I didn’t expect grief to show up today.
My father passed away about three months ago. I spent most of the first few weeks crying off and on. The weight of his death seemed almost too much to bear.
I’m new to this grief thing. I’ve lost grandparents to death, friends to unlikely circumstances, communities to job changes, and seasons of my kids no longer needing me. All have produced some sort of grief but nothing like losing a parent. I’ve dipped my toes into despair in the past, but this time I’m submerged.
As I rolled over in bed this morning, this thought hit me: I won’t hear my dad wish me a happy birthday today.I tried to dismiss it with gratitude. After all, I havea lot to be thankful for. My husband already spoiled me rotten with a kid-free trip for my fortieth birthday, and I knew today would be filled with unexpected blessings. Wasn’t that enough?! That thought worked for a while,because who wants to be sad on their birthday?
I emerged from my bed, grabbed coffee, and tried to tell myself I should be happy. The kids showered me with gifts, and my husband talked about the dinner we’llhave later tonight.
Count your blessings. Isn’t that what we’re told to do? Make a list of everythingwe’re grateful for, and then life will be happy again. It’s as if gratitude is our magic wand, and we wave it when life gets too complicated.
Since we don’t openly talk about grief as a culture, I think we have a disillusioned view of what it should look like for each of us. We don’t know what’s “normal” or right. I sure didn’t.
Grief doesn’t fit in a box. It’s unpredictable. Insidious. Imposing,and it demands to be felt. It can’t always be explained, and it doesn’t just come on when there is physical death. I grieved when we moved to a different state and left the friends we loved so much. Sometimes grief takes years to walk through, and what I’ve learned most is that everyone grieves differently.
Our culture seems to dismiss sadness and grief. They both get the label “wrong.” They’re something we hurry each other through by saying things like, “It will all be okay,” “He’s in a better place now,” “Look at all your blessings.” Like just because you’re blessed, you shouldn’t be sad. When in actuality, someone’s sadness makes us uncomfortable, and instead of sitting in the uncomfortableness, we feel the need to place a Band-Aid on it with our words. When, in reality, silence is best.
In saying these things and not holding space for the sadness, we silence others from expressing their pain, and in doing so, they feel alone and isolated. Instead of openly talking about their loss, they pretend to be happy and say things like, “God is so good. Aren’t we blessed?”
I didn’t quite understand the relationship between gratitude and grief until my mom walked in my back door at lunchtime today with a bouquet of flowers and a gift.
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