Most of us have experienced the death of a loved one, whether it be family or friend. Personally, I've lost a few friends, both grandfathers, and a few pets. But the one loss that resonates with me the most is the loss of my sister. She died at the age of 20.
What's sad though, is that even though we've all been through these losses and we've all felt this pain, it's uncommon to talk about it regularly or openly. We go through our days without addressing the absence of the family members that are gone, or the friends that have passed, because we're afraid of the pain it'll cause if their names come up in conversation. Even more so, many of us fear the awkwardness that a conversation like that will spark.
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When their names do come up, the conversation usually continues with a symphony of apologies. "I'm sorry for bringing it up." "We don't have to talk about it."
I admit, at first, I didn't want to talk about it. Talking about it made it real. It validated it. If I talked about it, I couldn't pretend that I was dreaming anymore. I couldn't pretend that one day I'd wake up from this nightmare and she would come home. Talking about it made it real and the last thing I wanted was for it to be real.
But it's been a few years now, and I've accepted that she's not coming home. One of the most famous quotes and advice on grief was that of Vicki Harrison who perfectly said, "Grief is like the ocean; it comes in waves, ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming." I've noticed that whether I'm having a good day or a bad day, whether it feels like I'm drowning, or floating aimlessly on the ocean water, I still want to talk about it. We're all under this impression that our friends don't want to talk about their lost family members because it will make them sad. The honest truth is, it WILL make me sad. But just because it makes me sad, doesn't mean it doesn't bring me joy to hear her name in conversation again. I am okay to talk about her. Talking about her is actually one of the only things that helps ease the pain.
I love to recall memories of her. Any story of her that starts with, "Oh my gosh remember when she..." is a great story. They're the types of stories that cause belly laughs. The throaty, heartwarming laughs that make tears stream down your face and your abdomen hurt. I love to hear stories too. If you knew her, tell me. Tell me about the times you'd hang out, tell me about what you experienced together. I want to know.
I love to talk about what she looked like. I'll brag about her beautiful hair and her striking eyes. Or about how her laugh was so obnoxiously contagious that everyone in the room knew who started the charade of laughter without even looking her way. How her smile could light up an entire room, but her face could also show a thousand different emotions at any time. These are the things that keep me going. Talking about these things gives me hope that she won't be forgotten. That she won't get left behind.
I don't think that we should be masking our grief by not discussing it. I don't think we should be avoiding talking about those we've lost; I think we should welcome it. Talking about her actually makes me more okay. It helps me. I've learned that grief is another word for love, and so grieving over someone is loving them to the fullest extent. We love to talk about the things we love, and the people we grieve should be a part of that.
Talk about what made them tick and what made them smile. Talk about whose name you could mention that would cause their entire face to light up. When you have their favorite meal for dinner, think of them and recall the times you used to eat that meal together. Talk about their pet peeves, and what would piss them off. Talk about your arguments, and the times you didn't talk for a couple days because you were both just too stubborn to back down. Talk about their favorite movies and shows, that they would go on and on about every time they were mentioned. Talk about that one item of clothing that they loved to wear no matter how many holes had been ripped, stitched up and then ripped again.
Talk about them. If we stop talking about them, we stop remembering them.
