Brian...first of all...Smokey Robinson and the Miracles! Also...you are so right. I have lost many family members...some of them in shocking ways. I lost them long ago now, but their deaths changed me forever. I smile, I laugh, I'm actually happy...but I still miss them...sometimes desperately. I'm a retired therapist who used to be on the other side of the couch. I was taught in college to never "self-disclose," but I remembered how seen I had felt when a therapist self-disclosed to me. "Oh! I'm not the only one!!!" It was a revelation to me that brought healing. I did self-disclose if I believed my clients would benefit. They've all told me how much it helped. Great post, Brian. Loved and restacked.
Thank you, Brian. I just found you and I love your content. I am in early grief, 10 weeks since I lost my brother, my best friend. He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and died within 13 days and I am processing the quickness of his death. I am writing a book based on the journal I've been keeping about the intensity of grief - small poems, short essays, fragments.....
What I've come to understand is how, at this point, people believe you should be moving on. I am learning to say, I am not ready. I thought I was doing better in the beginning while doing the business of death, things that needed to be taken care of, etc. When someone tells me that I am strong, it feels like a badge of honor and that if I am not strong, I failed. I don't feel like being strong or brave or courageous. Like you note, the times that I attended celebrations and smiled and laughed, those around me thought...she's better. In fact, it actually feels worse as the realization sinks in that he is really gone. My adult children have been amazing - they continue to "check in" and I don't feel like I need to make small talk, but I can tell them how much this still hurts and they listen and witness the pain.
I am learning to say, thank you but I can't attend that party right now, even if you think I am better and that I should get out and you believe this is the healing balm I need, it really isn't. Not yet. I get the best intentions of people that want to continue to express their condolescences, or want to show me a video with my brother in it, but I can't do it and I am learning to not ask permission for my raw grief. Everything feels like a land mine.
Thank you for sharing the truth of how this really feels.
Thank you. Yes, that is the word I use most often. More surreal because my dad died from pancreatic cancer 18 years before in just 30 days. My brother had just been home two weeks before celebrating my 70th birthday for the entire weekend, laughing, eating - absolutely no signs that within three weeks he would be dead. Writing about it is very helpful and hearing from grief companions, like you, makes me feel less alone.
This is exquisitely said. Grief doesn't hand back the keys to the person we used to be—it initiates us into someone new. Someone who smiles with salt still in the mouth. Thank you for reminding us that presence is more healing than platitudes, and that sometimes, being witnessed in silence speaks louder than any “it’ll get better.” You gave language to the quiet ache so many carry beneath their “I’m doing okay.”
Brian...first of all...Smokey Robinson and the Miracles! Also...you are so right. I have lost many family members...some of them in shocking ways. I lost them long ago now, but their deaths changed me forever. I smile, I laugh, I'm actually happy...but I still miss them...sometimes desperately. I'm a retired therapist who used to be on the other side of the couch. I was taught in college to never "self-disclose," but I remembered how seen I had felt when a therapist self-disclosed to me. "Oh! I'm not the only one!!!" It was a revelation to me that brought healing. I did self-disclose if I believed my clients would benefit. They've all told me how much it helped. Great post, Brian. Loved and restacked.
Love Smokey. But I like the Go West version better for some reason.
I'll check it out!
Thank you, Brian. I just found you and I love your content. I am in early grief, 10 weeks since I lost my brother, my best friend. He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and died within 13 days and I am processing the quickness of his death. I am writing a book based on the journal I've been keeping about the intensity of grief - small poems, short essays, fragments.....
What I've come to understand is how, at this point, people believe you should be moving on. I am learning to say, I am not ready. I thought I was doing better in the beginning while doing the business of death, things that needed to be taken care of, etc. When someone tells me that I am strong, it feels like a badge of honor and that if I am not strong, I failed. I don't feel like being strong or brave or courageous. Like you note, the times that I attended celebrations and smiled and laughed, those around me thought...she's better. In fact, it actually feels worse as the realization sinks in that he is really gone. My adult children have been amazing - they continue to "check in" and I don't feel like I need to make small talk, but I can tell them how much this still hurts and they listen and witness the pain.
I am learning to say, thank you but I can't attend that party right now, even if you think I am better and that I should get out and you believe this is the healing balm I need, it really isn't. Not yet. I get the best intentions of people that want to continue to express their condolescences, or want to show me a video with my brother in it, but I can't do it and I am learning to not ask permission for my raw grief. Everything feels like a land mine.
Thank you for sharing the truth of how this really feels.
I’m so sorry for your loss. That sudden loss is shocking on top of the grief. It’s so surreal.
I hope my words can bring some measure of comfort.
Thank you. Yes, that is the word I use most often. More surreal because my dad died from pancreatic cancer 18 years before in just 30 days. My brother had just been home two weeks before celebrating my 70th birthday for the entire weekend, laughing, eating - absolutely no signs that within three weeks he would be dead. Writing about it is very helpful and hearing from grief companions, like you, makes me feel less alone.
This is exquisitely said. Grief doesn't hand back the keys to the person we used to be—it initiates us into someone new. Someone who smiles with salt still in the mouth. Thank you for reminding us that presence is more healing than platitudes, and that sometimes, being witnessed in silence speaks louder than any “it’ll get better.” You gave language to the quiet ache so many carry beneath their “I’m doing okay.”
Thank you. So true. And, yes and the song is right on point.