Gum on My Shoe: There's No Wrong Way to Grieve: Thoughts on Loss and Mourning for National Grief Awareness Week

Wednesday, 4 December 2024

There's No Wrong Way to Grieve: Thoughts on Loss and Mourning for National Grief Awareness Week

I cherish the boat we built together.
It keeps me afloat
when the waves of grief come rolling in.
— Dances with Dan: Embracing Grief

National Grief Awareness Week is dedicated to raising awareness about grief, offering support to those grieving, and building understanding around the grieving process. It recognises that grief is a natural response to loss and works to break down the stigma that often surrounds what is a deeply personal journey. It’s an opportunity to foster compassion, encourage open conversations, and create a more supportive environment for everyone affected by loss. The theme for Grief Awareness Week 2024 (December 2 – 8) is Shine a Light. The light I’d like to shine is that there’s no wrong way to grieve. It’s important to remember this, because it’s easy to fall into thinking we’re doing it wrong, too much, or not enough.

Part of the problem is we’re taught there are right ways of grieving, without acknowledging that these may not work for everyone. There are cultural, social, and religious conventions which may be relevant to our upbringing, values, or beliefs, but I’ve never found them relevant to me personally. At a psychological level, we’re told there are phases or stages to grief, such as those described in Five Stages of Grief by David Kessler and Elisabeth Kubler Ross. The five stages — denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance — “are a part of the framework that makes up our learning to live with the one we lost. They are tools to help us frame and identify what we may be feeling.” Such accounts are helpful to the extent that they remind us grief is a process rather than an event, but our experience may not fit the pattern. As the authors themselves make clear, “[these] are not stops on some linear timeline in grief. Not everyone goes through all of them or in a prescribed order. [...] Just remember your grief is an unique as you are.”

No matter our expectations or past experience, it’s impossible to know in advance how we’ll respond to the loss of someone dear to us. Grief may take us dramatically, gently, or scarcely at all. We may be overwhelmed by our feelings or utterly numb. We may cycle through the gamut of emotions, find ourselves mired in one place, or simply carry on with the business of life as though nothing has happened. There’s no right way to do this. No wrong way. It’s not something we choose. It’s what happens to and within us in the aftermath of loss.

The death of a friend affected me far more than either my father’s death when I was eighteen or my mother’s, decades later. There’s no record of how I felt when my father died, but I didn’t cry until years later when a friend asked how he’d died. I wrote the following in March 2019 for a blog post that was to be titled “Death Is Different: Contemplating Bereavement and Loss on the Anniversary of My Mother’s Death.”

Last week saw the first anniversary of my mother’s death. You might imagine I would be feeling something. Loss. Pain. Guilt, perhaps. Relief, even. But there’s little I can name. Maybe you’re thinking, well he must be mourning and just not realising it. That feels a bit presumptuous to me, and in any case I’m not sure it’s right.

I never completed that article on bereavement and loss. It’s taken until now to know what to do with those feelings. Or rather, that lack of feeling. I didn’t recognise it at the time, but my inability to label my emotional state owes something to alexithymia. It was nevertheless a step in my understanding and processing of grief. Other steps included an open letter to my father and one to my mother. Things I never said to them when they were alive. I’m not ashamed of how I responded but it’s something I’ve kept to myself, aware that society expected more of me. I’ve felt other than for not grieving as others do, wary of being judged uncaring, unfeeling, and cold. The opening lines of Albert Camus’ novel The Stranger resonate strongly with me.

Mother died today. Or, maybe, yesterday; I can’t be sure. The telegram from the Home says: YOUR MOTHER PASSED AWAY. FUNERAL TOMORROW. DEEP SYMPATHY. Which leaves the matter doubtful; it could have been yesterday.

In the novel, Meursault’s lack of emotion at his mother’s death is held against him as indicating a cold and unfeeling character. I can relate, although I hope to escape his ultimate fate.

Too little emotion isn’t the only way to “do grief wrong” in the eyes of others. A friend told me how his partner told him off for being “too upset” at a loved one’s death. He was grieving more intensely and for longer than his partner deemed appropriate. It may be hard to be there for someone who’s going through the process of grief — especially if our own response is less intense — but it doesn’t help to tell them they’re doing it wrong. I remember being at a memorial event years ago. One friend castigated another in their absence for not attending. The intensity of the criticism shocked me. It was born of their own pain but it was cruel and unfair. I felt for the person who, for their own reasons, could not be there. I knew I’d have been judged no less harshly if I’d chosen to stay away. Two decades later, the memory still stings.

There’s no hierarchy of grief and no loss is unworthy of being mourned. The death of a parent, child, partner, family member, friend, or animal companion, may all be deeply felt and deserve respect, caring support, and compassion. This is true whether we were bereaved by old age, accident, suicide, illness, conflict, crime, or any other circumstance.

Grief isn’t limited to the immediate aftermath of loss. The turning of the year brings anniversaries, birthdays, and many other memories. It’s important to acknowledge and navigate our feelings in whatever ways feel meaningful and appropriate. We might embrace our loss with thoughts and words and tears, or need distracting so as not to fall apart. We might want company or to be alone. We might be moved to visit places of particular significance, or immerse ourselves in our favourite music, movies, or poetry. Planting a tree or arranging a memorial bench can be meaningful, as can fundraising or donating to charity. I’ve attended a tree planting ceremony for a beloved friend, and taken part in sponsored walks to raise funds for charities including Chris Lucas Trust and the Alzheimer’s Society. Fran and I recently attended a community evening of commemoration organised by a hospice in her home city.

A time will come, of course, when we are mourned by those we leave behind. As I described in Letting Go of the Balloon I’ve recently begun thinking about end of life planning and legacy. It’s hard to think about my friends, family, and loved ones grieving my death but I hope they will feel able to do so as much or little, for as long, and in whatever ways they feel moved to.

I’d like to close by sharing a poem that has come to mean a lot to me.

I needed a boat
To keep me afloat
When the waves of grief threatened to upend me and send me spiralling downwards
Into the darkness below the surface.
So I built one,
With all the beautiful thoughts and
Memories of you.
With all of your unique and funny ways.
With all you stood for and stood up for,
In your short life on earth.
And after a while,
I realised you were building it alongside me,
With all your devotion, strength and dedication...
With all your love for me.
I cherish the boat we built together.
It keeps me afloat
When the waves of grief come rolling in.
— Dances with Dan: Embracing Grief