One Year on Grief — What I Learned in the Year Without You Here
As most of you know, one year ago my mother-in-law passed away. It was sudden, it was unexpected, and it was (to say the least) devastating.
My husband was crushed. I was crushed. Our world came to a standstill in a matter of moments; after a single phone call from the NYPD, the sky came crashing down all around us and the pieces of our lives suddenly didn’t fit together anymore like they used to.
I’d experienced grief before, but after a time it had softened — lessened, sunk into a deep part of me that I was able to put away on a shelf. But this time, when it came back around, it came back with a renewed sense of ferocity. The familiar grief I’d felt years before when my grandmother passed now felt stronger, more intense, more suffocating; the denial piece was more palpable than ever. I’d never lost someone so close to me so unexpectedly. I remember thinking, when I was finally able to think after that horrible phone call, “This isn’t supposed to happen.”
And, well, that’s life. Sometimes unexpected things happen — and sometimes they’re terrible, horrible, awful things — and we have to learn how to deal with them, because we have no other choice but to keep on keeping on. To wake up the next morning. To go through time, like we always do, and somehow get on with this so-called life.
So, in the span of one year, my experience with grief taught me a lot of lessons; how to fall apart, how to just survive the fall, how to start piecing it all back together, and how to get on with the show (even when you don’t want to). Here are some of my key takeaways from the past year:
You’ll fall apart — and that’s okay
Of course, the first thing that happened after the initial shock wore off was deep, paralyzing, and stunning pain. The kind of emotional pain that you can feel physically, down to your bones, when you feel literally sick to your stomach. Andrew and I both felt it, and we both hated it. This phase is kind of the worst, but during this phase your support system will rally around you like never before; and please, please let them.
Our family and friends rallied for us when we could barely sleep, eat, and much less do things like clean our house or go to work (while also planning a funeral, coordinating a cremation, etc. etc. etc.), and I will never forget it. The gratitude I feel for every friend, family member, co-worker, and acquaintance that reached out to us and helped or supported us in any way during that time kept us alive, and allowed us to wrestle the most unimaginable part of grief while they picked up the rest.
You’ll do some weird stuff — that’s okay, too
Do you know what begins to happen shortly after you fall apart? You find the pieces don’t quite fit like they used to when you try to put ‘em back together (at least not yet), and that a couple screws feel a little looser than they used to.
You might find yourself putting your phone in the microwave and your Hot Pocket in your purse (no, seriously), because your brain just isn’t firing like it used to. You might find that you want to be a crying mess on the couch one night, then fly off the rails the next night and stay up with your friends until 3 AM singing Britney Spears karaoke (badly). You might eat an entire pint of ice cream and a whole pizza out of sheer stress in :30 seconds one day, then find yourself too heartsick to eat anything the next. You might not recognize yourself for a while; you might make some mistakes, or do things you wouldn’t usually do.
But, the most important part? Giving yourself some grace. There is no clearly defined timeline on how long this stuff will mess with your head, and if you’re feeling a little “out of whack” for a while, that’s perfectly normal. Be kind to yourself.
You’ll find a “new normal” … eventually
As cliché as it sounds, you will survive this. Even when it feels impossible to go on. Even when you fall apart, fly off the rails, and all the other stuff I mentioned — you will survive. You may not feel yourself “thrive” for a while, but you will survive this. You must. You will wake up every day and face it, and maybe you barely get by, but you will live through this… and you will be so glad you did.
The best way I’ve found to honor my mother-in-law is to keep living. And that’s what Andrew and I have done. In the last year we had some paralyzing moments, some whacky moments, some moments of intense sadness and moments of intense joy, and that’s exactly what life is meant to be — a strange, eclectic amalgam of all the messy and beautiful things this world has to offer, and eventually you will wake up and you will feel normal again. Whatever “normal” means; but you get the point.
Anyhow, all this to say — I miss you, Deirdre. We all do. But I’m here. I’m doing the dang thing. I’m trying my best and learning as I go; and that’s all ya’ can do.
Xoxo,
MM.