I didn't learn about grief soon enough because it was my parent's responsibility to teach me. In the same way, they didn't teach me about financial literacy, buying a house, or how to date. My parents didn't prepare me to be without them because they were too busy in their versions of survival mode. But, if we are all conscious that we will ultimately die and often without warning, then why do so many parents do more reinforcing dependence on their children than creating space for a child that is both independent and prepared to survive life after their deaths?`
My first massive mistake in grief was not understanding its faces before I needed to support one of the most important people in my life. My husband lost his father 8 months before my father passed away, so we had only been finding ourselves in the weight of that initial loss for 244 days before we were faced with another significant passing for both of us. During the 8 months that my husband was dealing with his parental loss, I had a lot of uncertainty about whether or not I was doing enough to support him and if he would ultimately find a pathway to healing and peace. But also it was tough. We had two small children, our youngest was 16 months, and the oldest was in pre-k, so we didn't have the luxury of a ton of adult time-outs as the children still needed their parents.
Somewhere in my little delusional mind ( I write this in complete sarcasm), there would be a time for grief and healing, and life would move on; this was my second mistake. What I understand to be true now is that I started my grief journey by making all the wrong moves, and I also feel very slighted by the circumstances of my grief. I began to realize a few days ago that there are many things people misunderstand about me, not just because of the intuitive empath thing but also my grief story.
For several weeks I have been wrestling with developing a new connection with someone I met last year. Honestly, she would be the perfect type of "mom friend." Well, she would have been before I became an eternal griever. I am not in the same headspace as before I lost my Dad, and it's beginning to sink in that I will never be. Early in my grief journey, I told a mentor that it seemed as if life had been divided before my Dad passed away and after his transition. The person I am after is not the same person I was before, and I find myself a lot less outgoing, and absolutely nothing excites me. I don't know if it's fair to put this statement regarding excitement in because it always took a lot to excite me, but I'm less spontaneous and question people's motives a lot more. Not to mention, people who didn't know me then will never understand the person that I was before; there's this dance when I meet someone new, it always comes down to this: should I tell them that I am under the influence of grief? Quite frankly, I don't want another person. Most of the people in my life are already perfectly sub-par. Who I once thought was my dearest friend in the world, couldn't bother herself to show up to my father's funeral or even show her face during my initial bereavement. Sure, she called, but what's a call when your life has been turned upside down and your mother, long since divorced from said dead father, is acting as if she has become a widow? The person with the most unhealed trauma demands all the attention. At least, that's what happened in my situation.
My grief is present but also lost inside of me simultaneously. Its presence is sometimes alarming because it's most unexpected, and during the moments, it's lost, and someone feels the need to remind me that I have lost someone. Let me not be vague. My mother feels the need to remind me that I lost my father by sending periodic photos of his gravesite on holidays. But this is my third mistake. I should have known there would be no consent in grief. No one in my family has stopped to think deeply about how I may be feeling or coping, and because no one has sat me down to read my eyes for the truth about my grief, they send things like this in a text message on the exact days I'm trying to forget the truth about my existence.
When I first lost my Dad, I had to remember that he wasn't there every morning. I would drive around running daily errands thinking; this is what it feels like not to have a father. What I meant was this is what it feels like not to have a person that understands your whole story sharing the same plane as you.
It's been 879 days. And I erred in believing that the second year would be easier than the first year, but it is, and it isn't. Most people aware of the loss think I'm perfectly fine. But, some days, I wonder if I'm good at compartmentalizing or if all the people I interact with are simply the finest caliber of trash you can find in a landfill.
My husband lost his mother 6 weeks after my father passed, and then in July of 2021, my maternal grandmother transitioned as well. So if you think about how I lost my father sandwiched between all the other deaths, my grief never had anywhere to go.
My mistakes have had a lot of help from those around me who were supposed to guide me about life, including my father. I still can't quite understand why learning to navigate grief isn't high on the list of mandated survival skills akin to learning to drive a car during my sophomore year of high school and sex education. But it's not. It's an elective survival skill like learning how to swim. Maybe someone hoped I would pick it from somewhere or just adapt.
What have been your missteps if you have endured a season of grief?
In the meantime, check out this episode of the Life of an Empath podcast: