I am a big believer in going through the stages of grief, thus facing it head-on. When so many are running away from it, I am like a firefighter, running toward apparent danger. Why? Because the true danger lies in running away.
There are many stages of grief. Most of us are well aware of them, if we have been alive for a certain amount of time or if we have ever taken a Psychology 101 class. Most of us, too, have probably lost someone meaningful along the way, if we have lived a certain number of years, and have naturally experienced the stages.
Many view grief in terms of someone dying which is probably the most common kind. But there are so many others, some of which you may not have thought of. All of them have one thing in common: something has died and we will never get that something back.
Almost all of us have experienced loss of a romantic relationship. I certainly have. This is one of the main reasons I enjoy Taylor Swift's music so much: I can relate to the heartbreak. And there is none that stings in quite the same way as having loved and lost. Imagining life without that perfect person is unbearable and we feel we cannot get past it. Until the next perfect person comes along, if we are blessed enough to find love again.
I have also lost many close family members and friends to death over the years, some in tragic ways, and it is just as agonizing, but in a different way. The loss of someone, whether physically or emotionally, takes a toll. Quite simply, the person is not in your life anymore, but a huge hole is.
The longer I live, the more types of grief I have heard about, if not experienced first-hand.
Just the other day I was texting with a friend when she shared about the profound loss she feels regarding her children. All she ever wanted, she said, was to be a mother; it was her sense of purpose. When her kids grew up and left, she lost her purpose. Now she is grieving deeply. If her purpose is gone, now what? Her sense of purpose is lost, along with her children. That's a double loss.
Another friend's son had battled illness for years, then was healed, only to get cancer, and get healed again, only for the cancer to return. Her faith was so strong, she just knew he would be healed, only to see him healed in Heaven instead of on Earth. Her loss is made that much harder because her son and yours were once friends and are the same age. Your son is still alive, but hers is gone. She doesn't verbalize this, but it is there, below the surface, ready to bubble up at a moment's notice. There's no words in situations like this; only a lot of hugs, prayers and shedding of tears. I once heard a pastor who lost a son say that the greater the loss, the less words should be spoken. So true.
What about the grief one feels when their son or daughter has been with his or her significant other for years, then they break up? Another friend experienced this loss. And kept experiencing it on a consistent basis when her Facebook memories popped up day after day. We get attached to people, for better or worse, and then they're gone.
Then there's the grieving of a person or a relationship long before it actually ends. A parent that dies of dementia or a marriage that is over long before the divorce papers are signed. Been there, done that. There is nothing worse than being divorced and grieving your ex-spouse. It's the loneliest of lonely places to be, as my mother-in-law told me at the time. No truer statement was ever spoken.
The list goes on and on: the best friend that chooses sides after the divorce, the unexpected loss of a seemingly healthy spouse you intended to grow old with, the treasured pet that leaves the house and never returns. The loss of the baby you wanted so desperately and the loss of the baby you didn't want.
All of the events you will never experience with parents who passed away at a young age: the weddings, the birth of children, the phone calls you can never make or take again. Lunch dates and shopping trips you'd give anything to experience just one more time.
Sometimes grief can be about things that are not relationship related: the loss of a home, a car, a geographical region, a dream, growing old together until death do us part. The loss of self, loss of freedom, loss of innocence.
Grief is indeed universal. No one will escape it as long as there is an attachment of some sort, even though many try.
You can push it aside with alcohol or drugs, gambling or shopping. Social media. Other relationships. But sooner or later, grief will get the upper hand. It will demand your attention.
The key, I think, is to embrace it. Either deal with it now or it comes back and bites you in the ass later, with more vengeance than it would have had if it just been dealt with to begin with. This is my opinion, of course, but one that is shared by most therapists. And Brene Brown.
I look at the ability to deal with grief as a gift. Honestly, I do. But my temperament is the rarest: one percent of the population shares my personality. This explains so much. It's hard to feel things on such an extreme level, day in and day out, but I am learning to embrace it and understand it's how I was created. Leaning in and sitting with my feelings is the best way I know how to get past things.
A few years ago I attended a GriefShare group at my church. I went mostly because I wanted to learn more from others about the grief process. In the end, I found I needed it just as much as everyone else. And I discovered, again, that no one does it quite the same.
Some throw themselves into work or some other form of activity. I did this while grieving the loss of both parents who died within a year of each other. I was on an airplane, traveling to Louisville, Kentucky for work, the day my father died and I was back at work the day after my mother died. I had grieved the loss of them for years, first because the toll my brother's death took on them and then the toll dementia took. I was nearly cried out by the time they died. In all honesty, part of me was relieved when death finally came. I never again had to worry about a phone call regarding some sort of drama happening in their lives. All the drama was over.
All this to say that, just when I think I know everything about grief, including every possible kind, I learn more. I'm grateful for the opportunity to learn from others, to hear their stories and experiences. Even though the practice is less than ideal, I will keep running toward the burning building, hopefully aiding in someone's rescue along the way.