Note: If someone you love is grieving and you suspect that they may harm themselves or their grief has gotten to a high level, please contact the appropriate professional who can best help them cope in a healthy manner. It is best not to take chances.
What is grief? One dictionary simply defines grief in two words: "deep sorrow", and defines sorrow as "deep distress". But in order to fully understand what exactly grief is, one must wonder what 'deep' means. To me, when I think of "deep", I picture an ocean and imagine where the floor of it would be. Everyone knows the further down in the ocean you go, the darker it is and additionally, the harder it is to breathe, as pressure becomes closer to being a tangible weight so intense it could literally crush you. That is what grief is - grief is an ocean, and the stronger the grief is, the greater the depth to one's sorrow and pain.
With that in mind, let me say that it's important to realize that grief is handled in varying ways depending on the individual, much as the experience of scuba diving would be; some people have a higher tolerance threshold than others, or they may have more advanced equipment that would permit them to go down further than someone who just has the basics. Do you get what I'm saying? Some people when they grieve, want to be surrounded by loved ones, while others may wish to be in temporary solitude. Others, the grief is too much to bare and so they may need to receive counseling or be monitored for their own safety. But it's never set in stone, so some people may go through waves of grieving, forgetting, pleasantly remembering, and grieving again. The way in which one grieves changes from day-to-day, and also depends on the causes. For example, someone whose dog died may not grieve as hard as someone whose loved one passed. Similarly, someone who knows a loved one died, will grieve differently than that of someone whose friend completely stopped corresponding or interacting with them, as you'd find sometimes happens through what is known as a "shunning practice".
I was someone who experienced shunning/excommunication by a very dear friend, who I'll refer to as Henry, here. He is still alive and well. Because I've discussed our relationship and the events leading up to the shunning in detail in previous posts, I will only briefly mention 3 important things to keep in mind about it as you read on: 1.) this friend was in my life on a very intimate level all throughout my adolescence, 2.) he gave little to no warning that he was going to leave my life probably forever, and 3.) I was 15 when it happened, having known him since I was a little child. All these things contributed to determining how I would respond to the abrupt loss, how I would cope and how fast I would fully recover, if at all possible.
But this post isn't just about my grieving experience, rather more about my experiences with grieving publicly around family, friends and counselors, and how they processed it, helped me or didn't. For their privacy, I won't give any individual's identifying details. This post is directed to the loved ones of people who are grieving "alone", meaning that they are the only one who's grieving. From what is to follow, it is my hope that those loved ones learn 3 things above all else: 1.) validation is vital, 2.) "listen to understand, don't listen to simply respond" (see below for actual quote), and 3.) never, can your grieving loved one completely forget their loss.
In the initial onset of my grief when I realized my friend wasn't wanting to be in my life any longer for whatever reason, my family and friends tried to share my burden. They tried to soothe my pain. As the years went on however, and the grieving deepened (mind you, the more time went on, the clearer it was that I had been indeed, shunned), some of my loved ones started asking why I couldn't just go on. What they couldn't understand was that unlike if Henry had died, I did not have closure as to why he left so subtly, so painfully. In my head all I could think about was the way things used to be, and the anger that rose up inside at the thought of how he had deliberately decided to leave my life and continue with his own as if I'd never met him.
Shortly after his leaving, our neighbors moved and when new occupants moved in, it was a young couple. Henry, 15 years my senior, had been living with his girlfriend as early as I can remember, and it just so happened that these new neighbors of ours had the exact same names as they. What were the chances, right? I didn't know it at the time, but being informed of this heightened my pain and sorrow. Continuously, because I rarely saw or spoke to them, I'd fantasize that the couple was actually Henry and his girlfriend.
Due to the legalistic views that he held, Henry rarely took photos with me. At the time of his leaving, only two photos survived, and by the time a few years went by, one was lost and the other was very blurry. In the proceeding of time, because I didn't have a clear photo of him, my memory of his appearance faded nearly to nothing. Because of the trauma of losing him, I also found that though I grieved him, I wasn't ever dreaming of him; the first dream I had of him since he left was three years later. Dreams offer a thread of remaining connection to the person in that one gets to "re-live" their time spent with their lost loved one and experience all over again, the love, joy and peace associated with being with them. I didn't have that blessing of at least seeing him in my dreams or in pictures. In my subconscious desperation to soothe my void, I began looking for closure in places and events. It soon got to the point that my grief had driven me to remember memories in almost any situation I was in, whether it was a restaurant, a farmer's market or even in clothing, as he had been very influenced by the Beachy Amish-Mennonite lifestyle. If someone unknowingly called me "little Lady", a knot would form in my stomach as I'd recall that he gave me that nickname and only he called me that. I got to the place where my heart would drop every time a black car drove by because I'd often ride in 'his' black car to dinner out once a month. Any chance I had, I would verbalize my memories - happy or sad - to my loved ones even if they'd already heard them before.
