by Jenna Ferri, LCPC
Reading Time: 11 minutes
“To live in this world, you must be able to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.”
— Mary Oliver
I’ve considered writing this blog for quite some time. When I realized that National Grief Awareness Month (August) just so happens to align with the death anniversary of my mom, it felt like the universe was making the decision for me.
My mom died suddenly and unexpectedly on August 14th, 2018 and since then, I feel like I’m existing in another dimension. While grief and loss are both universal experiences for all humans in one way or another, they are also widely misunderstood and not enough space is held or created for the earth-shattering impact they have on a person’s life. Grief is often viewed as something that exists on an invisible timeline — loss, despair, sadness, healing, better, move on. The reality is that you never stop grieving. And I don’t want to “move on.” At face value, maybe this feels really hopeless. But over the years, I’ve actually found a lot of comfort in knowing that my bottomless reservoir of love and longing for my mom in her absence is the one connection to her that I get to maintain.
Everyone’s experience of grief is different, so while mine may not mirror yours in one or several ways, the purpose of me sharing my experience with all of you is to normalize and validate the disorienting and confusing nature of how life unfolds after you lose something or someone that alters the course of it forever.
I also want to be clear that grief is not solely experienced only as a response to the death of another person. Grief can be felt over the loss of any thing or being that meant a lot to you and held tremendous value. We can grieve the loss of:
- Pets
- Jobs and careers
- Friendships or romantic relationship breakups
- Any meaningful relationship coming to an end
- Health decline
- A cherished dream
- Identities
- How we envisioned our future
- Moving homes or changing locations
This discussion today will center around my personal experience of grieving the death of another person and things I’ve learned about love and life along the way, but know that if you are enduring grief in any other capacity — I see you, I understand you, and your grief is valid and real.
Lesson #1: The world doesn’t stop spinning.
The day after my mom died, I had to go to CVS to get…something or other. I couldn’t even tell you what it was. But what I do remember is how I felt walking through the world immediately after mine had completely been upended. I was in a total and utter haze, and I was pissed. I just wanted to write across my forehead in black Sharpie, “My mom just died. Please be kind to me.” It felt incredibly cruel to me that I was living in a reality where this was true and everyone else around me got to continue moving through life as though it wasn’t. To be clear, it’s not that I wanted everyone else around me to suffer; it just felt incredibly unfair that the world continued to spin as normal when absolutely nothing about my existence felt normal.
But life goes on, as they say. I had just gotten engaged two months before my mom’s death, and people inevitably started commenting on my ring and asking me about the planning (again, pissed, because what do you mean you’re asking me to look forward to something that is supposed to be exciting and joyful when I can barely get myself out of bed?). I eventually had to go back to work and resume seeing clients, because I had bills to pay and I needed to relearn how to dress myself again in the mornings. The sun continued to rise and set. And while this felt harsh, learning how to orient myself to this “new normal” was necessary. I didn’t have an alternative.
Grounding takeaway: as painful, cruel, and impossible as it feels, maintaining some kind of normalcy and sense of routine for yourself in the aftermath of loss is essential for your wellbeing. Let yourself fall apart when you need to, and then find something real to grasp onto. Because again, for better or for worse, life does go on.
Lesson #2: Grief makes you do really weird, out-of-character things.
I started going to church every week and praying religiously (no pun intended). For what it’s worth, there is nothing about going to church or praying that is weird or strange — it was just out of character for me and not how I was previously living my life. My mom was fairly religious and would pray everyday, so going to church felt like one of the only real ways for me to be close to her again. I have no idea what happens or where we go after we die or if heaven is real, but one thing I know for sure – if it does exist, that’s exactly where my mom is.
I also convinced myself for a good 72-hours that I was going to quit my job, move back home to New Jersey, and work at a Hallmark store. My mom loved Hallmark, so this was another way, in my mind, to feel close to her again. Spoiler alert: I didn’t end up doing that.
But going to church did end up providing me with a unique and unexpected way of feeling close to my mom. There was a woman who sat diagonally across from me, about ten pews up, who looked like my mom’s clone from the side and the back. Every week, I would look for her and find a sense of warmth and comfort when I saw her — almost like my mom was trying to tell me that she was still with me, even if in an unconventional way. I would frequently create scenarios in my mind where I would envision myself going up to this woman and saying, “I know this is weird, but can I give you a hug? My mom died recently and you look just like her.” I also wondered what it would be like to invite her to my wedding. I never acted on either of those thoughts, and I eventually stopped seeing this woman at church.
