Loss is one of those things that no matter how many times you experience it, it will always hurt as much as it did the first time. Loss is nothing new to me, and I’m well aware that it will only continue to enter my life as I age. The toughest thing about loss is that everybody handles it differently, and this makes it especially hard to comfort others in these trying times. We’ve all had different experiences, and we all grieve differently. There is no right or wrong way to handle the loss of a loved one.
The Losses
As many of you know, I lost my mom when I was 8. It was sudden and unexpected – and while I didn’t have to watch her suffer, I was left with a lot of unanswered questions throughout my life. The tough thing about losing someone earlier in life is we tend to discount the loss because “It was a long time ago” or “I didn’t know her/him that well”, but the reality of it is: a loss is still a loss. And it affects and impacts you for the rest of your life. I learned at a really young age that terrible things can and will happen, and the only way out is through.
When I was still in school at Monmouth, I took a Psychology of Death and Dying course, which to this day is one of the most valuable classes I could have ever taken. One of my biggest takeaways from that class was how impactful different trajectories of death can be. I never really understood why losing my grandfather was more traumatizing than losing my mother, but then this put it into perspective for me:
When you lose someone to a sudden death (my mom, in my case), their function is generally high at the time of their death. My mom’s case was a little different – she had MS, so I never actually saw her at a time when she was “highly functioning” – but I also never saw her fighting for her life or losing her ability to function in a way that indicated she could die soon.
My grandfather on my dad’s side was a completely different loss. He had a stroke and was hospitalized, and we were under the impression that he was going to get better. He started to show signs of progress and functionality, but then he had another stroke. And then another. We watched someone who extremely alert and cognitive for his age turn into a person who was unable to eat, unable to speak, and in truth, unable to live. He was eventually taken off life support and at that point, we watched him starve to death essentially.
I can’t even put into words how painful that was to watch. It was a slow and torturous process, and to this day, it’s the one loss I really have a hard time discussing without my voice breaking. The reason this loss was so hard for me was because it was a prolonged period of watching his function level go up and down, which threw our hopes on a roller coaster. Not only was I watching him suffer, but I was mourning the loss of the person I once knew that was so full of life. With my mom, I just had to deal with the mourning process, not the suffering.
About a year or two after my grandfather died, my grandmother (his wife) died. This was another sudden death for me – and again, I learned that this was a lot easier for me to deal with than an organ failure trajectory. I was devastated, of course, but the last image of her in my head was a healthy one – not one of her in such a horrible state, which is how I recall my grandfather.
A few months ago I ran an Instagram poll to see if people would rather deal with a sudden death or a prolonged one, and the results were really fascinating. I received a lot of private messages that explained the rationale behind a lot of peoples’ choices. Some said that they would rather a prolonged death, because at that point, they could say what they wanted to and have a chance to say goodbye. Others said that they would rather a sudden death, because they would rather remember the person they loved in a positive light, not one that is associated with sadness.
The only positive takeaway from my grandfather’s death was that I did get the change to say goodbye. He had been in a coma and miraculously came out of it for a very brief time, and I got to say my final words to him in this moment. While he couldn’t speak, he squeezed my hand when I spoke, and that was one of the most emotional and touching moments I’ve ever experienced. That being said, I do not feel the goodbye was worth the pain of watching him suffer.
Currently, I am being faced with a new trajectory – terminal illness. Last Sunday, I was thrift shopping in Brooklyn when I received a call from my older brother that my grandfather on my mom’s side (we call him Papap) fell and hit his head, and there was blood on his brain. I immediately knew that this was not going to end well, so I got on the phone with my younger brother and planned a trip up to Pittsburgh to visit Papap. When we saw him, he was slurring his speech, one side of his face was drooping, and he was having difficulty breathing. While he was still mostly here, cognitively, it was bringing me right back to my other grandfather, and that was really scary for me.
The next day, we were told that Papap had a stroke. And not only did he have a stroke, but through scans and testing, cancer was also found on both sides of his brain, both lungs, and his liver. This was completely devastating and an inevitable death sentence. It was so unexpected and my grandmother (Lala) was beside herself, which was incredibly hard to see. On top of this, Papap told the doctors he did not want any form of treatment, because he had already had prostate cancer in the past – and he did not want to go through the turmoil of chemo again. This was so hard to grasp, because of course we wanted to honor his wishes, but we also didn’t want to give up on him either.
He is still alive, but I have begun the mourning process. I know that it is only going to get worse, and I’m saying this to be realistic, not pessimistic. I’ve been through these situations enough to know how they will end. I don’t know how long I have with him, and it’s even harder that he is a 5-hour drive away. I want to be there with and for him as much as I can, but distance and my career are making this difficult.
The reason I brought up my losses is because I know many of you have been in very similar situations. And if you haven’t, you know someone who has. And I’m incredibly sorry that you’ve been through it too. There are no words that can take away the pain, and time is the only thing that will help.
