Grieving is hard work. It is really hard for me because I am grieving for three loved ones at once — my daughter, who was killed in a car crash, my father-in-law, who succumbed to pneumonia, and my brother who died of cancer. All of these deaths were painful, but my daughter’s death was the worst of all.
Relatives and friends rallied to help me. Their support lasted for weeks and then it began to fade. Psychotherapist Judy Tatelbaum writes about this response in “The Courage to Grieve.” People start to pull back, she explains, “as if the time for grieving were over and we were expected to resume our normal lives . . . “
But my life is not normal. Recovering from my daughter’s sudden death is the greatest challenge of my life.
Therese A. Rando, PhD writes about sudden death in her book, “How to Go on Living When Someone You Love Dies.” With sudden death there is no chance to say goodbye, notes Rando. “We wish that we could have known in order to say and do what we wanted to, we wish we were there for one brief moment with out loved one to tell him we loved him . . .”
The last time I saw my daughter she was laughing in the sunshine. I wish I had told her I loved her. Life goes on, however, and I am working on recovery. How am I doing it?
I cry a lot. Sometimes I know when I am going to cry and sometimes I don’t. “Today was a day of tears,” I told my husband. His reply: “Good.”
I cut myself some slack. If dinner is lousy, so be it. If the laundry isn’t done, so be it. If I miss a meeting, so be it. This is my life and my grief.
I talk about my daughter. When I’m speaking with relatives and friends I include stories about her. Telling these stories keeps my daughter alive in my mind. Her children love hearing the stories, too.
I write about grief. In the last three months I have written a dozen articles about post-death grief. Writing the articles helps me and I hope their content helps others.
I recheck constantly. Are the car keys in my purse? Did I lock the door? Do I have enough money? Rechecks like these help me to avoid mix-ups.
I walk for health. Before my daughter died I walked at least 10,000 steps a day. After she died I stopped walking. But I have to take care of myself, so I am back on my walking program. It feels good.
I laugh all I can. My whacky New York humor may be the thing that gets me through grief. Jokes and one-liners are creeping back into my conversation. Laughing with my husband brings me joy.
Laughing with my friends makes me feel whole again.
Copyright 2007 by Harriet Hodgson