Understanding Grief

Grief is a cruel and unusual form of torture. Just a few years ago, I was a true stranger to the concept of grief. Over my life, I lost many pets, a few friends, some extended family. I thought I knew what grief was, but I can tell you, I really didn’t know. One could say that my knowledge of grief was to the extent of dipping a toe in a pool of water to gauge the temperature. In actuality the man who writes this now, has experienced grief in its entirety. I dove into the pool of water, completely submerged in its fluidity and have determined that grief isn’t one temperature, but a multitude of temperatures the deeper one swims. It gets colder and colder as you exhale the air from your lungs, swimming quickly to the surface to gasp for more air. Grief isn’t a feeling. True grief is a multitude of thoughts, feelings, hurt, confusion, loss, separation, disconnect, and a constant internal monologue as you process those emotions like water between your fingertips, blurred and refracted colors squeezing into your iris, goosebumps followed by aches beneath your skin, and the sound of silence between your ears. Grief is your minds way of reconciling your new reality.

?Over the last few years, I’ve lost everyone who was a part of making me, me. Not only were they apart of my development, they also knew me mostly from birth. They saw me grow from a baby, to child, adolescent, young man, working man, and family man. If photos in album could talk, their voices would be the ones speaking, each with their own unique view of who I’ve been and who they hope I become. They are the instruments in a band making the melody that is me. When they all passed, all that remained was deafening silence. First I lost my aunt Honey, then my father’s girlfriend of 25 years, I nearly met a similar end with my first battle with cancer. Next was my only sister through an overdose and then a cousin. Next was my grandmother who was like my best friend. My mother passed away next followed by my uncle and my courageous aunt whom battled cancer with me when mine returned. Last but not least, my father passed, and it really left me feeling broken. When he passed, he was the last one who really knew me. He was a very large part of who I became. He was the one person I spent the most time with over the last few years of his life. Losing him was soul crushing.

?Loss is hard, but it’s not constant. There are days where you don’t think about it. It doesn’t affect you too much. You enjoy your friends, live your life, laugh at the world. Then there are days where the feeling of loss is paralyzing like sever arthritis. The best way I think I can best describe grief as an emotion for someone who hasn’t truly experienced it, is like this. You have this phone. It has everything on it. Your life, text messages, photos, emails, calls, voicemails, it has everything. This phone is the only way you can contact loved ones. See it only makes outgoing calls. It can never receive them. It’s your point of contact.

Have you ever dropped your phone accidentally? For a split second it’s like all your bad decision flash before your eyes. Your heart stops. Your skin burns, there’s a rush of adrenalin, you feel like your having a heart attack. In most cases, it’s a false alarm. You have a protective case on it and you can keep using it. However, in this moment there’s no case on it and it’s completely shattered. Your chest tightens, your breathing shallow, your skin burns with heat, you seize, in the horror that all communication has now and forever ended. Feeling your heartbeat, you clam down, filled with regret, as you return to the moment. The worst has passed you think to yourself, “but really has it?” (a little voice in your head says). Moving forward you now have to deal with the reality of a forever severed relationship.

That lifeline, that form of communication you took for granted all those years. It’s not coming back. All you have is your thoughts, memories, and occasional dreams. As you try to move on in your life, faced with the new reality of your future. Friends tell you they are here for you, but you’re always reminded that they have their own closely guarded phones. When you’ve lost as much as you have in such a short time, no one truly knows what it’s life to be you, to lose them all and still survive. The truth is, none of your friends truly can know you as well as your family, not in the same way. Your friends mean the best, but they can’t understand where you are now. You’re a shell of who you used to be, because all of those who could share the most amazing things about you, are gone. In fact, as a biproduct of your new state, you hold your closest friends closer, and the other people in your life at a distance.

