On Grief

This remains my favorite post on COJ.

“You’re allowed to be sad. For as long as you want. ”

This is exactly right. You’re allowed to grieve them for the rest of your life. Our first born daughter died at 6 months old from sudden infant death or cot death. There was no warning, no signs. We woke to her lovely plump soft milky warm skin lying cold and lifeless in her cot. We were devastated in every sense of the word. That was 12 years ago. We still carry it with us. We can be happy now, we can laugh, we can hope, we can dream but it never leaves you. There isn’t a day goes by I don’t think about her and miss her. The grief lies quietly in the background sometimes but every now and then I cry and cry and cry. But then I continue on. Once I apologised for my sister for not being ok with it after all this time and she hugged me and said “sometimes you’re ok and sometimes you’re not. None of us are. And that’s ok.” It was so wonderful to hear and allowed me the freedom to feel the grief til the end of my days.

Thank you for this post Jo. xx

Thanks for this post, Joanna. My sister recently had a miscarriage, and at first I felt selfish to be grieving so much, but I realized that it is okay. I, too, can grief over her loss. I’ll be sharing this post with her wisely.

xoxo

Thanks for this beautiful post. Sheryl Sandberg recently posted on Facebook about what she’s learned about grief since her husband passed away suddenly. I found her words incredibly moving and relevant to this conversation. This article provides a recap and a link to the post:
http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/on-leadership/wp/2015/06/03/sheryl-sandbergs-heartbreakingly-beautiful-tribute-to-her-husband/

Joanna, my thoughts are with your family as you continue to grieve.

Have you read “On Loss and Living Onward” by Melissa Dalton-Bradford? She’s compiled this anthology of grief writings into chapters, each one beginning with a powerful, moving, essay about her 18 year old son’s sudden death. It’s a beautiful book and guide.

The video, while beautiful, is itself heartbreaking. I almost wish I hadn’t watched.

Such an important post. That video is so moving and is such a unique way to show loss.

My parents have been gone for many years – my mother over 22 years and my father 18. I am 64. My daughter-in-law lost both of her parents before she was 35. It is never easy, and it is never over…many mornings I wake up and realize I’ve been dreaming, and my parents were quite alive in the dream – SO real! It doesn’t end…it does change.

However, I am always puzzled when I see or hear people say they can’t imagine losing a parent…or they don’t know how they will survive if a parent passes. We are supposed to live on after our parents die…it is really tragic if it happens the other way around. We need to learn about life and death in order to handle what is inevitable…and to somehow survive the unimaginable if it comes to pass…

I actually feel quite distressed after watching that

I think acknowledging someone’s sadness is more healing than trying to brush it off. Brene brown aptly describes the difference between empathy and sympathy here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Evwgu369Jw

What lovely words you’ve chosen to explain the inexplicable. My best friend was killed in the VA Teach massacre 8 years ago, and grief over her is still something that catches me at the oddest moments. People always seem surprised about this–“do you think you’ll ever get over it?” Well, no. She was a bright, beautiful, essential part of my life and her loss shifted everything. So of course there is no “getting over” this. Of course not. As you quote in your post, it’s a lifelong nightmare of homesickness for a time that cannot be recovered or experienced again. But my grief is also a testimony to her and what she meant. Sadness and beauty are so often intertwined in our lives–acknowledging that truth is a kind of freedom that allows us to experience both fully and without reserve. Thank you for these wise words of comfort.

A thank you that comes from across an ocean and a continent, your words and the comments that followed have really made a difference to this grieving heart, who has been trying to ‘move on’ too hard, for far too long.

My dad passed away in December from heart disease. Even though I saw him take his last breath, was holding his hand at that very moment, it still doesn’t feel real most of the time…until it does. I’m twenty-four and I can’t help but feel cheated, followed by a wave of guilt about my self-pity. My dad was an older father, had me on his fiftieth birthday. He was a smoker, had had kidney cancer and defeated it, had had two strokes and got through them with flying colors. The heart disease slowly crept up on us; it didn’t seem serious until my dad couldn’t go anywhere without oxygen tanks. My dad was given so much more time, especially considering his lifelong habit of smoking. Yet when I think about getting married, holding my first child in my arms–I know on those most joyous of occasions I’ll also feel loss. I’m just now beginning to understand that grief is lifelong. My family and I are all Christians and that has been my only hope and comfort. I’ve tried to live these past few months trying to find joy wherever I can–because the one word that best described my dad after “faithful” was “joyful.” I read books upon books on grief the first month my dad died. I read as many passages from the Bible that mentioned it that I could. “A Grief Observed” by C.S. Lewis was the one book I felt a connection to. It’s scattered notes on losing his wife to cancer, and it gave me perspective on what my mom might be going through. It is not an “easy” read nor is it necessarily “comforting.” It’s raw. It’s written in the direct aftermath of death. But it’s the realest account on grief I’ve read thus far. My dad and I’s birthday is this month along with Father’s Day. More than all holidays that have passed since his passing, this one will be the hardest. I truly find comfort in these excerpts as the day is fast approaching.

My friend sent me this post and it couldn’t hit any closer to home. I lost my mom less than two months ago at the age of 59. Two weeks after, her younger brother who also lived my parents, unexpectedly passed as well. The quotes you site are exactly how I feel everyday. It’s a constant nightmare that I’m waiting to be over, waiting for her to call, waiting to find her in her garden.

weeks away from the one year anniversary of my mother’s rest from cancer, this was such a comforting read to take some time and enjoy today. thank you for the encouragement to work WITH our grieving process. so much is truly worked ‘through’, and then just when you’ve thought you’ve gotten through some major hurdles, it feels like someone’s come through and reset the course. now, I think I will envision the trials and difficulties more in that manner: a track or course with hurdles that, even if I successfully make it through a lap and up and over all of them, they will still be there to get up and over and again.

truly, thank you so much for this today.

I just returned tonight to my home in the pinky of MI from my 6th chemo treatment for stage IV breast cancer. I have some time my doctors and the researchers tell me, not as much as I want. My young (53) husband and 3 boys (25, 23, 20) all have these moments where they are terrified of the truth that is before us all…losing me. I will tuck these precious gifts from your blog today and share them when the time feels right. If you haven’t read about or seen the Instagram, Sunsets for Shalin, it will warm your heart. Peace to your family, one day and one sunset at a time.

My losses have so far been of pets and foetuses; I consider myself very lucky; although losing the babies was pretty rough, I haven’t had to lose any ex-uterine humans who I’ve been close too. My experience is that after all the grief and anger and frustration and misery fades, the love remains. That’s where I’m at with the (much-loved) animal losses. 4 years and a baby (I already had a child) after the baby losses, love is beginning to live alongside sadness, regret and missing someone as the main emotions. The animals have taught me that in time, with time, the love remains. I’m so sorry for your losses; I’m a doctor and a friend posted, separately,a link to Paul’s musings. The world is a poorer place without him, much love to you all.