And

So much in grief culture focuses on looking for meaning, striving for healing or recovery, and moving on to find some bigger purpose born out of the loss. If you can do this then you can finally reach acceptance. And acceptance is the holy grail of grief work. But none of this resonated with me early on after Owens death and I've been trying to wrestle with these concepts ever since. Things that made more sense to me were words like “integrate.” As I've explored more and really gotten deeper into the work, I now understand why none of those other concepts work for me. Because they’re bullshit.

Now that there’s a new DSM-5 diagnosis called Prolonged Grief Disorder I wanted to write a bit about my feelings on grief work and how to support those grieving.

First, grief has no timeline. It doesn’t have an ending. It doesn’t have a final destination. So referring to “prolonged“ grief as a disorder doesn’t work for me. Yes, over time we should feel grief differently and maybe less intensely all of the time but it’s because we’ve learned to integrate more and more. Once we can recognize that finding meaning, purpose, healing, moving on, and acceptance are not the goal, we as the ones grieving our beloved can really begin to do work that actually helps us integrate. And once those around us can recognize this, they can stop inundating us with messaging, both subtle and overt, that isn't helpful. Sometimes, it's even harmful. It is one more thing that throws us off our tracks and destabilizes us. It complicates our process and denies us our own sovereignty in our grief. Sitting beside us and holding space for us to grieve and being okay with the discomfort this causes you is a hard ask. We know. Sitting there and watching us sob and holding your tongue even when "you have so much to live for," "but at least he's not suffering anymore," and "you will heal from this, you're so strong" are burning on it's tip, is not easy. We know. Letting us “still not be over it” is hard to watch. We know. We live in a culture that celebrates transformation (remember the butterfly?) so we know you want to see us get “there.” But that’s the thing, there is no “there”. There’s no destination.

So what does integration of grief look like? There are so many things that I have learned about grief and how to support those grieving, and one of the subtle language changes I have made when I speak about my feelings regarding my loss is exchanging the word "but" with "and." Here's how it works.

"I am devastated my baby died but I am glad that he is no longer suffering"

"I am devastated my baby died and I am glad that he is no longer suffering"

The first statement subtly implies that because I am glad he is no longer suffering then I am less devastated. That somehow that realization and truth lessens the pain of the loss. But it doesn't. And for any parent out there who has lost a child, I am sure you will agree with me. It doesn't. In fact, for me, the statement “I am devastated my baby died but I am glad he’s no longer suffering“ is only made a truthful and complete statement if it’s followed up with “But it doesn’t change how sad I am.” By using “but” it needs to be qualified by the second sentence to be made fully truthful.

The second statement, “I am devastated my baby died and I am glad he is no longer suffering” allows both feelings to coexist. It allows me to be fully devastated and simultaneously fully glad he is no longer suffering. It needs no qualification. No additional words or explanation. And it is a more honest, truthful statement. I feel both fully. Making this tiny change allows me to feel both and not feel the subtle shame that comes with the "but he's in a better place" mentality that is so pervasive in conversations around grief and loss.

I also feel “and” works better when people do the inevitable comparing of losses. First of all, comparative suffering doesn’t help anyone. But it runs rampant. One way I’ve seen it is the lack of support networks for losses like mine. My child died at 5 weeks old and most of the networks available will include those who have experienced pregnancy loss and stillbirth. (Those are devastating but different losses.) Within those communities there’s a lot of “buts“ and “at leasts“. Things like “Well at least you got to hold your baby” or “yes, that’s devastating but I didn’t even get to meet my baby” are hurtful and counterproductive for everyone’s healing. I like “and” here as well.

By now you might be thinking it’s probably better to just not say anything to me at all about my loss! But I can tell you that’s not true. Not for me, anyway. If you see me, say hi. Tell me you’re glad to see me. Tell me you’re glad I showed up. If you’re thinking of me, send me a message. You can lead with “I don’t know what to say…”, that’s fine by me because it’s honest. And guess what, I don’t know what to say either.

I am 3 months out from the most devastating day of my life. I am no longer in shock. I no longer feel like a crazy person. I no longer hurt all over all the time. I no longer want to go to sleep and never wake up. But I promise you I didn’t forget that Owen died. So by saying hi or sending me that message you don’t have to worry about reminding me. I carry a pit in my stomach and a lump in my throat and I have what I’ve called “resting grief face.” But I’m still standing and I’m still sad. And I will be forever.