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Last year, at the beginning of my grieving journey, I wrote a post that resonated with many of you. For months, I’ve received emails and social media messages thanking me for sharing my experience and I’d like to thank you all for sharing yours with me.
A year ago, it was impossible for me to know how I would feel today. Part of me wondered if the pain of losing my grandmother, the woman who raised me like a mother, would still be as raw as the day I lost her. Another part of me wondered if I’d be fully healed and back to my normal self. I’d never lost someone I loved so much before, and I had no idea what to expect. Now that we’ve passed the one-year mark, I’d like to share my impressions.
How the Pain Evolved
In those earliest days, there was a certain numbness that kept me from falling apart until after she was cremated. In fact, it took a few months before I really had a good cry about it. For some people, the tears are immediate, and I worried that I wasn’t “normal” for being so stoic.
The reality is that, how you react, especially when you first lose someone, is going to depend a lot on the circumstances surrounding the death and who you are as an individual. Just as we are unique, so is our grief. It wasn’t until I stumbled upon the Sujan Stevens album Carrie & Lowell that the floodgates opened.
I sat frozen in place through the first few songs, and when “Fourth of July” ended, I had to run to the shower and just weep. Finally, the tears came. While the grief poured out and threatened to engulf me, it felt so good to let it out. Over time, I’d have to take breaks to deal with sudden bursts of devastation and realization.
A year later, I definitely wouldn’t say that the numbness and anger are completely gone. People seem to expect some magical healing to happen after that first anniversary of a death, and for some it does, but don’t be surprised if it doesn’t change anything for you right away. You might even feel more anxious, enraged or sad as you approach the one-year mark. I’m realizing that I’m still angry about some of the things that happened around the time of her death, and I’m not sure that will ever fully go away.
My grief doesn’t really feel like it has lessened, but it has changed. For months, it was as though I was walking around in a fog. It kept me from seeing clearly or thinking straight. Now that it’s lifted, reality has set in and I’m finding a new normal. Rather than stabbing, searing pain, my grief is similar to that dull ache you feel when the rain bothers your knees — you just know it will probably be with you for the rest of your life. Some days will be better than others, but it will always be there.
New, Different Fears
When Granny first died, the first thing I thought was, “How can I live without her? How can the world continue to exist if she’s gone?” It was so hard for me to believe that, despite the fact that this beautiful human being had left the Earth, nothing changed. The world kept on spinning without her. That was surprisingly hard for me to grasp.
Now, instead of wondering how I could ever go on, I’m terrified that I’m forgetting her. When I tell a story from her life, the details that used to feel so sharp are getting fuzzy. I’m horrified by the idea of misquoting her or getting something wrong. Sometimes, I think I’ll just call her to get the list of ingredients for her famous stew — and then I remember. There will be no more phone calls. Her legacy lives in my imperfect, forgetful mind and there’s a pressure to not mess it up.
While I’ve accepted that I’ll never be able to hug or talk to her again, there are many times when, out of the corner of my eye, I’ll wonder if she’s there. Did I see a shadow pass by my door? Am I missing messages she’s trying to send me from the other side? How can I become more open to that when I’m scared of ghosts? The cycle almost becomes comical, but it’s something I’m living with on a near daily basis right now.
Broken Family Ties
Many of us have heard that death can destroy families — that it can bring out the worst in people. When relationships are already strained, grief can be heavy enough to break familial ties. Sometimes, the person who died was the one thing holding everyone together. After they’re gone, people might scatter.
In my personal experience, grieving my grandmother has resurrected many of my buried pains. I’m dealing with emotional baggage from my childhood that I’d forgotten even existed. The conflicts that took place surrounding her death unearthed things that I’d tried to outrun, and during a time of crippling loss, I’m also dealing with truths that I’m no longer willing to deny.
Regardless of whether or not there’s drama, you might discover that your relationships with family members could change. You might even argue over things like who was loved best or who remembers things better. It’s incredible how petty we can become when we’re in pain. Of course, some relationships will deepen in the face of grief, but if yours don’t, just remember that you’re not alone.
A Word on Complicated Grief
Everyone’s grieving process will be different, however, some may experience what is referred to as “complicated grief.” According to the American Cancer Society, this can happen for a variety of reasons, and “for some people who are taking care of a loved one with a long-term illness, complicated grief can actually start while their loved one is still alive.” Symptoms include:
- Continued emotional numbness or disbelief
- Inability to accept the death
- Preoccupation with the details of the death
- Intense emotional pain and sorrow, sometimes with anger and bitterness
- Blaming self for the death
- Wanting to die in order to join the loved one
- Excessively avoiding reminders or good memories
- Isolation and feelings of being detached from others
- Struggling to make plans for the future
- Continuous yearning for the deceased
- Loss of purpose in life or that life has no meaning
If you, or someone who has experienced a loss, is experiencing any of the above symptoms of complicated grief, talking to a mental health professional might help. There’s absolutely no shame in feeling this way, but reaching out for support is the best thing you can do. Our loved ones would want us to live our lives to the fullest. It’s one of the best ways we can honor their memories.
Finding a New Normal
Almost every day since she died, I’ve asked myself, “Is this real? Is she really never coming back?” There’s almost this childlike desperation that makes me think there’s something I can do to reverse her death. Gradually, though, acceptance is setting in and I’m realizing that, yes, this is real and there’s nothing I can do to change it.
Along the way, I’m learning to process the changes to who I am as a person and what my life now looks like. Reminders can be hard, but it’s important to find ways of coping in those moments. With six kids, I’d set alerts in my phone to call my grandmother on specific days of the week. Obviously, I don’t need to set aside that time anymore, but I haven’t had the heart to remove the reminders from my digital calendar. When they pop up these days, it’s less jarring than it once was and I use the moment to send a thought out to her.
While I used to avoid speaking certain family members’ names or recalling certain memories, I’ve become more comfortable reflecting and recounting stories. Sometimes I get teary-eyed and sometimes I’m okay. Either way, I don’t judge myself for how I cope. I’m doing the best I can to get through each day.
I’m not sure what the future holds, but I know that I’ll always miss my grandmother. There is no expiration date on grief, and I’m learning to navigate these choppy waters without shame or pressuring myself to speed through the process. Thank you to all who’ve reached out and shown support over this past year. Words can never explain how much it’s meant.