?As a single guy, who can’t remember when he was last in love because he gave all his love to his family. It’s even harder to cope. Your friends are your lifeline, but when a friendship unexpectedly ends, it’s the closest thing to the loss of another family member. Recently I experienced this with my best friend Michelle. It didn’t happen all at once. I noticed I was seeing less and less of her. One day I called Michelle and she admitted that the only reason why she picked up was because she thought I was nearby and didn’t want to get caught. After that my best friend became as connected to me as a ghost. The loss of a friendship was equal if not more painful as a real loss. To this day, I don’t know what happened, but life goes on, just a bit quieter and sadder.

?Social Media is quite literally the worst coping mechanism for grief whether it be maintaining existing friendships, dating, or blogs. It’s so much more raw and unfiltered. For example, over four years ago I ordered a vehicle I had been waiting quite some time for. When it was finally available, a tug of war ensued in my mind as to whether I should buy this flashy item. Eventually I did, against my better judgement. I bought this vehicle as a gift for myself as a reward for surviving my grief and pushing forward. My friends on social media were quick to share their feedback. Some thought it was really cool. I wasn’t prepared for the feedback I would receive from more than half of them. They shared their negative feedback, saying it was ugly, the ugliest vehicle that they had ever seen. They didn’t know what I was thinking, etc etc. I think under normal circumstances I would have laughed it off, but in the moment, it felt like a personal assault. I don’t think many of them would have said it aloud if they knew it was going to upset me. From there it only grew worse until I reach a point where I was applying self-deprecating humor just to get past the moment. Other conversations started to have similar effects, politics, my business, the market, my lack of a love life. I was starting to feel as though the whole world didn’t really quite get me, more specifically didn’t feel like I belonged anymore. The only thing I can say is that grief amplifies raw emotion. When your friend says they think your car is ugly, your emotions translate it to “they think you’re ugly.” When you and a friend disagree on something, your emotions translate it into “you don’t know anything.” When you’re chatting with a perspective date and they vanish, never to be heard from again, your emotions translate that into, “no one will ever like or even appreciate you." And the more often these things repeat, the more you start to believe them. You’ll quit your job. You’ll refrain from going out. You will become more and more of a recluse. While all of this is going on, you’re still thinking about your loss. You’re still grappling with grief. When adverse things occur in your life, you feel like it’s meant to be. Maybe you’re just meant to be alone. You start to imagine what the world would look like in the days, weeks, months, and years after your death. You ask yourself the question, is it better for those around you, not to grieve for you because you didn’t make such a large impact on their life. In a way, you might be doing them a favor.

?I am by no means even remotely suicidal. I have fought to hard to stay on this earth, but I can imagine what goes on in the weaker mind of someone who is. I can’t imagine, anyone in my family, my mother, father, and sister, being in my position now and being as remotely strong as I. I think they would’ve buckled under the weight of grief.

?That being said, now that I am in the epicenter of grief, I’ve processed my emotions, and analyzed it in detail. I think it’s important that I move out of this destructive headspace. Over the last few days, I’ve had a number of phone calls with friends, they’ve all asked if I was OK. They shared that there’s a sadness in my voice, that I am less enthusiastic than I normally am. Of course I brush it off, because I never want to bring those around me down. I never have and I hope I never will. I would prefer to be remembered as the awe inspiring, happy go lucky guy, with a bright and cheerful smile and attitude, even if I’m faking it.

?So you’re probably asking yourself, why even write this at all, if you want to be Mr. Positive Attitude? The truth is that we all wear 2 faces, the one we show those around us and the one we keep to ourselves. I’ve come to realize that the face I keep to myself benefits no one but me. I don’t want to just be the gratitude guy, I also want to be that real guy too. Grief is hard. It continues to be a source of great anguish. It has weaponized my emotions into unrelenting superpowered self-doubt. I have never felt more lost in my life than I do right now. I don’t know what the future will hold, but I intend to keep fighting to my dying breath.

?Side note:

Words matter, in all forms. You can never know the impact of the words you share will have one the one that’s receiving them. Use caution as those words may be amplified by the emotions of the receiver.