I’m Alright; Thanks for Asking
Is there a time limit on grief? I’m finding there’s not. In the two years since Mike passed, I have been shown love, support and encouragement from countless numbers of family members, friends and associates. I simply couldn’t have gotten through without their help. And on the whole, I think I’m doing pretty well. Still, there are always reminders of where I am on this journey and an assessment of how I’m doing.
In often happens in an encounter with someone I haven’t seen in a while. The question often begins: “How ARE you doing?” As if to say, how am I really handling the death of my husband. I usually respond: “I’m doing alright; thanks for asking.” And then I move on to another topic. What more can be said? Certainly not a remorseful account of my lonely days. But is there a better reaction? Sometimes I find myself feeling a little guilty. Do they think I’m not grieving enough. Do I really not miss Mike.
Death and grief are complicated. On one hand, it shouldn’t be. A death occurred. No getting around that. But all the feelings surrounding it are so different and varied. As I progress on this journey there are daily reminders of my loss. Some big, some little, as insignificant as a key chain I found yesterday when cleaning the garage (yup, I’ve taken on that project). Among the clutter was a braided leather key chain that Mike once used in his pickup. I hadn’t seen it in years but remembered it vividly. Now it’s my cat’s play toy and a nice daily memory.
Memories like that pop up in the most unexpected times and places. Such was the case for a dear friend of mine. Her husband died of a work-related accident 15 years ago — keep that time frame in mind. She has gone on to live a vibrant, busy life. But one day recently she went to a grocery store she and her husband often frequented. Suddenly in the midst of the vegetable aisle, that memory came flooding back to her: walking down the aisle shopping with him, deciding what to have for dinner. She fled the store and sat in her car having a good cry. As she told me about the incident, she called it a grief burst.
I’d never heard of the term. A search on AI revealed this:
A grief burst (or grief attack) is a sudden, unexpected and intense wave of sorrow that overwhelms a person experiencing loss, often triggered by a smell, sound or memory but sometimes seemingly with no warning at all. These powerful emotional episodes are normal reactions to loss and are a reminder that the deep love for a lost person or thing never truly dies.
Grief continues on and on and on. It appears there is no easy way out of it, if ever. But in a way, that’s a good thing. When I first started writing this blog in memory of Mike, I said I didn’t want to forget him. I treasure little memories like the key chain. I enjoy recalling the times he played catch with my granddaughter. We can even laugh about them now. She recalls when “Pappa” played catch with her. “I threw the ball so hard that he had a bruise on his leg until the day he died! Next time we played he brought a board!” As I watch her pitch for her high school softball team, I smile. As much for that memory as for her pitching.
Grief is complicated, a necessary part of life. We need to accept it and deal with. And with a little help from those close to us, we get by. So yes, I’m doing alright, but thanks for asking.