There is one thing that every griever has in common: the shift.
We have all felt it. The “before” and “after” that altered a piece of our identity forever.
The shift that shatters open a heart and breaks apart illusions of control, safety, and security.
I find myself thinking about that shift a lot lately. The “me” that I was before, and the person that I became after.
From this vantage point, a few years out, I see things that I couldn’t see when I was in the throes of fresh grief.
I reflect on the person I used to be: if I were able to somehow pass a note to my past self, what would I say about grief? What would I say about this evolving, confusing, painful, deeply engrained new piece of me?
So much of my experience of it has changed over time.
I’ve learned that it does not have a prescriptive nature to it. And while grief and loss are universal, they are also deeply visceral and personal.
I’ve learned that we can never fully prepare for it or anticipate exactly how it will present itself to us.
I’ve learned that it is isolating and leaves no part of who we are untouched.
I’ve learned that it changes everything, both within us and around us.
But amidst all of these things, I’ve also learned that love is eternal and enduring, and even if it’s not always present in the ways we wished it could be, it remains.
So, to the woman I was in the “immediate after”, the woman who was just starting out on this journey of loss, I would write this:
A Note to My Past Self:
If I could have gone back and told you about this pain, about the hole in your heart it would create, it still wouldn’t prepare you for this journey you are going to take.
You have just been submerged into the ocean of grief: a cold, harsh new reality. Right now, it feels all consuming and disorienting, because it is.
Right now, it’s hard to imagine that there could ever be an ebb and flow to the waves of this soul-saturating sorrow, but there will be.
There will be days where you stand on the shoreline and observe the grief from a distance instead of swimming against the current of it every moment of the day.
But, in the mean time, when you find yourself in the immensity of an all-encompassing pain, please proceed gently with your grief-stricken heart.
There’s no set way to do this and no prescribed way to start.
Give yourself permission to lament all the things that you wish you could say, the missed moments, and the ache that won’t go away.
Allow yourself to adapt to grief’s changing demands and keep your heart open to what it has to show you about the immensity of loss.
Know that help and hope will come in so many different forms, and please open the door to it. Loneliness and grief go hand-in-hand, but that doesn’t mean that there won’t also be empathetic arms reaching out to envelop you in their comfort and presence.
There will be people who you always thought would be there for you through hard seasons who fall away. But there will also be people you didn’t expect who show up in big and meaningful ways. It’s okay to feel the ripples of both these truths and to work through the things they stir up in you.
There will be days that, with little to no warning, you find yourself consumed by the pain again, immersed in your loss. The waves of grief can build when you smell a certain scent or see someone from behind, and for a split second, think it could be them. Or sometimes the waters rush in on a random Tuesday when you just miss them with an intensity you didn’t know would grip you again.
But remember, no matter how dark grief feels, no matter how far into its depths you find yourself, love is with you.
It will be the mustard seed of faith that penetrates through every layer of the pain. When you’re ready, it will beckon to you through cherished memories and sing to you in the songs you shared, even if at first, it is too painful to revisit these beautiful reminders of the past.
Love. It will be the thing that you can hold onto. It will be the force that helps you keep moving through the hardest days. It’ll somehow be the thing that both heals your heart and also makes it ache.
Like glimmers of light, the love will pinpoint the sky of your experience in a constellation of past and present moments. The love from those you’ve lost, the love from those that are still with you in this space, and the love you shine into their skies too. It will all coexist in your heart and continue to be a guide map for everything you do.
So, when you find yourself standing on the shoreline of your shattered heart, familiar with the depths of loss and forever changed by the waves of grief you continue to weather day after day, remember:
As you navigate this immense grief, love will be there to guide you.
Love is the lighthouse. The lifeboat. The brightest star.
And, it will never leave you. Grief will not take it from you.
After having recently lost my best friend of 10 years, I wasn't really sure what to feel and tell myself and how to tackle this feeling of grief. I still don't know honestly but a lot of it is exactly what you've articulated so beautifully. It feels like an extremely, warm and comfy hug thay has soothed this heaviness and suffocation that I was feeling in my heart and I didn't realise I ended up tearing by the end. Thank you so much. I'll be eagerly looking more such beautiful pieces ❤️
Thank you.