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My husband of 34 years died recently. Unprepared for the reality of terrible loss, I learned how to grieve like everyone does: the hard way.
Here are 12 lessons that may help you someday, in no particular order:
1. Keep it simple, sufferer. When you've lost someone irreplaceable, it's not the time to perform elaborate feats of fortitude. If possible, keep the ceremonies basic. Allow yourself to do nothing ceremonial at all (for a time, at least) if that's what you prefer. Take care of yourself rather than what extended family or the larger community seem to require.
2. Any amount of tears is the right amount. Some grief-stricken folks weep readily at the thought of their lost loved one, and continue to do so for years. We are social animals who develop tight bonds to our loved ones, and when death intrudes, our emotions can feel unendurable. Whether you cry your heart out a dozen--or a thousand--times, know that there are many ways to feel and express desolation.
3. Know what to expect when the ashes arrive. A blog post was helpful in my own preparation to receive the ashes from my husband's cremation. For one thing, they're heavier than you expect (3 - 7 pounds). Getting them is an all-too-palpable reminder (as if you needed one) that your loved one is truly gone. Don't rush to decide what to do with them. There are enough ashes to share with family and friends to whom your loved one was especially dear.
4. Choose the right support system. Investigate grief support groups via hospitals, hospice, churches, and privately run by therapists. Online resources fill the gaps. My favorite find is the Grief Beyond Belief Facebook Page and its closed Facebook group by the same name. If you don't mind others praying for you, pointing out that your loved one is in a better place, and similar faith-based efforts at condolence, then you have many additional groups from which to choose.
5. Beware the crickets breeding in the dark. I innocently ventured into our garden a month after my mate died. I noticed a small empty barrel turned upside down to keep water from accumulating, and I tipped it over. Hundreds of small cricket-like creatures hopped out and spread quickly and widely. Think of those hidden crickets as all the unexpected triggers for hurt that lurk around the home you shared.
6. Expect your toilet to overflow. Mine did, and apparently I need a whole new main line and a new cleanout, as well. The process of getting estimates and choosing a plumber feels overwhelming, but so is cleaning crap off the floor. The point is that stuff happens, has always happened (we used to joke about the "appliance gremlins," wherein household items broke down in groups of three or more), and will continue to happen, even when you're barely living through the worst hard time of your life. Take it one task at a time, and ask for help. What's overwhelming to you might not be to someone who would like to help out.
7. Grief is beyond a "10" on the "Bleeding the Brakes" scale. In the novel I wrote (Kylie's Heel), the narrator described a scale she devised for measuring annoyance-irritation-frustration-exhaustion. Here's an excerpt:
"When Nick worked on his car," I explain, "he'd want my help bleeding the brakes. He would tinker with one of our cars on his own in the garage late into the night, and then at, like, midnight, he'd holler for me to come help.
"'Step on the brakes when I ask you to,' he would say. I was so tired that I felt itchy. So, then he would do something to all four wheels, add brake fluid I think, and say 'hit the brakes now,' 'now,' 'brake, release.' Endless.
"So that's become my scale. Bleeding the brakes. A 10."
Grief tops that scale at 100.
8. Pre-emptive grieving is time off for time served. If your loved one was ill for any length of time--even if you both expected recovery--you may have done some grieving ahead of time. I learned that tidbit of consolation from How to Go On Living When Someone You Love Dies (1991) by Therese A Rando, Ph.D. If so, you have a bit of a head start on the grueling slog through grief.
9. Don't be offended by graceless comments from the not-yet grieving. People just don't know. They don't know what to do, what to say, how to help, what may soothe you, or what may be the opposite of comforting. Try not to take well-intended insensitivity too personally. (But see #4 above.)
10. Guilt acknowledged is sufficient penance for mistakes. You will most likely feel some guilt after a loved one dies, for whatever you did or didn't do over the years or at the end. Thoughts like, "I shouldn't have bugged him for not doing chores," and "Why didn't I hug him more, tell him I loved him more?" are probably nearly universal. Or even, "Why didn't I force him to get a second opinion early on?" Such misguided guilt-tripping doesn't help.
11. Revisiting old angers is a form of double taxation. I always gave my husband a hard time when he bought unduly expensive items for his many interests. Now there's no point in harboring hard feelings, about that or anything else that seemed so important at the time. When you're left alone, very little actually seems to matter anymore. Don't still be angry at old grievances. He did the best he could. So did you.
12. The worst anguish of grief lessens over time. Every memory won't continue to make you want to lie down and die too. The time scale for that is unknown for any individual. Unknowable. Time probably doesn't heal—at least that's what I'm told by those further along than I am from a major death—but it has a dulling effect. We go from unbearable agony to just-barely-bearable sorrow. And that's as far as I can see from this vantage point.
- You may also like these posts: "Six Ways to Think About Death" and
- "Does It Kill You to Contemplate Death?"
Copyright (c) 2017 by Susan K. Perry, Ph.D.
