Dying to Grieve

Early on in the COVID-19 pandemic a Harvard Business Review article on grief made its rounds in my social and professional circles. The first thought I had was, "Yes! This is exactly what we are experiencing—grief." 

We often think of grief as something experienced only after death. This article made clear that there are many forms of grief, and that we can find ourselves in this period of “discomfort” following any form of loss. What made the grief of the pandemic easier to handle, in my opinion, was the fact that there was a collective recognition that we are all in this together. That many of us were feeling this sense of loss for different reasons, all of which were valid. 

In those initial periods of grief, we found comfort in humor, in stepping up to support our communities, in cheering for first responders and essential workers, in standing on balconies and hollering at the air. 

What stands out about all these ways of dealing with grief is that, despite practicing social distancing, we were able to do these things together. There was a shared understanding of how bad things really sucked and a shared notion that it will get better.

Someday.

Reflecting on this, I can’t help but recognize how important this sharing of grief is when we are experiencing it in the traditional sense—after the death of a loved one. The traditions that we’ve created to help us through traditional grief are there for a reason. They really do help us get through the stages of grief.

I remember my Dad’s wake. Well, not entirely. There are moments when I know I was standing in the receiving line, shaking hands, receiving hugs and thanking people. Much of it was a bit of a blur to me. For instance, I know one of my Mom’s friends from Church placed a crocheted handkerchief in my hand when my sobs were particularly sobby. I just don’t recall the actual transaction. I still have the handkerchief, so I know this occurred. It is kept in a box that houses the rosary my Mother-in-Law gave me for the occasion.

The wake was a long ordeal. This tends to happen in smaller towns where everyone knows everyone and is amplified when you are from a big family. Passing through were distant relatives, friends of my Dad’s, friends of my siblings, my friends, people from Church, neighbors, teachers from our school days. They all shared some words of encouragement or stories about my Dad. I learned that he talked about us kids more than we had realized. 

After the funeral, burial and funeral dinner, it seemed a bit easier to breathe and get closer to acceptance. That’s the benefit of traditions in dealing with traditional grief.

This past year, the pandemic took my Father-in-Law. What’s different this time is that we did not get the benefit of going through these motions, these traditions. And I notice the difference.

How helpful it would’ve been for my husband and his siblings to hear stories about their Dad from people who knew him as a friend and not as a father, I’ll never know. I’m sure sharing the laughter and tears in a community of friends and families would have brought some comfort. In abnormal times, they’ve been robbed of this right to grieve. And that is heartbreaking.

Don’t get me wrong. Messages of sympathy and the rally of friends on social media have helped…a lot. But there is something about seeing the magnitude of your Father’s life come through a receiving line that is as comforting as a big, tight hug. Without this release, we may find ourselves stuck at certain stages of grief. For me, it is anger. Others, like my husband, derive their energy in what Kessler calls the sixth stage of grief—finding meaning.

In the absence of traditions, we say things like, “When this is all over, we’ll do such and such.” We’ll honor those whom we lost the right way. We’ll have a celebration of life. Until then, we must keep in mind that those who have lost anyone for any reason over the past year just might be dying to grieve.