas Giving Day (NTXGD) is an 18-hour online event designed to empower every person to give back to their community by supporting local nonprofits and causes they care about in one easy-to-use platform. We are honored to be one of the approved nonprofits to participate in this amazing event. NTXGD actually happens on Thursday, September 21st, but donations can be given starting September 1st. Make your donation today.

When you donate to the Grief and Loss Center you truly make a difference in lives of scores of children, teens and adults. You touch lives through each and every one of our programs.

Kindergartners through high school seniors grieving the death of a parent, sibling, or other loved one come to SAM’s (Same As Me) each month to be with others their age who have also experienced the death of someone special. They discover they are not alone as they share their stories and process their grief through activities and group times especially designed for their age group. As they meet, their parents and guardians join together to learn how to best support them and to share their own stories.

Our adult groups provide emotional support and a better understanding of grief to over a hundred adults each month. We offer three groups designed for parents who have experienced the death of a child – Child Loss, Senior Adult Moms and Child Loss by Suicide. Three groups are offered for Spouse/Partner Loss including one for young/median adults, one for older adults and one for senior adults. Young adults through the age of 35 find support in our Young Adult Group while median and older adults attend our Family and Friends Group. Our Homicide Group provides support to loved ones of those who died by homicide. In addition to the group, we also attend the trials with them whenever possible to provide additional support.

Almost 80% of the 3000+ clients we’ve served since the 2011 inception of the Center are underserved and would not have access to grief support without your financial gifts. We humbly ask that you become part of our village by making a financial contribution to the Grief and Loss Center during North Texas Giving Day. If you aren’t comfortable making an online donation, you are welcome to send a check to the Grief and Loss Center of North Texas, 4316 Abrams Road, Dallas, TX 75214.

Thank you from the bottom of our hearts for joining our village. You are appreciated!

Dancing in the Rain

As I reflect on how I’ve lived my life, I realize I’ve often tried to change, or fix, life’s circumstances.  I think I’ve finally come to understand life is often “unfixable”.  Simply put -- it is what it is. 

Please don’t get me wrong.  I still have faith and hope, but I believe it takes greater faith and hope to live within our circumstances than to be rescued from our circumstances.   

I’m a huge believer in dancing in the rain. You see, I don’t think life is about waiting for the storm to pass.  There’s no doubt the rain will come.  It may come as a gentle shower or a raging, torrential storm, but rain is going to fall into each of our lives. It’s about learning to dance in the rain.

We can ignore the rain and pretend it doesn’t exist, but we’ll still get wet.  We can hold our naive, “it can’t happen to me” umbrella high above our heads, but eventually a storm will blow it away and we won’t just get wet, we’ll get soaked.  Or we can embrace the rain even when it batters us to the core. 

We each dance in our own way and in our own timing.  Our dance may start slowly and each step may be brutally painful.  We may have to stop and rest, but we’ll get up and dance a little longer the next time.  The music may be inaudible, but one day melodic notes will emerge again.  Undoubtedly, the lyrics will be different, but the music will play and our dance will go on.

Life is what it is.  The storms will surely come, but we can learn to dance in the rain.

The Cowboy

He had that Texas swagger as he ambled down the hallway quietly tipping his cowboy hat to everyone he passed. He had a kind face and gentle eyes. I had been at my mother’s bedside for three days and nights determined to keep my promise to be with her when she died. I was exhausted as I leaned against the doorframe of her room. He was a welcome change of pace for my tired eyes and breaking heart.

As I turned to take my post once again at my mother’s side, I heard, “Excuse me, mam.  I’m looking for Mrs. Kirkland. Is this the right room?”

Surprised he was here to visit my mother, I responded, “Yes, you’ve got the right room.  I’m her daughter.”

“Ma’am, I hope you don’t mind, but I attend the Cowboy Church and we’ve been praying for your mama and your family. We’re so sorry she isn’t doing well.”

 I struggled for words but managed to thank him for his thoughtfulness. There was something about his quiet voice and his calm spirit that touched my heart. He was a total stranger and had never met my mother, but here he was humbly standing beside me sharing my pain.