The Grieving
From a psychological perspective, grief is one of the most interesting things humans experience. And everyone experiences it so differently. Some of us internalize it, while others do not – and this also can change dependent on the person you lose and the type of loss. I am someone who needs to be alone when I grieve. It is a very private process for me, and while I appreciate the comfort and presence of other loved ones in my life, I need to be alone to experience these emotions.
When I lost my mom, I subconsciously grieved. I understood what happened, and I was upset – but I am also someone who does not want others to be sad seeing me sad, so I just put on my happy face and went about life like that every day. The grief manifested itself in my nightmares and my fears. I would have dreams that my mom would still be alive, or I would have dreams that my dad had also died. I was in a constant state of paranoia that something was going to happen to my dad too. It was a very tough time for me because I couldn’t understand how I could feel so “OK” in the day but have such horrible moments after-hours.
With my grandmother and grandfather on my dad’s side, I grieved more overtly. I cried when I found out my grandmother had died, and I cried in the hospital room after I said goodbye to my grandfather. I don’t know why, but I have an extremely hard time crying in front of my family. So this was uncomfortable and hard for me. I think it was more beneficial for me in the long-run, though. I was able to get those emotions out and process them alone afterwards, and I did not have nightmares or anything subconscious following these losses. The one thing I’ve noticed about myself and loss is once I accept the loss, I do not want to dwell on it anymore. I am very matter-of-fact when it comes to death.
The grief that is coming with Papap is different for me. It’s the first time I’m experiencing massive guilt with a loss. Unfortunately when death comes into our lives, we are quick to tell ourselves, “I didn’t say enough. I didn’t do enough. I wasn’t there enough”, and we can become ridden with guilt and regret – which makes the process that much more difficult. Papap and I were not on great terms before this turn of events, and that was the first thing that came to mind when I got the phone call from my older brother, Tyler.
I know that I can’t change anything that happened in the past, and I know my only choice is to move forward. Seeing him and being there for him helped me, and I’m sure it helped him – and in the last moments of being with someone, things of the past become much more trivial. If you are or have been in a similar experience, please take my advice – don’t be so hard on yourself. Love is love, and that light shines through in moments of darkness – no matter what.
How to Cope & Help
As I mentioned before, being alone is really important for me in times of grieving. While I love my friends and family and am so grateful to have people that want to distract me and take my mind off of what I’m dealing with, I know myself well enough to know that I need to pause and process. Doing things with others is very draining for me, especially because I don’t want to be a downer when I am going through something. I know it can be scary to watch someone isolate, but it can be really necessary for their emotional well-being – as long as it isn’t done excessively.
It’s been very helpful for me to talk about it with others. I don’t like to sugarcoat things as most of you know, and I have been very blunt with the situation at-hand. I appreciate that no one has tried to use any euphamisms to comfort me, because in all honesty, those make the situation worse for me (of course, this is a personal preference). “Everything will be okay” doesn’t make me feel better, because it’s NOT okay right now, and that just makes me feel like the situation is being invalidated. I know this is not the intention behind this phrase, but it’s something I’m glad I haven’t heard this time around.
It is extremely hard to find the words to say when someone has lost a loved one, and here’s the thing – sometimes there are no right words to say. I’ve had a few people say to me this past week “I know there is nothing I can say that will make this better, but I am here for you”, and I can’t tell you how helpful that is for me. It faces the situation head-on but also lets me know that I have support in my hard times. My friends and family have been incredibly supportive and loving in this situation, and I’m going to list some examples of things that have been done for me that can be useful for you if you’re trying to comfort yourself or someone else going through a loss:
- Be there for without saying anything. Sitting/laying in silence can sound intimidating, but it can be so helpful and healing. Affection can do more than words can.
- My friend offered to take me to sushi after an apartment viewing, and the little things like that just take minor stresses (such as food shopping and cooking) off my plate so I have a little less to worry about.
- Another friend sent me a Starbucks e-gift to let me know I was in her thoughts. So sweet and just reminded me I’m not alone. Plus… you guys know how I feel about Starbucks.
- Checking in. “How are you doing/feeling?” “How is ___?” Simple questions – even if I’m too tired to answer fully, I appreciate that you asked.
- Hearing your stories. For some people this may feel like you’re trying to relate to an incomparable situation, but for me it helps to know that others have felt my pain – no matter the difference of the situation.
- Reminding me that you love me. Everyone has been great at this, and it just shows I’m in your thoughts and that you’re here.
- Giving me my space. A lot of people are very well aware and understand that I need to be alone right now, and I really appreciate that they are respecting that. “I’m here if and when you want to grab coffee” – acknowledges that I may need some time, but also offers the company when I’m ready.
- “How can I help?” My primary answer has been “Just being here”, but the question means so much.
- My coworkers have been wonderful with giving me the time and space to “do what I need to do”. Help has been offered both in and out of work, which means a lot.
I know this post is definitely a bummer to read, in the sense that it probably brought up some tough moments in your life. If you have gotten this far, I applaud you. I have been wanting to do a post on loss for a while, but just didn’t know the right time or have the right words. This morning they just spilled out of me, and it truthfully helped me a lot. So, thank you if you’ve been following along.
You know I’m always here if you need to talk.