Grief isn't linear. It doesn't follow a neat, predictable path. Instead, it arrives like the ocean – sometimes a gentle ripple, other times a crashing wave that leaves you breathless and gasping for air. This is the story of how I learned to navigate those waves, and how, eventually, the turbulent sea calmed to a peaceful shore.
My grandmother, Nana Elsie, was the sun in our family's sky. Her laughter was infectious, her hugs warm and comforting, and her wisdom boundless. When she passed away, after a long battle with illness, it felt as though that sun had been extinguished. The initial shock was numb, a blankness that swallowed me whole. Then came the waves.
What are the stages of grief?
This is a question I asked myself repeatedly in the weeks following Nana Elsie's passing. The Kübler-Ross model – denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance – is often cited, but it’s important to remember that grief is not a five-step process. It's more like a swirling vortex, where you might experience all these emotions simultaneously, or cycle through them repeatedly, with no set order or timeline. For me, anger surged unexpectedly, directed not at anyone in particular, but at the unfairness of it all. The bargaining was subtle – a silent plea for more time, for a second chance. Depression settled like a heavy fog, obscuring everything in its path. And acceptance? That felt like a distant, unattainable shore.
How long does grief last?
There's no set duration for grief. It's a deeply personal journey, and the timeline varies greatly from person to person. Some days the waves were monstrous, leaving me exhausted and emotionally drained. Other days, the sea was relatively calm, allowing for moments of peace and even fleeting joy. The intensity and frequency of these waves lessened over time, but they never entirely disappeared. Learning to ride those waves, to accept their presence without being consumed by them, became my new normal.
What is the best way to cope with grief?
This question had no easy answer. What worked for one person might not work for another. For me, several strategies proved invaluable:
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Talking about it: Sharing my feelings with family and friends, even if it was just to recount a happy memory of Nana Elsie, helped tremendously. Their presence, their empathy, was a life raft in the stormy sea.
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Journaling: Writing down my thoughts and emotions provided an outlet for my grief, a way to process the overwhelming feelings that threatened to engulf me.
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Seeking professional help: A therapist provided guidance and support, helping me develop coping mechanisms and understand my grieving process.
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Remembering the good times: Focusing on the positive memories, the laughter, the love, helped to balance the overwhelming sadness. I created a scrapbook filled with photos and cherished mementos.
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Self-care: This was crucial. Prioritizing my physical and mental well-being – through exercise, healthy eating, and sufficient sleep – allowed me to face the waves with greater strength.
Does grief ever go away?
The truth is, grief doesn't entirely "go away." It changes. The sharp, agonizing pain fades, leaving behind a softer ache, a lingering sense of loss. But alongside this, a new, stronger sense of self emerges. The waves still come, but they’re less frequent and less intense. And I’ve learned to surf them, to navigate the choppy waters, trusting that even in the midst of the storm, there's always a shore to be reached. The sun may have set on Nana Elsie's life, but its warmth continues to illuminate my path. Her memory, like the ocean, is vast, deep, and ever-present. And that is a comfort, a source of enduring strength.
