My journey through grief, how it works in reality

What do we mean by grief? The textbooks tell us that grief is an emotional reaction to a loss, which may be the death of a loved one or a pet, getting a divorce or breaking up with a partner, losing a job, or moving house. The list goes on. Grief is intensely personal, contradictory and unpredictable. Above all, it’s messy, and it doesn’t always follow the textbook’s description. Every person will have a different and unique experience of what it means for them.

What grief looks like in reality

Grief has no rules; it comes in waves, and the pain of the loss is intense. Death is permanent, and the loss will cause permanent changes in your life.

Mourning or bereavement is the process we go through to adjust to this new world we find ourselves in. To figure out how to live with this reality that we don’t want to be true, to figure out a way of enduring the pain and the loss. Mourning forces us to accept that there are some things in our lives that simply cannot be fixed or changed, however much we might kick and scream, plead with a deity or have the ability to throw copious amounts of wealth about. Nothing will change what has happened.  

There is no set pattern in the journey of a grieving person; it is an entirely individual process, and there is no set order or indeed set time scale and not everyone will experience every stage. All the stages experienced may be performed out of any sequence and often will be returned to and repeated. I return to the phrase: grieving is messy.

The stages of grief

The stages are categorised as:

Numbness

Numbness is the body’s natural way of protection. It is a mental reaction, but can also be a physical one for some.  It gives you time to explore at your own pace what has happened and the changes that you are going through, whilst everything else is on hold or autopilot.

Denial and disbelief

Denial and disbelief are automatic reactions to help buffer the shock of the situation. For some, there will be an imagination that it has not happened and a desperate clinging to this belief.

Anger

Anger can be a redirection of the pain, but it also comes with questions: Why me? Why did they leave me?  What is the reason? There are no answers to these questions, and that often increases the anger, but anger is the reconnection to feeling after numbness and is usually the beginning of the way back to connection.  

Guilt and bargaining

Guilt and bargaining are both desperate attempts to hold on to something that has gone forever. Guilt that you are still alive and the deceased is not, guilt that you could have done more to help, to change the situation, to prevent the death. Bargaining with the universe or with a God or deity to reverse the situation if you did such and such.   

Helplessness and depression

Helplessness and depression during bereavement are a natural and appropriate response to grief as the bereaved starts facing the reality of their future. Intense sadness, fatigue, vulnerability, confusion, and loss of appetite are all common experiences during this stage.    

Counselling is intended to help the client grieve in a healthy manner, to understand and cope with the emotions they are experiencing and to help them move forward.

“We do not want to be moved on and leave the person behind; we want to move forward with the person in our hearts. Grief does not happen in a vacuum, and life is not over; it's just another chapter. We have been touched by something chronic, and it cannot be fixed. The sky we look up at is the same sky as before, but we are changed,” Nora McIner.

“The reality is you will carry that grief forever, you will not get over the loss of your loved one, you will learn to live with it. You will heal and rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will be whole again, but you will never be the same as before, nor should you be the same, nor would you want to be the same.” E. Kuber-Ross         

My personal experience with loss

35 years ago, my daughter drowned in an accident. She was six years old.

I don’t remember being offered counselling; there probably was very little acknowledgement at that time that anyone would benefit from counselling following a sudden bereavement. I was given sleeping pills by my GP, but straight away I instinctively knew I didn’t want sleeping pills. I needed to feel the pain of grief, somehow, it dulled the emotions, and I could just be in the pain without the tears or the emotion.

The shock is that life goes on. I had a family, and all the growing up and family stuff continued to happen. The pain created a numbness, and I could continue to function on an everyday basis. It becomes addictive, and looking back, I hung onto that pain for months, maybe even years. On the outside, I functioned “normally”, but inside, there is nothing, and this is wonderful, and this gets you through each day. This is a place you could stay and want to stay forever.  

I discovered grief doesn’t hit in tidy stages that we can move on from step by step; it is a process that has a momentum of its own, and for that process to work, we need to find ways of coping with facing the reality and the pain.     

The first feeling that invaded the numbness was the feeling of guilt that I should have been able to prevent the accident; I could have done something. This was and has been the most difficult feeling to address and resolve. It crept into everyday and was certainly a reason to hang onto numbness and nothingness.

Gradually, over time, a feeling of anger occasionally began to creep in. At the time and even now, I am not really sure who with. I could have been more of a religious believer then and would have been able to be angry with God for allowing this to happen. It could have been the universe or just “it” had allowed this terrible thing to happen. Whoever it was directed towards, the anger was my first step out of the nothing; it felt good, it was straightforward, it was basic, it was healing, even though it was going nowhere with no direction, it was purely, simply anger.