We were interrupted by a nurse who needed to confirm the name of the funeral home we had chosen for when the time came. I walked down the hallway to talk with her and left my new friend standing inside the doorway. The conversation took longer than I expected and I was anxious to return to my mother’s room. As I got to her door, I’ll never forget what I saw.

Kneeling beside my mother’s bed with bowed head, gently holding her tired, little hand, cowboy hat placed over his heart, he silently prayed for her. He didn’t utter a sound, but his silhouette in that darkened, quiet room is etched in my memory forever. 

After a time, he lightly kissed her hand and stood to his feet.  He put his big cowboy hat back on his head, gave me a sweet smile, and with tear-filled eyes, left the room.

This humble cowboy taught me that when our hearts are broken, we don’t need words. We simply need the silent presence of a kind soul who will take our pain upon themselves and carry it with us if even for a moment. May we all strive to be that kind, silent presence.

Am I Grieving the Right Way?

What is the right way to grieve? What if I grieve the wrong way? These are questions that are asked quite frequently after the death of a loved one. Most people want the quickest, simplest route to “get over” their grief. They want the secret formula, the blueprint, the ordered steps so they can be certain they are grieving correctly. They want to be sure they aren’t grieving the “wrong way”.

Grief is like a fingerprint. Everyone grieves differently. The death of a loved one isn’t simply copy and paste when another loved one dies. So even our own personal grief for the deaths we mourn is different and very individualized. We grieve to the depth of the relationship. The deeper the relationship we have with the person who died, the deeper we grieve.

Some feel they aren’t grieving enough because they think they should be more emotional. They aren’t paralyzed by their mourning as society has wrongly taught them they should be. They are sad, but they continue to function. These instrumental grievers deeply grieve the death of their loved one. However, they process their grief internally through their thoughts as they have every other loss they’ve faced throughout their lives. They, in fact, are grieving the “right way” for them.

Others think they are grieving the wrong way because they cannot gain control of their emotions and stop crying. They have difficulty functioning and are often unable to make decisions or to ground themselves. They may feel disconnected from their bodies and may not be able to focus or organize their thoughts. These intuitive grievers process their grief through their feelings as they have done throughout their lives. They are grieving the “right way” for them.

Grief is a wilderness that takes each person on a different path. There is no defined map that leads out of the wilderness. The journey takes each person through different turns, valleys, storms, and sunrises. However, there are two important guidelines that are imperative in our quest to grieve the “right way”. First, don’t hurt yourself. Secondly, don’t hurt anyone else. Hold tight to these two guidelines and give yourself permission to grieve the way you naturally grieve. Be patient with yourself. Grief is a marathon, not a sprint. Your journey may seem endless, but you will eventually find your way out of the wilderness.

The Armor We Wear

Since the death of your loved one do you feel like you are two different people living in the same body? Do you smile and act “normal” on the outside, but struggle with the emptiness and void of grief on the inside? Do you need to brace yourself before going out in public so you can summon the strength to put on a happy face and interact with people as if nothing in your life has changed?

Recently, a bereaved mom shared, “I put on my invisible heavy armor every time I leave my home. It protects me from showing the depth of my grief and is a barrier from well-intended, but hurtful comments. It’s my invisible wall of protection. My inside feelings can’t permeate the armor so I’m able to portray the “normal” me, the me I used to be. My armor is the strong person I want others to see. When I return home, I drop my armor and become the real me again.” 

Wearing the armor becomes exhausting because it becomes heavier and heavier the longer we wear it. It gradually becomes suffocating and uncomfortable. Grief is already an innately exhausting load to carry making the additional weight of the armor almost unbearable.

When we return to the safety of our home, we escape our pretend world of acting “normal.” Our armor immediately falls to the ground and we can breathe again. We can be our true selves again. We can mourn. We can relax and let all the stress and anxiety of acting “normal” fall away. We can return to our reality and freely mourn our loved ones. We are in the safety of our home and can be our authentic selves. It’s liberating.

