Grief.  It’s a simple word to say.  Not a simple word to experience.

If you google the origin of the word grief most of the results will throw out words like: heavy, large, weighty, difficult, suffering, agony and sorrow.  If you have lived through grief, you know those words aren’t enough to describe the emotions and feelings that come with grief. 

I was reminded of how grief works recently through three separate experiences.  A conversation, an action and a picture.

A Conversation

I have a wonderful co-worker who unfortunately experienced the death of a family member that was extremely present in her life.  Her loved one died roughly 3 years ago and for the most part her heart has mended and his death isn’t a sharp pain, but more of a constant ache.  However, it only took one conversation for her emotions and feelings to be catapulted back to the time she lost her family member.  It happened in a blink of an eye and was so powerful she was unable to control the physical reaction of her body to the onslaught of emotions.  She wasn’t prepared for the emotions that bombarded her in such a short time frame and didn’t know exactly how to process everything she was experiencing in that moment.  How do you grieve quickly in a public place? How do you explain the hole in your heart to those around you who have never experienced this type of loss? This type of broken heart? How do you breath through the pain while smiling at your coworkers?

An Action

It’s not always a death that causes grief.  Ever been served divorce papers?  Been told you aren’t loved anymore?  Maybe told you were never loved in the first place?  It’s a different grief than watching someone die, but it’s still grief, still heavy and with piles of sorrow.  I got to experience cleaning out my garage this last weekend and piling up all of my soon to be ex-husbands stuff so it won’t take up any more space in my garage.  THAT is a sentence I never imagined I would have to say or write.  Every time I put something in his pile it was like watching the life I thought I had with him wither and die.  I replayed so much of our time together wondering if any of it was real.  Was I never enough for him? Will I ever feel normal again? Will it ever stop hurting to know I’m forgetable? I’m leavable?

A Picture

While I was cleaning out my garage, I came across a tote full of pictures.  As I was separating the ex’s family pictures and mine I came across a picture of me and my Dad at my high school graduation.  There he stood in all his sarcasm and wit, with a big smile on his face and a glint in his eyes, trying to give me a hug.  Of course being the snarky teenager I was, I wasn’t as smiley or huggy.  I sat there in my garage staring at my past, not taking my eyes off of him, the man who protected me, provided for me and opened my eyes to the wonderful world of sarcasm.  And then I started screaming at my younger self telling her to pay attention more.  Spend more time with him.  Ask him more questions and listen to his answers.  Memorize his stories.  Ask his advice more often.  After I was done screaming at myself, I started wondering if he would be proud of who I am.  The woman I’ve become.  The mom I am to his granddaughter.  The sister I am to his son.  The daughter I am to his wife.  And then I cried.  I cried that he isn’t her to help me clean my garage.  That he isn’t here to tell me everything is going to be okay.  That he isn’t here to give me one of his hugs while telling me I’m his favorite daughter. 

The statement I dislike the most right now is “Time heals all wounds”.  It doesn’t.  Point blank.  Full stop.  Time doesn’t heal.  What does time do?  It allows us to heal if we do the work.  But time will never just heal us.  How do we heal?  We use the five, four letter word grief and talk about our realities.  We don’t shy away from being honest with ourselves when we can barely take a breath because the grief is resting so heavy on our lungs.  We trust our friends to be the friends we say they are and allow them to help us.  We ask them to help clean out our garages.  We ask them to go to lunch.  We ask them for dad jokes.  We ask them to sit with us while we cry.  We ask them how they got through their grief.  We ask them to pray for us. 

If you are grieving, know you are not alone.  You are not sitting alone in your grief.  You are not the only one wondering how to survive the heavy, large, weighty, difficult suffering, agony and sorrow.  I am right next to you.  With my own grief.  With my own questions.  With my own anger.  With my own tears.