Griefitude
In my experience, the first ‘era’ in losing someone (it doesn’t have to be a year, it could be much more or a lot less) is all about experiencing and ultimately surviving the raw emotions of grief. Although we can make decisions and often have to think clearly about our lives and show up for others, those first days of feelings washing over you in so many ways make you feel at the mercy of loss and sadness. It felt like this to me:
Grief. Something I have to do. Tears. Able to function slightly. Tumble into the pit. Climb out enough to fill out a form. Elephant on my chest. Get it together, make lunches and drive kids to school. Pull over on the way home because I can’t see to drive for crying. Make it through another day. Agony. I can’t do this on my own. Yes, you have to. Repeat, with slight variations, for days and sometimes weeks.
Early on, I tried to reason with myself on a regular basis. “You have so much to be thankful for. As widows around the world go, you are lucky. Your husband had a ‘good’ death, warm in his bed at home, surrounded by love after excellent health care and a lifetime of accomplishment. You have children, you have to be strong for them. You have to take care of yourself, you can’t let them lose two parents.” And finally, when I really was a hot mess, as my late colleague Rev. Martha Munson used to say “Buck up, you snivelling coward!”
None of it really helped much at all. I realized then that grief is emotion and the talks you give yourself or the advice of others are thoughts. You cannot reason with the way you feel. I finally accepted that it’s really all about grief, for a long time.
Of course I knew that profound sadness doesn’t last forever. From previous experiences of loss and from helping so many through their own passages in my ministry, I understood that grief gently loosens its grip over time. Some of my closest friends have lost spouses, parents, siblings, close friends and yes, even children. Yet today they are touched but not destroyed by those losses. Or as my dear friend Iona said “There’s still a hole in my life, I just don’t fall in it as often.” So how did they get there?
I knew that the destination was feeling more grateful for ‘having had’ than being gutted by loss. But the gap between the grief I felt now and the gratitude I was hoping to feel one day was too wide to bridge. Then a word popped into my head that seemed to perfectly sum up where I was on the road to healing after that first, raw stage of bereavement had passed: “Griefitude.”
‘Griefitude’ I realized was a way station on the road from loss to healing, somewhere between grief and gratitude. So many of my moments that second year were about feeling more than one thing at the same time. Smiling through tears. Missing him but knowing I had been blessed by being loved by him in the first place. Realizing with a lump in my throat both how proud their father would be of our children and the significant role he played in getting them there. Sentimental as hell about some of his things and ready to let go of others. Wanting to stay home and lick my wounds and also feeling able to venture out a little bit. Feeling incredible vulnerable and also proud of how far I’d come. Looking back in love, around me in the present and even tentatively forward to an unknown future.
The process of healing from grief isn’t straightforward for sure. I’ve always felt that those who describe it in neat and linear stages must never have lost anyone! It’s sink down, make progress, regress, stumble forward, fall in the pit, pull yourself out, one step ahead, two or three back, long plateau, moments of hope and possibility, back down again, climb the mountain and look back on where you started… and on and on it goes.
But recognizing the ‘season of Griefitude’ helps you not only see where you’ve been and the progress you’ve made, but where you’re going. It helps you understand that grief doesn’t follow a linear path and that what may seem like stumbles and setbacks are a normal part of the journey and are to be expected. It also helps you recognise the moments of joy and love embedded in the deepest longing. And it gives you hope that one day, perhaps in the not so distant future, it might not hurt quite so much.
I say I am a new widow, my husband passed suddenly June 6, 2023, so 15 months now. I feel I am a new widow because I am just 46 now and believe I will live a long life, God willing. I have tried so hard to jump to gratitude and end up exhausted and on the couch recovering from the effort it takes for me to be grateful. I am not taking care of myself and isolate most of the time. I think starting with griefitude is a baby step I can take. Sometimes I feel if I just do the “things” I will feel better, get on with it. It’s not working. Sure the things get done, but the grief is still as heavy as ever. Thank you for sharing this option. I think practicing having a good greifitude is a great baby step in the right direction that is manageable for me at this time. I pray with time, as I become an old widow, I will be of service to new widows as they cross my path. Thank you!
Dearest Kelly,
Thank you for writing and sharing your experience. My heart goes out to you. 46 is indeed very, very young to be widowed! It’s hard to look ahead to the years and decades potentially stretching in front of you and think about all that time without your Beloved.
Just a year and a half into your loss is nothing. I would definitely call that “early days” – and as I shared in the website, the name for that section came from a widow friend who had been on her own for seven years – exactly the same as me now – who encountered me at about a year and a half – the same as you now. She said to me “How long has it been now, Allison?” When I replied “A year and a half” she said “Oh, early days, my dear, early days!” So I would say that to you now. A year and a half is not much time at all to adjust your spirit to such a big loss. Be gentle with yourself. Grief sets its own timetable and it certainly doesn’t always respect the “milestones” that life and others and society seems to expect of us.
Sudden loss also adds another layer of trauma that is hard to process. It’s a shock to your entire system, not only your own life and psyche but your sense of the goodness and dependability of the universe! You will need extra time because of the shock and unpredictable nature of your loss!
I’m so glad if the concept of “Griefitude” is helpful to you. It certainly didn’t come on me all at once, it was more like brief moments where I felt both incredibly sad, but also grateful for having had a great love. Over time the grief part has become smaller and the gratitude bigger, but the grief is still there. But so is the Love! That’s what I try to focus on, the feeling of loving and being loved that I was so privileged to have!
Isolating and being on the couch is part of it all. Sometimes you just don’t feel fit for human consumption and you feel like others really don’t understand. And in a way, they don’t. I always look at all my happily married friends, and I think to myself “Well, one day you’ll get it.” Not that I would wish that on anyone, but if you love, you will grieve. It’s a price worth paying, but also painful as well as glorious!
I will definitely pray for peace and healing to surround you – and for the spirit of “Griefitude” to be gentle with you as you remember, grieve, smile and release – all mixed up together.
Courage and Love to you dear Kelly!❤️
Reverend Allison