If you are grieving a loved one, we hear you. We see you. We know the load of grief you carry is hard to bear. We know the armor you put on each day is incredibly heavy. The day will come when you won’t need it anymore. The intensity of your grief will lower eventually and you’ll find the strength to walk back into the world without it. Until then, our hearts are with you. We are here for you.

The Spotlight and the Stage Lights

In the weeks and months following the death of a loved one, we continually process the days preceding their death, their actual death and the days following their passing. The events play repeatedly with no relief from the devastating sounds, conversations and images of losing one we love so deeply. The incredibly bright spotlight of grief shines on these most difficult memories blinding us to the beautiful, precious memories we shared with them before they died. 

The weight of their absence, the heaviness of a future without them, and profound sadness permeate everything we think, feel and do. We are quickly frozen even if their death was expected. Although we may have known they were going to die, there is no way to prepare for the depth of grief we experience. Every dimension of our lives is affected – the physical, emotional, cognitive, social, and spiritual.

Grief’s glaring spotlight draws our focus to the final moments of our loved one’s life. The pain of our loss is so deep and strong that all the wonderful memories we have of them are hidden in the dark shadows of sorrow.  All the while, the dim stage lights are invisible to our grieving hearts, but they hold the treasured memories of life before the loss.  

Somewhere during our journey through the darkness of grief, the relentless blinding of the spotlight begins to lose intensity. Those beautiful and precious moments we spent with our loved one come out of the shadows, and we finally rest in their glow. The spotlight of pain and hopelessness loses its power, and the renewed hope and strength of the stage lights brighten our lives once again.  

Grief’s journey is difficult. The spotlight is powerful and painful. Keep the hope. One day when we least expect it, the spotlight will gradually darken, and the stage lights will shine brightly as we continue our journey in the light of hope. 

Hugging the Cactus

Embracing grief is like hugging a cactus. It’s big, filled with sharp barbs and excruciatingly painful. Some choose to walk around the cactus. Others turn and run the other way. Some stand in place, close their eyes and pretend it’s not there. No matter how hard we try to ignore it and how intimidating it is, hugging the cactus is the only healthy way to make our way through the wilderness of grief.

Hugging the cactus is not for the faint of heart. It takes courage to walk up to it, wrap our arms around it, and hug it with all our might. It takes unbelievable strength to continue to embrace it even when the pain demands that we let go. It takes immeasurable discipline to fight the temptation to release it and run as far from it as we can when our hearts grow weary.

Somewhere along the way when we least expect it, the cactus morphs into a teddy bear. The intensity of our grief lowers and the pain becomes more manageable. We finally can breathe a little easier and find relief in hugging something much softer and more comforting. Sometimes we’ll find a thorn in the teddy bear. They are painful, but much less debilitating than the sharp barbs of the cactus.

You will make your way through the wilderness of grief, but the journey begins by hugging the cactus.

What Parents of Children Who Died by Suicide Want You to Know

“We may never know what was inside them that took them away from us . . .
but they did the best they could until they couldn’t any longer . . .
They never wanted to leave us . . . they just didn’t know how to stay.”

I have the honor of meeting monthly with our Child Loss by Suicide group. They graciously share their pain, their stories, their children and their journeys. They truly are beautiful stewards of their suffering as they love and support one other.

These beautiful parents are my teachers. I am the learner. Following are some of the most important things they’ve taught me and that they want you to know about the death of a child by suicide.

Their last act does not define them. The kids are so much more than the final few seconds of their lives. They were beautiful, smart, loving kids with bright futures. They are much more than “suicides”.

They are not selfish. They were generous and caring and were loyal friends. Depression and anxiety stem from mental illness, not from selfishness.

They deserve the same respect and acknowledgement of their deaths as kids who die from other causes. Their illness is just as real as other life ending diseases and causes. Mental illness is often invisible until they end their lives. The stigma of suicide adds another layer to an already excruciating grief.

They were and are deeply loved. They moved between two realities – the reality that they were profoundly loved, wanted and needed, and the deep, pervasive agony of the lies their mental illness repeatedly pounded into them.

 Even immense love and support could not “fix” the dark places that haunted them. Mental illness is powerful and ruthless. Although we provide resources and love and support, we often learn that we just aren’t that powerful. If love and support and a kind word could have saved them, they would all be alive today.

