Mourning is a strange process.
At first, there’s the disbelief that you have to conquer, especially if the person in question was young when they passed or died unexpectedly. That feeling of being stunned, as though someone has pulled the chair out from under you, or has knocked the air right out of your chest. It takes you time to process. Often times, there’s a feeling of being struck dumb while you stare at nothing and grasp at the concept of understanding, of applying logic to so much emotion.
Then there’s the mountain of emotions that lead to the path of acceptance. Not “over it” exactly (because how can you ever be over death completely?), but come to terms with it. Some people consider it more of a tidal wave because they can’t see beyond the immensity.
It’s easier said than done, for sure. The air is thinnest on the top of the mountain, or under a tidal wave, after all.
Sometimes it’s different than what pop culture portrays it to be. It’s a unique experience for everyone, but occasionally that discrepancy in expectation can be jarring.
The well-regarded “Five States of Grief” weren’t initially intended for the mourning, after all: they were meant for the dying. Which makes applying the ideas to the grieving complicated, and at times messy. Bargaining is a less common occurrence with grieving, no?
Sure, there’s ruminating — wishing you could have done things differently, hoping you could turn back the clock and see them one last time, regretting not telling them that one thing—but is that really bargaining? Certainly not always. Maybe it’s just my personal experiences, but bargaining with death seems strange to me when it’s either after the fact, or when it’s not staring you in the face.
Anger is a separate beast. Oh, the anger. How could this happen to such an undeserving person? How could this person be taken from the world in such a way? How dare the universe be so bold as to wipe away the substance of someone so significant?
Lashing out is a distinct possibility. Either emotionally, verbally, or physically. Because our society isn’t always the most conducive to experiencing emotions, or talking about them extensively. It becomes a delicate process because pain can become a whip to strike anyone in the immediate vicinity who speaks without thinking or processing. How dare they have the audacity to sit there, unassuming, while the pain seeps so deep?
Sometimes, when the anger fades, you’re left with nothing but the cold gray of sadness. A weight on your chest so heavy you find it hard to breathe. Maybe tears overwhelm you, but maybe not. Some sit there, opening and closing their hands absentmindedly, yearning for the substance of that person you miss.
Occasionally, you want to simultaneously shut yourself off and cut off the emotions. At times, there’s the urge to reach out to others to help you shoulder the burden. The ache in your head or your heart or both reflects the pain of the loss, and you wonder if maybe the hurt would go away if you close your eyes tight enough, turn the noise loud enough, punish yourself severely enough.
The sadness is something that can be pushed off, but shouldn’t always be. The longer it festers, the worse it can be and the sooner you listen to the pain, the sooner it stops talking. Whether by yourself or with others, the sadness will eventually demand attention. Afterward, the pain might still linger, the gray edges might remain, but the weight will eventually lift and the warmth will return to your limbs. It’s not something that can be avoided, but once you weather the storms, the intensity will dissipate.
Then there’s the journey into acceptance. Acceptance is tricky. Because even if you’ve let the anger and the sadness wash over you, it doesn’t always necessarily mean “acceptance” has happened. Experiencing those emotions fully can trick you into thinking acceptance has happened, though.
Sometimes, grieving will catch you off guard, even as you move into acceptance. Singing a silly song might lead you to be blindsided by the memory of the remembered savoring the lyrics. An adorable animal might make your heart rise in your throat because the deceased might have thought that animal to be so cute.
That’s the thing: you never know. The emotions that come from it are complicated, bittersweet. On one hand, you’re glad that you’re able to remember; on the other hand, you wish the beloved one was there for you to remember with them.
The trick to acceptance is different for everyone and achieved over separate intervals of time. One important topic to note is that it’s not memories going away because they might never. Not entirely, at least.
They will fade in regularity, and they’ll stop hitting you with the intensity of a bat to the knees, of that moment when you first found out or made the connections. They’ll still hurt, but it will be more of a dull ache than a sharp stab of sadness that snatches your breath.
That’s the muddled, complicated factor of mourning: the grieving process is so strange, so unique, and often dichotomous with what is spread through social media. It brings mourners closer together while simultaneously alienating the people death left behind. No matter the disbelief, no matter the rage, no matter the sadness: acceptance and relief do come in time. It seems like an impossible idea to grasp, but looking back, you might realize that you’ve made it over the mountain. The tidal wave will have gone: your breathing will be better, and your head will be clear.
You’ll never regain the missing piece, but, at least, the bleeding has stopped. There will be a realization that you can do this, that you can live your life, that you can carry the memory of them. There’s the realization that you can, and maybe even that you will.
