Love & Grief

I have heard that the depth of grief is equal to the depth of love. It has been six months since my dad passed away, so, though it hurts greatly now, I loved greatly prior. The feeling of loss is not a mountain to get over, but a backpack to carry. Grief doesn’t leave, but the size and weight of it changes. On occasion its weight crushes me. Generally, it just quietly exists.

No one can feel our pain for us. We walk that path on our own. Each moment can change how we feel and change what we need to keep moving forward. The best we can do is be aware of when help is needed and ask for it. That vulnerability is frightening in an already fragile space. All I can say is that I have been so surprised by people’s willingness to meet me where I am, and step into the shoes I, currently, cannot fill. All I had to do was ask.

Though it was not unexpected, his death was still too soon. I don’t have the heart to give details, but I would like to talk about the people that were available for my family. Those lovely people, mostly in the background of our lives, that showed up and banded together in our moment of hardship. I really like these people. I probably love them.

I read once that it is easiest to show our love to others through acts of service. To deny others the opportunity to help, denies them the chance to say “I love you” with their actions. They are willing to do anything, but we are unwilling to be a burden and won’t let them support us. In a world were openly loving someone is abnormal, and asking for help is considered weak, it’s not surprising that a personal tragedy can lead to feelings of loneliness.

I have learned that my family and I are truly loved. So many people did more than give condolences, they were available. They brought food, organized a gathering, helped with supplies, gave a shoulder to cry on, and were available for whatever came up. The condolences were appreciated. The help made us feel loved and supported. When we trusted enough to ask, people went above and beyond to help so that we could have a bit of space to grieve. That gift opened my eyes. Often people are honest in their desire to help. The fear of being seen as needy, that stopped me from asking for support, is a little smaller now. My trust is a little more available.

To love someone, and to let them love you, is to trust them. Sometimes there are boundaries on that trust and that is okay. Boundaries don’t determine the amount of love you have for others; it helps you love and protect yourself. Also, people’s ability to support you doesn’t determine their love, it just shows their boundaries and values. I am grateful to everyone who showed they cared, in whatever capacity they could. This is hard and there is no, singular, right way to love someone.

To those my family felt safe to call on during our hardest moments, thank you. To those who have been, truly, ready to jump in and ease a burden from my mom’s shoulders, thank you. To those who I could be honest with, when at my darkest, and those who were quick to send pictures, jokes, and stories to lighten sorrowful hearts, thank you. I have one more ask, please be patient. This will hurt for a long time; it may never not hurt, and we will need to know that we are not alone.

For anyone going through their own grief, please be courageous enough to ask for help and support. There is almost always someone who is wanting to show you love but hasn’t figured out how. You can tell people how to love you. It’s ok. It might even create a lasting connection.

One day at a time. We can do this.

Katie