Alongside the anger came a feeling which I can only describe as a denial of the acceptance of infinity. I could not comprehend that I would never see my daughter again. That seemed impossible to get my head around. To stop and try and imagine “never” is totally incomprehensible. I would spend time trying to go further and further into “never” and getting more and more nowhere. I don’t think I have figured this one out even now.

For me, bargaining and helplessness were not part of my journey or a part I recall as being much used.  

Depression came later, years later, and at the time, I did not think there was a connection. There may have been or there may not have been; there certainly was no obvious link, as in, “I am feeling like this because my daughter has died”. However, life is complicated and everything is linked. After reading The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel Van Der Kolk 2014, it's hard to think that the depression was not part of the grieving process.

And then there is 'acceptance'. Acceptance looks and reads like such a tiny thing, something that just happens effortlessly at the end of the process, but it is the holy grail of grief and mourning and equally as elusive. Of all the stages within the process, acceptance is the one that is experienced in a multitude of ways and is different for everyone. It was years before I became aware that I was able to accept my daughter’s death, and it was a slow and gradual realisation. The anger dissipated, the guilt reduced, the denial didn’t seem important, and I worked through the depression, and slowly the numbness and pain faded.  Life, with all its usual ups and downs, returns, but I don’t go forward from my daughter; I go forward with my daughter.      

So, what worked for me?

Nothing to start with. I existed and brought up my family, pulled up my socks and carried on. It was expected, and on the whole, someone who appears to be strong and getting on with life is approved of and admired, but that person is burying their grief.  

Something I didn’t expect was the inability to cry and the effect that had me, I was filling up with grief, and there was nowhere for it to go.  Death is the last great taboo. As a society, we can talk about sex and failure, and we can expose vulnerabilities, but on deat,h we keep silent. Acquaintances would talk about the weather and other mundane subjects rather than risk bringing death, “the elephant in the corner,” into the room in case I became upset and emotional. What was not realised is how desperately I needed to talk about my daughter. I wanted to share the memory of her and keep it alive, and keep remembering how she was.  

Equally important, I needed to be able to cry, an emotion which for me was locked up in the pain and the numbness.  The inability to let go of tears and the strong emotion of grief was at times all-consuming.  Compassion coming unexpectedly and wholeheartedly acted like a release valve, and the feeling of relief that came with the ability to cry was enormous. I shall never underestimate the power of tears again.

Over the years, sharing memories and often sharing tears has been healing, and it has taken years to work forward and backwards and then forward again through each process. I have used constant daily walking and long-distance walking. It clears the head and soothes the emotions.

Above all, the healing power of friends who listen with empathy and love should never be underestimated. Friends who allow you to be upset, to be contradictory, to be confused, or just to be silent. Friends who are willing to speak about the death, the person and the loss and voice their sadness, it doesn’t have to be articulate or tidy, it just has to come from the heart.   

What made the process of dealing with grief difficult or didn’t help?

Delicate euphemisms and other comments: She is in a better place. I understand how you feel. God must have wanted her because she was a good person. I am sorry you lost your daughter, or I am sorry your daughter passed. But all these are better than no acknowledgement and a steadfast determination to talk about the weather for as long as it takes.

Coping and processing one’s own grief is hard enough; having to help others through it is often an ask too far. The look of shock and then sadness and sympathy in someone’s face when they hear about my daughter, I found difficult then and still do now.  A little hug or a light touch or stroke may cause a tear, but it feels more comforting.  

Having to look after those people who don’t know what to say and are terrified of upsetting you, soothing over their awkwardness puts pressure on, and I ended up apologising for making them feel awkward. Most of the time, I was in uncharted territory, and I needed to be surrounded by things familiar, so don’t change, keep being your familiar self. Pretence is complicated and requires emotions and energy to respond to, and I just didn’t have any spare of either.

Holding the memory

Finally, I have reached a place in the journey where I can hold the memory of my daughter so lightly that she can be with me wherever I am. I can easily pick up this memory and hold it for as long as I want and then release it. I can feel sad or happy with the memory, but I can do that without pain, and she is always part of me.       

Show some emotion
Put expression in your eyes
Light up if you’re feeling happy
But if its bad then let those tears roll down

- Joan Armatrading, 1977

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Bibliography

• Armatrading J. 1997. A & M Records Randor Music, London
• Kolk B Van Der. 2014. The Body keeps the score. Vinter London
• Kuber-Ross E. 1969. On death and dying. Collier Books
• McInery N. 2021 Ted Talks