Everyone has a picture in their minds about what grief looks like.
What is your picture?
Here are some comments I have heard over the years:
It is so difficult to sleep, I usually toss and turn until 2-3am.
I sleep so deeply and struggle to get up before 10am.
I had a drive to write special cards for all my friends and family. I didn’t want to do it at home, so I went to the beach and sat in the sun while I made the cards.
I felt so restless and couldn’t sleep. So I spent the night out in the shed chopping up old pallets to reuse the wood.
I just wanted to escape so I went out in my boat.
I can’t seem to stop getting angry with people. Anything makes me angry. People are avoiding me because of it.
I so wanted to talk to my sister. So I wrote a message to her and put it inside a balloon and let it loose. I just watched it floating higher and higher and imagined my sister was reaching out to grab it.
I went to bed, pulled the covers up over my head and didn’t come out.
I haven’t been able to leave the house for weeks. Everything is so overwhelming and scary.
I cleaned the house thoroughly. No room escaped. I even moved the furniture and cleaned behind it. I removed individual books from the book shelves and dusted them thoroughly. Nothing was left untouched. As I cleaned I cried and cried. Eventually my tears ran out and the house was spotless.
I just couldn’t bring myself to get in the shower so I didn’t shower for days.
I couldn’t stand being at home with my thoughts so I went back to work.
As the day drew to a close, I walked to the swings in my local park and sat for hours just swinging.
I went to the gym, all day, every day. I worked and worked to get out the pain. And I jogged there and back home, on the odd occasion I actually went home.
I put on a façade of “everything’s alright” when I was out and with other people. But once I got home I just cried and cried.
I avoided seeing people. I was so embarrassed by the way the tears would just come. We are supposed to be tough. Plus I hated seeing the compassion in other people’s eyes.
I went and talked to my son’s friends. We even shared a joint together. It felt so good to connect with them. It felt like he was there too.
I would drop the children at school and come back home. I couldn’t bring myself to go into the house where she wasn’t so I sat outside in the car willing myself to go inside and crying.
I was given her chair and I used to sit in it and imagine I was sitting on her lap being cuddled.
I see him everywhere and my spirits soar, then I get closer and realise it isn’t him. It is devastating.
I can’t bring myself to drive past the place where he died. I know I have to some day, but for now I just can’t do it.
I planted her favourite rose in the garden. It is flowering now and I sit and watch them and go outside and smell them. When I do that I feel she is here with me.
I still can’t believe he is gone. I wake up and turn to him to say good morning. Then I remember.
I just want to talk to her. We spoke every day. This silence is so hard. I used to tell her everything. Now who do I tell things to?
To finish up, here is a lovely quote I found online:
“Small things can trigger a fresh wave of grief … a smell, a look or perhaps a song … within seconds you are flung into a time machine and are transported back to the ‘moment’ when time stood still, and the world had crashed at your feet.” Zoe Clark-Coates from sayinggoodbye.org
Grief is never easy and sometimes you need someone to talk to. If you would like to talk to me about how I can help you with your grief, please contact me on 0409396608 or firstname.lastname@example.org
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