As I alluded to earlier, I was also feeling an overwhelming and disproportionate sense of anger (both at myself and the world). And I had to work really hard at not projecting this onto those around me. I would become filled with rage whenever someone would try to talk with me about any other aspect of my life, because doing so felt like I was leaving my mom behind, or that they didn’t recognize the magnitude of what I was feeling. I wanted to scream, “I am, at any given moment in time, drowning in the reality of my mother no longer being here. How is it possible that you could be feeling or thinking about anything else?” I also really struggled when other people would talk to me about being angry or upset with their own mother. But that was my own stuff to figure out, not for everyone else to take on. I had to get real comfortable, real quick, with other people having different feelings and experiences, and living in different realities than I was.
Lesson #3: Pick your battles, and fight with integrity.
The relationship I had with my mom often felt…complicated. knew that she loved me fiercely, but we often did not see eye-to-eye on things, and we unfortunately never developed the appropriate skills we needed to fight fairly. She was in the ICU for a few days before she passed, and the day I found out she was in the hospital, we had gotten into a massive argument with one another earlier in the day. Like, full-blown screaming match over the phone. It was not my finest moment, and one that I wish I could take back every single day since. I said a lot of hurtful and unnecessary things, trying to get a point across that felt important at the time, and I never got the chance to take them back or apologize. At least not really.
I sat with my mom in that hospital room for a few days, and apologized to her multiple times for being a near-sighted jerk. Of course, I can never be sure if she heard me. I like to think that she did. But this uncertainty is something that I will have to live with for the rest of my life. I became the prime example in my family of how not to treat those that you care about deeply, and the family motivation to learn how to hold your tongue when you feel like being vicious. How embarrassing and shameful.
In times of strength and groundedness, I try not to be so hard on myself. I say and feel these things now because I am living within the context of my mother no longer being here. But that version of me eight years ago? She couldn’t even fathom that this was a possibility. Losing my mom feels like I was quite literally catapulted into an alternate universe. I like to think that another version exists somewhere out there in time, in which my mom is still alive and with enough life experience and wisdom, we both finally get our acts together and learn to relate to one another differently. But in this timeline, I choose to use the guilt I feel as fuel to inform my other relationships and how I really want to show up for the people I love and care about.
Lesson #4: You gain perspective that you otherwise would not and could not have.
I’ll tell you one thing — there is nothing more haunting and sobering than the realization that things can change at any given moment. We always assume we have tomorrow, that the next paycheck will come, that our loved one will walk through the door at the end of the work day, that the safety we felt today will still be there in the morning, that we can apologize tomorrow when we have a clearer head. And of course we do — we have to be able to function. We cannot go through life always assuming the worst or having all possibilities front and center on our minds.
But, for better or for worse, grief will change this for you. And for me, I’m glad it did. Don’t get me wrong — I still get angry, I’m still imperfect, and I still say and respond to things without perfect tact at times. But I am constantly trying to remind myself — is it worth it? Does this really matter? Is there a different way I can say this that will allow me and this person I care about to walk away from this conversation feeling good, or does this just need to be an inside thought?
I stayed with my dad for about a month after my mom died, and leaving him alone afterwards was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. I vividly remember hugging him tightly and thinking to myself, “Welp. This may be the last time you ever see your dad again, so make it count.” I thought that way for a really long time after my mom died, and not just about my dad. My brain still reminds me of this on a regular basis, but it doesn’t feel so scary anymore. Rather, it feels like an essential reminder to return to the basics: say what you mean and mean what you say, lead with kindness, and be intentional in your actions and words.
I share all of this in hopes of helping other people who are grieving to feel less isolated and alone. Because grief alters so much of our reality – how we view the world, how we view ourselves within the world, our sense of safety, and our perceptual reality – it can feel really confusing and disorienting, and quite frankly, it can make you feel like you’re losing your mind at times. But you’re not. You are simply trying to reorient yourself to a way of living that you previously didn’t predict or prepare for. Talking about it doesn’t take it away, but it does help. At the end of the day, grief is not something to be fixed, but rather to be felt…preferably in the presence of others who can hold you in a safe way.
Until next time,
Jenna
Jenna is passionate about helping individuals find their voice and inner strength to heal from relational trauma and develop a healthy sense of self. She uses somatic interventions, like EMDR and ego-states work, to help her clients learn more about themselves on a deeper level to build self-trust and make lasting change.
