Losing Someone

Last week a former student passed away. It was tragic and a shock to everyone in the school. This came only a month after our friend lost their middle school child. The loss of young lives is so devastating.

I don't know how to deal with grief, I really don't. It's such a terrible beast to engage with and yet there is something strangely beautiful about mourning a life. The pain is equal to the love and because of that, it's worth walking through.

I'm more comfortable with my tears than I've ever been. I let them fall when those waves arrive. My children have seen me cry in recent years and I wouldn't have let that happen when they were growing up. But I'm more comfortable with walking beside loss now. I don't want my children or friends to be afraid of grieving openly.

I'm normally a pretty upbeat person. My life hasn't lent itself to many hardships, so optimism comes easy for me and I like to spread it around. But I also like to be sincere. So when I'm in the middle of grief, I allow myself to go under and feel it deeply.

I used to feel guilty for grieving if I wasn't the closest person to the one who died. But now I see the grief of acquaintances as allowing their tribe to see the impact of how far a person reached.

There was a time I avoided grief and those grieving. I didn't feel like I had anything to offer, any hope to give. I was afraid I would cry or make them feel bad. 

But I've learned that the opposite is true. You can't make someone feel bad when they have a loss, because they're feeling that loss constantly. You didn't remind them of it, they never forgot. As for crying around them, it's comforting to see that your loved one impacted others. It's healing to hear stories you might not have heard about them. It's soothing to be among those who loved them.

Nowadays I find myself more likely to show up than run away. I'll admit, I always feel a lump in my throat before stepping into the doorway of a grieving family, but I know I'll be glad I came. Even when I bumble my words or cry snotty tears, simply being there reminds them we are not alone in this pain.

Fifty-Fifty

Source

I watched a movie over the weekend called 50-50. It's about a young man who finds out he has cancer and his journey of accepting what his fate may be. The entire movie he refuses to let his estranged and overbearing mother help him. But there's a scene where he's getting ready to go into surgery which he may not survive and he cries out one word, "Mom." She rushes to him with a tight embrace. She tells him it will be fine. He finds courage in her words and is able to face the operating room.

The scene latched onto me; it was beautiful. Something inside said, I know this.

Part of what I know is my own struggle against being an overbearing mom. But I think it hit me mostly because of my sweet friend. It took me back to a moment in the hospital room when she told me they'd found cancer in her lungs. She was supposed to be in the clear having stopped treatment only three weeks before. I wanted to be like that mom and tell her everything would be fine, but I didn't have the courage. So I just stood beside the bed holding onto her and we wept.

The first anniversary of her death is coming soon. It was probably dumb watching that movie. Or maybe I knew I needed it. I cried myself to sleep.

I suppose grief is a surprise roller coaster running whenever it wants to. And in a way, I'm glad it's there to stop me in the middle of living to make me take a breath. The sorrow it brings helps me remember not take things for granted or assume people I love will always be here.