 Grieving a child who died by suicide is an unrelenting brutality. Processing their death and all that comes with it takes grief work. There is no quick fix. Parents must feel the pain to get through the pain. The only way to get through the grief is to grieve and it’s a brutal journey.

After the recent deaths of celebrities by suicide, one of the parents shared an article with our group. They all agreed that this message is vital if we are to begin to understand the truth about suicide —

 “After celebrity mental health losses, there seems to be a sentiment that starts around ‘check in with your friends, tell them you love them.’ This can be a triggering message for many. Love doesn’t heal depression. There is no quick fix, one call or one conversation that does. The truth is depression is joy and laughter as well as debilitating pain. People aren’t ‘pretending’ to be happy, they are oscillating between different realities. Help lines save lives, yes, and asking for help is also sometimes not in someone’s capacity inside their acute depression. I hope we don’t feel the need to rush in and add platitudes to this very complex and heartbreaking reality. Send love and compassion. Send humanity. Bring humility in knowing it’s never that simple . . . “

@missconceptualization

Grief Brain: The Three Big Deficits of Grief

Memory, Focus, Organization

Grief is relentless. The only way to get through grief is to grieve. The only way to get through the pain is to feel and process the pain. One of the best ways to manage the stress and anxiety that often comes with bereavement is to understand grief. This is the reason we incorporate grief education in every one of our support groups and during our intake process.

I can’t count the times a client has shared that they are scared they are losing their mind. Their fear is almost always rooted in the difficulty they are experiencing with memory loss, lack of focus, and the inability to organize. I can’t describe the relief they feel when they learn these three challenges are the natural byproducts of their grief.

When a loved one dies, they become the filter through which we view everything. Their death often makes it impossible for us to focus on anything else. We may feel as if we have separated from our bodies and part of us is floating above, completely unattached, but yet still a part of us. We are left going through the motions of planning final arrangements, mindlessly talking with others, and feeling very much like a hologram – here, but not really here.

Our minds cannot fully process much of anything else, but at this point, not much of anything else really matters. The death of our loved one permeates every aspect of our lives. We have very little capacity at all to attend to other matters. We may feel that we are trapped in another world and experience the confusing sensation of being present and being absent at the very same time.

We find difficulty remembering details and events and special dates that once were etched in our minds. Grief controls our brain and the fog is all-consuming. We cannot focus on anything else other than the void that fills our heart and soul. Even if we were master organizers in the past, we cannot coherently put one thought in front of another. We are floating and our feet cannot yet ground us back into reality and the full function of our memory, focus, and organizational skills.

Some of our clients who have gone through chemotherapy and experienced “chemo brain” have shared that “grief brain” is very similar. If you are experiencing “grief brain”, please know that the challenges you face with memory, focus and organization are the big three deficits that often accompany grief. In due time, you will regain full use of each of these faculties. You are not losing your mind. I promise.

Not Our Job to Fix It

We often spend a great deal of time trying to fix our grief. It’s raw and deep and isolating and difficult. We grow sick and tired of feeling sick and tired so we desperately try to fix grief as quickly as we can. We don’t understand that grief befriends us when need it most. It is not our enemy. It is the guide that leads us from the wilderness of sorrow to the path of hope and renewal.

Grief can’t be fixed because grief isn’t broken. It doesn’t need to be repaired. Grief is terribly misunderstood as an enemy to be fought — a burden to be overcome — an illness to be cured. Quite the contrary, grief is a gift given in the most difficult moments of our lives to help us endure devastating loss. Grief patiently and lovingly guides us to a place of growth and renewal. 

We often try everything we can to fix our grief. Words can help, but words can’t fix grief. Exercise can help, but exercise can’t fix grief. Praying can help, but praying can’t fix grief. Support groups can help, but support groups can’t fix grief. Counseling can help, but counseling can’t fix grief. Journaling can help, but journaling can’t fix grief. Nature can help, but nature can’t fix grief.  