Understandably for them, my constant remembering wore on them and they became - for lack of better words - desensitized to my grief. Some would say, "You grieve, but eventually move on... People move on with their lives, Sarah..." The trouble was, those of my loved ones who had met and spoken often with Henry saw a completely different version of him than when we were alone. They didn't experience the friendship we had for themselves, so they couldn't put themselves in my shoes and see how much he really meant to me.
Eventually after a year or so of not having most of my closest loved ones empathize with me, I grew very defensive of not only myself, but Henry also. From my perspective, I felt that there was no way I could allow my grief to run it's course because I lacked an outlet. Then a couple years following the excommunication, I began writing a book inspired by my life and obviously Henry had been very much a part of my life and had greatly influenced who I was becoming. Writing my memories of him and our time together was the equivalent to having dreams of him. Though at this point in my journey, I could no longer vividly remember his face, his voice or his laugh, I did remember his touch, his scent and the things he said. Writing about when I first met him and proceeding to write in detail how our friendship strengthened, developed and became enshrined in my heart as the years progressed, helped me to relive it all. I laughed, I cried, and there were times that I'd slam my fist on the desk and sink to the floor in vibrating sobs. But it was a comfort nonetheless, a release and relieving.
Thankfully, as it became clear that counseling was easing me through my grief, my mother gave conscious effort to tolerating my recounts and allow me to honor his memory in various ways. One of those ways was taking a trip to Lancaster, PA, where I furthered my knowledge of the Plain Way and saw the lifestyle he so respected up close and personal. There weren't that many worldly distractions, and so I was able to inhale the farmland breeze and feed calves, speak with like-minded Amish and ex-Amish and say, "for you..." I was able to have the satisfaction of knowing that what Henry had taught me growing up was sinking in and becoming of lasting value to me, whether it originated with legalism or not. It was still closure - small, simple closure, but closure definitely.
My mother began to try and see my grief from the point of view of knowing she hadn't been there to see the depth of my friendship with Henry. My writing about him and my talking about him slowly began to bless her as she realized how dear he was to me, and then sometimes would upset her because she hated to see me in pain. But nothing on earth compares to the way my Godmother responded to my grief. She sat beside me one evening reading over the drafts I had written regarding Henry, and laughed and laughed and repeatedly said, "I can see everything like I was there... I never knew the friendship was like this until you had me read this. This is great. This guy was special for sure." Then there was a pause. She turned to me (we were alone) and she said something I will never, ever forget. She had always been very conservative and would rarely swear if at all, but that night she said: "It hurt like hell, didn't it?"
With those words, an ice sheet I hadn't known was coating my heart, smashed to pieces as easily as slicing butter. It was like a thunderclap. It was as if she'd taken a pin and struck a balloon. The smashing was so needed, so relieving that I realized that she had just connected with me on a level nobody but Henry could've. Her words took the breath out of my lungs while wrapping me in a hug. The movie, Goodwill Hunting comes to mind. Remember the scene where William's character insists to Damon's, "it's not your fault?" and after repeating that, he struck a cord, hit the nail on the head, causing the boy to rain sobs? That's what happened when my Godmother said what she did. No one had really ever truly acknowledged my pain like that before, because they were all to preoccupied trying to get me to forget it was even there. But a wound can't heal by just closing your eyes and hoping when you open them, it'll have vanished. No, you must treat the wound... Assess the severity, clean it, then apply ointment... Only then can you bandage it.
Would you know that very soon after my Godmom spoke to me, I started to dream of Henry. At first, I'd pass him on the street or see him in a restaurant, but he'd never notice me. Then the dreams became more comforting, and he'd see me and smile. From there in my dreams, he would greet me in his own voice, and then later on, I began to be able to dream of interacting with him, hugging him, laughing with him, walking beside him, touching his beard and jacket as I always had as a little girl. I could soon dream of him as if I had figured out how to time travel back and start all over. I'd see myself as a little girl again meeting him for the first time and just as I had done in my writing about it, I could follow our friendship through the years as if I were a fly on the wall.
At the start of being able to dream of him, I'd wake up crying, and soon would wake myself up with giggles and a single tear going down my cheek. It occurred to me then, that even if no one else in the entire world could understand my reason for grieving, I knew of a friend who helped me walk through trials, lift my spirits, and teach me lessons of being in the moment. I also knew that all throughout the years I'd known Henry, God saw everything, heard everything, felt everything: my joy, our laughter, my grief, my gratitude for the time I did get to share with him.
The more I thought about it, the more I believed that it was sort of special in a way to have had a friend that very few probably had the pleasure of knowing like I did. It's special to me that I get to keep those memories in my heart forever and that through those memories, I have come to appreciate the little things in life more than I used to. Having gone through what I did with Henry, makes conversations a little more sweeter, the sunlight beam through the window a little brighter and the heartbeat of my loved ones a little more noticeable when I rest my head against them.
