Learning to cope: Grief could be more inclusive than we think 

Grief is a unique thing. 

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It doesn’t care what race you are. Grief has no regard to whether you drive a Lamborghini or an Oldsmobile. It folds into the shadows of mansions and trailer parks alike. Forget about a political preference - grief doesn’t bat an eye. 

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It creeps up on you in the shower, in your car on the way to work and right before bed. It’ll hit you like a truck while you’re setting the table, out at a concert or walking the dog. The feeling bulldozes past the significance of any important events like a graduation, birthday or wedding. 

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It affects all that it latches onto with its pain and unpredictability. 

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Maybe you’re asking yourself, “What does she know about grief?” 

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Because it made its mark on me. 

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According to the U.S. Census, 11.5% of people ages 18 to 29 have lost at least one parent in their lifetime. 

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In August, I became part of this statistic after losing my mom to a long battle with heart failure. I was 10 days into my senior year of college. 

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The loss has been unimaginably painful in so many ways. While there are certain things that I think everyone should go through, this experience should never get to see the light of day. 

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By anyone. 

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Of course, there are easy days and hard ones. There are days when I feel like life is like it was “PD” (pre-death as I’ve coined it) and other days when getting out of bed feels like the hardest thing I’ve ever done. 

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But despite feeling isolated in so many ways throughout this new, unwelcomed journey of mine, small whispers of “Me, too” have seeped out from the darkness. 

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“I’ve lost my mom, too.” 

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“I’m coming up on 20 years of living without my dad.” 

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“My brother passed away six years ago.”

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They come from friends, family, neighbors and strangers. In scenarios where life seems to hit you with a tsunami of discomfort, it also comes with a small army of survivors. They’re experts in the same classes that you’re now enrolled in, whether you like it or not. 

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Coping 101. How To Start Over 101. How To Get On With It 101. 

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These people just get it. They get what it’s like to figure out which clothes to keep and which ones to donate. They understand the realization that they’ll never get a phone call from them anymore, but phone calls about them instead. They get what it’s like to have to change the answer to “How many people are in your party today?” 

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And that’s what makes grief different. It takes those who have to succumb to it and wraps them up in its big blanket, sweeping up new members every once in a while. 

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Providing them with a lifetime of pain, yes. But providing them with a lifetime of support, too. 

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***

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I’m relatively new to this whole grief thing. Sometimes I’d like to think that I’m an expert on it, but that’s immature of me. I haven’t even completed my full round of “firsts” yet: the first Christmas, the first birthday, the first Mother’s Day… you get the idea. The “firsts” are a

common experience within the grieving community, and they’re something that not everyone can understand easily. 

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People also warned me about the waves of emotion that can come at any time and any place. I’ve experienced this one before. 

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It happened a few weeks ago - it was a Sunday night around dinner time, and I desperately craved something that wasn’t dining hall food. I called and placed an order for hibachi-style chicken with vegetables and fried rice at one of everyone’s favorite off-campus spots. 

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I drove to the restaurant, picked up my food and got back in the car. I had been listening to Christmas music on shuffle (yes, it was way too early in the year to be listening to it) and re-connected my phone to my car’s Bluetooth. The song that played through the speakers made my heart sink. 

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“Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” by Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra. 

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My mom and I have never had an overly “special” connection to that song. It’s not tied to any tradition or memory that we shared. 

 

But a little voice in my head popped up and reminded me that there weren’t going to be any more Christmases together.

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Right when I least expected it. 

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That’s what hurts the most - the little moments that remind you of things that you once took for granted, and the idea that life will never be the same. 

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While grief can be inclusive in the sense that those affected can understand its complexities, it’s important to note that everyone experiences and copes with it differently. 

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Sarah Chase, a clinical counselor at High Point University, suggests that while difficult at times, speaking about your experiences with others could help provide a sense of comfort and peace. 

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“When we talk to people who have gone through a similar experience, we tend to feel more supported and less isolated, even if we do not share the same emotions,” she says. “As a counselor, I also find it helpful to work with clients on staying present with their experience, rather than jumping too far in the future or ruminating on the past.” 

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In my experience, those who don’t have a personal connection to the grieving process often struggle with wanting to help while continuing to be sensitive. Chase recommends keeping things as simple as possible.

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“If you know a person who is grieving, giving them space and kindness is one of the most important things you can do,” she says. “It can oftentimes feel like you do not know the right thing to say, or you may even be uncomfortable with the emotions the grieving person is experiencing. All of these are normal reactions to seeing someone grieve. Some helpful things you could say are: ‘I know you recently lost someone and I want to be here to support you.’ Or offer to help in concrete ways, saying something like, ‘I’m happy to come over and make dinner for you one night if you would like.’ During the grieving process, it can be important to remember that silence is OK and as a friend, you do not have to have all of the answers.” 

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I wish I did. 

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***

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I’d like to think that I’m a pretty transparent person. What you see is what you get. Friends, family and colleagues can easily label me as someone who’s “Type A.” I like being in control. 

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As you can imagine, the grieving process provided me with the exact opposite experience. Sometimes I feel like a 3-year-old, asking “Why?” at every twist and turn. “Why would this happen to me?” 

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“Why do I feel so awful?” 

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“Why do I feel guilty for having a good day today?”

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I worry I’m doing this whole thing wrong. People tell me that there’s no right or wrong way to do anything when it comes to the grieving process, but as someone who likes to follow life “by the book,” this experience has been a nightmare. As much as I’d like to think that I don’t care about what others think of me, the recent attention on my life and its changes has put me under a spotlight that I never asked to be turned on. 

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People have encouraged me to seek out a counselor or some other type of professional help. I’m not naive to that idea. I definitely should go. But I fear that if I do, it’ll make everything much more real. 

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And it’ll end a chapter in a book that I’ll never get to reopen. 

 

 

***

 

Death could be described as a volcanic eruption. After the eruption itself, the “come down” can sometimes hurt the most. It’s when reality sets in and covers everything in sight with thick, dark and trapping ash. 

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But yet, after a while, a delicate flower can rise from it. It’s fragile and weak, almost unable to survive on its own.

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But underneath the delicate flower lies its strongest force: its roots. The people who know what grief is truly like. 

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And they hoist the flower up, giving it the strength that it needs to flourish.