Sometimes we try unhealthy ways to fix our grief. Drinking may seem to help in the moment, but the relief is short lived and could lead to alcoholism. Overeating may seem to help in the moment, but the satisfaction is temporary and could lead to obesity related diseases. Shopping may provide a short-term adrenalin rush, but could lead to overspending and debt. Moving from one romantic relationship to another may provide fleeting intimacy, but could also lead to promiscuity and deeper loneliness. Unhealthy “fixes” for grief are dangerous and never ever work.

It’s simply not our job to fix grief. Our responsibility is to embrace grief and to grieve well. Somewhere along the way we finally realize that we don’t fix grief. Grief fixes us.

Hope Keeper

“How in the world do you do what you do?” 

This is the most frequent question I’m asked. I guess it’s hard for most to understand that I love walking alongside children, teens and adults who are grieving the death of a loved one. I am passionate that no one should have to grieve alone. I’m honored to be invited to walk with them on the most difficult journey they’ve ever undertaken. 

Hopelessness almost always accompanies grief. Finding any semblance of happiness again seems impossible as the feeling of being held captive in the dark pit of despair seems inescapable. Disbelief that life can be reconstructed with any measure of joy or renewed meaning and purpose restrains us from imagining a future without our loved one. The sense of “being stuck” in our grief and feeling powerless to move forward is overwhelming. 

I have the honor and privilege of being a Hope Keeper. When our clients can’t find their hope and the darkness and void of the death of a loved one overcomes them, I get to hold their hope for them until they are able to find it again. And they will. I just quietly walk alongside them on the journey bearing witness to their pain and heartbreak as they make their way through the hopelessness of grief. Somewhere along the path, they silently and most often unknowingly begin to embrace their hope again. It’s a beautiful experience.

I know I’m engulfed in death, dying and bereavement. This is what I do with deep passion and conviction. I can do it because although a griever’s pain and hopelessness are palpable, so is their hope. And I know one day they will reach for their hope once again, and I will be there to gently help to place it back in their hands and heart.

 You may feel hopeless as you grieve your loved one. Please trust me when I assure you that in a not-so-distant season of your grief, you will begin to find your hope again. 

The Healing Power of Listening

My journey in grief work has been filled with lots of mistakes blended with beautiful lessons our clients have taught me. I think the hardest lesson I’ve had to learn is that I can’t fix grief. This was difficult because I am a fixer. This is what I do – or what I thought I did. 

After doing this work for over forty years, I’ve come to understand that I can’t “make” anyone happy. I can’t give anyone the peace they seek. I can’t love them enough to take their grief away. And, most importantly, I’ve learned that I’m not responsible for the outcome. I’m just not that powerful. I can only be present . . . and listen.

Years ago, I realized I was spending so much time trying to fix clients’ grief that I spent very little time truly listening to them. Everyone else was giving them advice. Everyone else knew how long they should grieve and when they should be “over it”. Everyone else told them how they should grieve, what was acceptable and what was unacceptable. And most of those who gave our clients advice had never actually grieved the death of someone they loved. They just wanted their story to be heard, but I also had inadvertently joined the ranks of those who spoke too much and listened too little. 

When I started truly listening to people share their grief and resisted the temptation to dominate the conversation, they poured their hearts out to me. I quickly learned that I may be the only person who listened to them without interruption and without offering advice. The more I listened, the more they shared. The more they shared, the more healing slowly, but surely took place. And all I did was sit with them and listen. 

As you sit beside family and friends who are grieving, don’t pressure yourself to come up with magic words, profound wisdom or incredible insights. There aren’t any. Don’t waste time trying to “explain away” the death or to fix their grief. Don’t expound on your religious and spiritual beliefs. 

Just sit quietly and listen. Become comfortable with the silence. Don’t take your eyes off them as they are speaking. Don’t interrupt them. Don’t ask questions. Don’t offer advice. Don’t turn the attention to yourself and tell them about your own grief or anyone else’s grief. Just listen. And listen as long as they share and as many times as they want to share. 

Walking alongside someone who is grieving is an honor. It is a privilege to be a grief companion. You have been invited to join them in the most difficult journey of their lives. You have been chosen to walk the journey with them. Stay the course with them and never forget the healing power of listening.