On Grief...

How do you grieve?

I've been thinking about it lately.

A dear friend of mine lost her dog a few weeks ago. You know the pets that have your whole heart? That was her dog. Of course it made me think of losing George. And Sampson. And Redd (though we had to give Redd away before moving to stupid California with its stupid no ferret laws). And Mitzi (who stayed in New Mexico as the family dog after we moved away and died years later, but I still miss her). And other pets we've had through the years. But mostly George because he was the last one we had to say goodbye to.

And when someone loses their pet you do that. You think of your own loses and you identify with them. And you think, "How should I respond?" I've settled on "sorry" or "it's so hard" because it is. I try not to talk about how I know just exactly what they are feeling, because I don't. I know what I was feeling. And I know that part of my grieving process was probably different than others.

I hate that stupid poem.

I know, I know, it brings a lot of people great comfort, but I don't believe in an afterlife for people so why would I believe in a rainbow bridge for pets? How horrible for George and Sampson and the others to be waiting over there for me when I will never show up. Because I don't believe in it. So they aren't really waiting over there. See? But I know a lot of people find great comfort in that and share it automatically. And when George died I just said thank you when they did. Not "Do you even know me?" which is what I thought. So I don't share that poem. Or my thoughts on the fact that death is death is death. There was no before and there is no after there is just now. And that I find that to be wonderful but I know most people find it terrifying.

People don't want to hear that shit when they've just lost their companions.

Then another friend of mine asked if I would read a book on grieving before its release so I could give a review on release day. I've read blogs by the woman who wrote the book and found them to be really insightful and lovely so I absolutely agreed. The woman who writes the blogs and now the book lost her husband around the same time as my friend Jo lost hers. I felt like I understood a little more what Jo was dealing with on a day to day basis by reading those blogs.

Because I don't have the frame of reference. I've written about her loss before and about the reaction of people around her and what she deals with. But I felt so strongly for her and for her kids. And how do you react as an outsider? Not a family member, but a long distance friend? Typically I have the same response as I mentioned earlier, I'm so sorry.

I've written about my grieving process for my father and how much it surprised me because I didn't see or talk to my dad on a daily basis. I hadn't lived at home for decades and yet when he died my world rocked. So I think of that and then think of how much greater the magnitude of rocking would be for a spouse. It makes me feel a bit helpless. But honestly we are all helpless in that situation. None of us have the right words to make it better. Because we can't.

So I was thinking about grieving. And thinking about how we process it.

And then another friend lost her partner. The father of her children. Her daily companion. Her love. And all I had was "I am so sorry."

How do we process this? How do we help? How do we reach out through a computer and give a virtual hug? And how do we keep from saying the wrong thing? That's a challenge for me all the time. One of the ways I process strong emotional things like sickness and death is through humor. Dark fucking humor. But humor. My whole family does it. I've talked about it before. We are literally the kind of people that laugh at funerals. It doesn't mean we didn't love the person who passed, or that we are being disrespectful, but it does mean that we process things a little differently. We laugh through the tears to keep ourselves as whole as possible.

So I worry what to say and how to say it and what is appropriate and what isn't.

I hate people who try to co-opt a death as their own. You've seen them. A lot of time in churches it's the funeral brigade. They are helpful, sure, they organize the casseroles and the visits but they also dictate how people mourn. Or they turn it all back to them, "I remember when we lost my James..." I remember as well but this isn't about you. You don't own grief. You have no monopoly on being the great comforter. So shhh....let other people help. Let the bereaved tell you what they need. And don't look at me like that when I respond to "Oh how are you?" with a half laugh and a "Well...Dad just died so..."

When Dad died I knew I was going to be okay when I could start joking again. And okay is what we strive to get to after a death. We are never the same again. That's not the way death works. And we will always face reminders. Other people are going to lose dear pets that will remind of losing our own. Other people are going to lose parents, or spouses, or children, or best friends and we will remember our own loses. But hopefully we get to okay.

And sometimes, even when we worry about the right thing to say we find someone who grieves in a similar fashion and we know they will be okay. Never all better but okay. The second response is my friend who just lost her partner. It's okay to laugh, if you are so inclined. For me this let me know that though she is an understandable wreck right now, she's going to find her path to okay. And if she needs any dark jokes I told her she can come to me.

It's what Skippy did when she was diagnosed with cancer. There are friends you call to make yourself feel better through tea and sympathy and friends you call to get jokes about the phrase killer boobs not supposed to mean actually try and kill you.

So I've been thinking about grief and grieving.

If you are reading this and are still working your way to okay I'm sending you a hug. And I'm keeping my mouth shut if that's what you need. Or I'm telling you something horrible but funny if that is more your speed.

You'll be okay. It will take time, but you'll be okay.