In the end, I leave you all with a couple final thoughts. I just adore these words from an unknown author: "The biggest communication problem is we do not listen to understand, we listen to reply." (click here for source) Always remember that 9 times out of 10 there is a valid reason for someone's grief and we may not know the whole story. Remember that when grieving a loved one, someone is grieving a person, a friend, a family member, or a child. A confidant perhaps, with whom they'd laugh over coffee in a book store with, or go on trips with to get away and enjoy nature. Their loss was a Someone. That Someone could be the picture in their locket, or the reason one bedroom might not be touched in years because it would destroy their scent - the only direct reminder of their presence there. Grief is deep.
See Also:
"Why Relationships Are Never A Waste Of Time"
"Dance In The Rain: Missing Someone": who was Henry and how can I get over missing someone?
MY TIPS FOR HELPING SOMEONE THROUGH SOLO-GRIEF & WHY:
1.) Validate It: I suppose there could always be exceptions, but usually the expression of genuine grief is for a very good reason. By acknowledging this, a loved one will be more approachable should the person wish to vent. Often, someone might be in denial state, so letting them know it is okay to grieve is important. They will need you to be there for them, though, and in a way, lift some of the sorrow away.
2.) Be prepared for anything and everything: everyone grieves differently, therefore be ready for anything, including a shock period, a denial period, sobs, laughter, hallucinations, binge eating, drinking, self-harm temptations. If you even suspect that your grieving loved one may try to harm themselves in any form, contact either a hospital or counselor immediately, whichever is more appropriate. Your loved one may unintentionally become very agitated, angry or offended by you, and may try to distance their self from you to avoid "grieving again". A counselor would be able to assist them and whoever else is closest to them, in getting everyone through the storm in a healthy, slow-paced, confidential and caring way.
3.) Avoid putting a time limit on grief: the coming to terms with a loss is a very long journey and it's vital to remember that one will not heal from it completely overnight. The actual emotion wound or void might heal and scab over, but even after that scab is gone, there will still be a scar. A scar means that there was a wound present, but now the pain is not there. So grief will come in waves for an undetermined amount of time, simply because grief is the acknowledgment and expression of an emotional pain. After a fire tears down grassland, will that land be barren forever more? Not usually; the beauty will return, and so will the life within it, ja?
4.) Know that grief isn't always debilitating: even though, yes, grief is painful and will put one "out of commission" so to speak, be aware of the fact that through grief, comes growth. As I had explained in the blog post, grieving will fortify. By allowing oneself to have a good cry when we need it is not a sign of weakness, but a showing of needing to breathe and embrace new joy. We cannot move on, if our ankle is chained to whatever is paining us.
5.) Be there, but not everywhere: As the loved one, sooth the grieving person by simply offering your presence and only speak when they show request to hear you, unless they wish otherwise. By being "everywhere", I mean don't try to analyze the grief too much (that's a counselor's job). You are not in the position to objectively assess, diagnose and treat what's going on, and by trying to do these things, you could potentially prolong the grieving process and unintentionally make whoever is grieving feel condemned or like there is something wrong with them. Only if the grief becomes dangerous to their health or others' health and wellbeing, should you have any true reason to need answers, at which time you should contact the appropriate professionals. Remember that grief can sometimes be a very private thing, so please do be mindful of the person's need for confidentiality and space.
6.) Don't expect the person to know how you can best help: they're grieving, and with grieving, comes intense sorrow and cloudy cognitive awareness. Sometimes, they don't know what would best sooth them, and so it becomes time for trial and error. Don't be too hovering, but quietly expose them to various healthy options to get comfort and release, and let them choose which option(s) are the most appealing. Some options may include, but aren't limited to: music, counseling, road trip, exposure therapy (needs to be done by a qualified, trained pro). Again, if their safety is at risk, things will be different and professional help is a must.
7.) Share it to the best of your ability: for me, one of the most effective ways to combat the pain was when my Godmother recognized that agony that I felt no one would ever understand. It's been a great comfort in my personal journey through all this, to somedays just hug and rock back and forth with a loved one, because feeling the closeness helps me share the weight so it's not as heavy to carry alone. Others in my life have genuinely become teary-eyed and emotional as I told what happened, and seeing them cry for me also has helped me realize that I'm around people who care and want to see my void filled again.
8.) Empower, don't dwell: this is a big one. Don't dwell on the loved one's grief, instead remind them in a soothing manner that bright days are ahead and that they are very brave and strong for getting through this in such a healthy way. Let your words be as honey is to a sore throat, and let your actions emulate the easiness of eucalyptus oil. I say this this way on purpose, to help you visualize healing and restoration. And if you're grieving and you're reading this, may this serve as ointment for your ache. Don't focus on the pain, but look at the growth that is to come and be ready and willing to shed away the hurt and come into a more fortified, enlightened and compassionate version of yourself.