All those years, I fell for the great palace lie that grief should be gotten over
as quickly and as privately as possible. But what I have discovered since is
that the lifelong fear of grief keeps us in a barren, isolated place and that only
grieving can help heal grief; the passage of time will lessen the acuteness, but
time alone, without the direct experience of grief, will not heal it.1
—ANNE LAMOTT
Many of us harbor our own “great palace lies” about grief. We may believe that grief should only last for a fixed and fairly brief period of time, or that the “grieving process” should proceed in a particular sequence.2 In 1969, psychiatrist and renowned researcher Elisabeth Kübler-Ross wrote a popular book about the five stages of moving through dying and death.3 Decades later, Kübler-Ross and coauthor David Kessler wrote a book in which they worked with the same stages—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance—to explain how people move through the grieving experience.
Even at the time of writing On Grief and Grieving, the authors acknowledged that Kübler-Ross's ideas about stages were widely misunderstood.4 She did not mean to assert that there is only one prescribed timeline or a unique sequence of emotions and experiences (denial, anger, and so forth) that most people would predictably follow as they grieved.5
And yet, Kübler-Ross's ideas gained traction and have continued to penetrate popular culture with far-reaching and, for some people, painful consequences. In my bereavement groups, I often hear people worry aloud that they have missed an important stage or even plaintively ask if they are grieving “correctly.”
As you reflect on your own experiences, try to keep in mind that grieving has no predictable stages or particular timeline. Grief has as many different expressions as there are people who grieve. We all share some common and universal experiences, yet each of us moves through grief in our own way and in our own time.
Russell Friedman, author and cofounder of the Grief Recovery Method, describes grief as “(a) normal and natural emotional reaction to loss or change of any kind.”6 Because we are human beings, we are bound to suffer heartbreaking losses. We all lose our youth. Some of us lose a child or children. We lose our parents or a partner. We lose jobs that we care about. Eventually, most of us grow old, and even the most illustrious careers come to an end. Our healthy bodies, our stuff, homes, and dreams are all temporary. Because we live fully and love, there comes a time of grieving for nearly all of us.
Grief gives rise to a rich and confusing mix of emotions and sensations anchored in sadness. This much is familiar to most of us. But fear, regret, anxiety, depression, hopelessness, despair, and anger are aspects or qualities of grief, too. And, somewhat surprisingly perhaps, so are more welcome feelings and experiences, such as gratitude and joy.
Many people feel deeply sad after the death of a loved one following a long illness. But, at the same time, it is common to hear people speak of relief—that the person who has died no longer suffers, and that their own days no longer revolve around caregiving and making complicated medical decisions.
Your grief will last for as long as it lasts. In one of my bereavement groups, two members joined the group on the same night. One had lost his partner just before joining the group, and the other had lost his spouse two years earlier. The man who had just lost his partner felt he was over the acuteness of his grief after a month and soon stopped attending. The other stayed in the group for two more years.
For some people, the hardest time is the first year following a death or major loss. You feel overwhelmed by practical tasks, such as finding a funeral home, notifying friends and family, getting through a memorial service, settling an estate, and dealing with finances and possessions. For others, the second year feels the most difficult to get through, when practical tasks that required attention (and in some ways provided respite from raw feelings) are mostly finished.
Some experience grief as a series of waves. One day you feel distraught and immobilized. The next day you find the unexpected strength to do an errand. Perhaps you walk down the aisle of a supermarket, thinking that you are having a good day. And then, you see something that reminds you of what and whom you've lost. Your heart is broken open by something as ordinary as a can of tuna.
You could think of grief as a passage. You are torn from the life you knew before. You are not who you were, and you are not yet who you will become. You are, in a very real way, between identities. This experience—profoundly different for each of us—is confusing and agonizing, and it may also be a doorway for transformation.
Though this may be hard to believe or accept at first, grief can be seen as an invitation to grow and, eventually, to find meaning in suffering and in the experience of loss. A heart that is broken open offers a precious gift—a chance to become more authentic with yourself and with other people.
Holding grief close, as a companion, allows for opening to love, compassion, hope, and forgiveness. Author and grief therapist Francis Weller writes, “When we don't push the pain of grief away, when we welcome and engage it, we live and love more fully.”7
Sit quietly for a few moments and settle into the meditation by noticing the subtle movement in your body as you breathe in and then out. Say slowly, to yourself, the following phrases:
May I welcome all my feelings as I grieve.
May I allow grief to soften and strengthen my heart.
May I hold my sorrow with tenderness and compassion.
Spend a few moments reflecting on any “rules” or expectations you carry about grief:
Consider where you acquired your beliefs about grief:
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.
—Naomi Shihab Nye