the long party

or everything I know about grief (so far)

Content Warning: Grief and loss.

-You’re in your bedroom. Air That I Breathe by The Hollies is playing. The sun shines in. “She’s gone. Such a wonderful woman. I’m sorry.”

Four months have passed and some days it still feels like four seconds. Like I am an observer watching someone else play out my life. I remember for weeks saying to people nothing felt real anymore. It was all so swift. I keep waiting for someone to wake me up from this simulation is what I wrote the day she died. I remember choosing flowers, selecting pictures, reading over a tribute I’d pre-written. Being taken for coffee, food, phone calls and flowers. The latter so abundant that extra vases were needed as we simply ran out.

“How are you? *pause* That’s a stupid question isn’t it?” You hear those words on repeat and many others that are badly placed. “I thought you would have grieved already” for one. Sometimes an act of kindness rather than words can be just as meaningful. If you don’t know what to say, just articulate that. In my experience, it’s the openness that has meant the most to me more than the poorly chosen cliches such as ‘it was meant to be’ or ‘she is in a better place.’ Something as simple as a message checking in can mean the world.

Then grief made its way in. Cathy Rentzenbrink, author of How To Feel Better writes that grief is a long party. It’s that lingering guest who nurses a drink in the corner long after others have left. I don’t think I truly understood grief until Mum passed away. And honestly I don’t think I fully understand it still. Being in the thick of things, it’d be wrong to consider oneself the authority on all things relating to it. Some days I just want to sleep and shut off all notifications, digital and literal. I cry often. Catchups and socialising can feel like such a mammoth energy drain that I feel fatigued for the rest of the day. I find myself feeling guilty for feeling tired. And I remind myself while four months may seem an age to most people, it really is not to someone experiencing a massive life adjustment.

You can have all the time to prepare but absolutely nothing can prepare you for the rawness, the immediacy.

“You’re doing well.” What is the measure of wellness in the scheme of loss? Is it getting out of bed in the morning, or perhaps going back to work. I can admit I am my own harshest critic but success becomes incomprehensible. Some days you just need to get through it to feel a sense of accomplishment. Anything else is just a bonus.

You also learn who will continue to show up when others resume normal programming. That is the hardest part. Watching the world continue. Going to Spotlight and crying in the fabric aisles. Finding a book you want to recommend to her and being reminded she will never get to read it. Waking up to an empty house and making breakfast for one. Reading literary classics because she loved them. Missing her laugh. Her stories. Her cooking. Her joie de vivre.

Four months is really not a long time and I am still learning. Put simply and not very eloquently, grief is shit. You can be having a good day and then out of nowhere you will be reminded your person is gone. The best piece of advice I have been given is to go slowly. It is such an overwhelming thing in so many ways. Going at your own pace is essential. Keep going and loving. Grief is messy, surreal, important, multifaceted. You’re doing your best. That's enough.

Image: Woman with Blue Bow x Jo Ann Callis (1977)