On Grieving

I spent last weekend at Tene's home (she is the widow of Ali). Tene needed some time away and asked if I'd stay the night to keep an eye on the kids in her absence. Quite truthfully, I was exhausted from work and driving my son back and forth, and not excited about doing it. But she's my family and anything I can do to help her on her journey of healing, I'll do. That, along with the fact that I'm currently in the process of planning a family reunion with my dad's side of the family and it's making me more conscious of building with my family and building bonds, while exposing my son to his family (my side).

As always, I asked Tene how she's doing. She talked about her journey. One thing that I continue to take from my journey of grief is being able to normalize the many steps and layers of grief. When Pete died, I expected a few days of sadness, and then back to normal. I had no idea that his death would send me on a journey of learning so much about myself and ultimately becoming a better version of myself.

I explained to Tene how my cross-country travels quickly became a large part of my therapeutic process. Most people didn't get that. But that's okay, it wasn't for them to get. I told Tene how when I'd talk to people about my driving between major cities in the desert, I'd often be met with "I could never do that." And what I quickly took from that is that so many people struggle to be alone with and for themselves. That many people would rather work, drink, smoke, and fuck away their problems, rather than look in the mirror.

Coincidentally, I was listening to Michael Jackson's Bad album recently, and the song "Man in the Mirror" came on. I'd heard this song countless times in the past throughout my childhood and further. I like how the song mobilized us. The world. But one day, while in car, the song came on. And I heard it. I mean, I really listened to it. Mike wasn't just talking about us all getting our shit together. Michael Joseph Jackson wanted ME to get my shit together. He wanted me to look in the mirror. He wanted each and every one of us to look at the woman/man in the mirror and asked them to change their ways.

Only now, as a mental health professional, can I recognize how impactful that can be. I happened to stumble upon an article yesterday that addressed how antidepressants are not enough to battle depression alone. It is literally impossible to count how many depressed people I've encountered over the years, both professionally and personally, who struggle with depression and get frustrated with the lack of a magic pill that just makes everyone and everything better. Like big shock, you gotta do the work yourself. Even with a pill, if you don't actively practicing loving and loving on yourself, you'll never work through your depression.

I talk every now and again about when I broke up with my troll of an ex David, how I decided that since his skank of a cum dumpster was going to stalk me, I've give the silly slut something to look at. I bought dresses and outfits and I hit the streets. And I pretended to have a good time, but I surprised myself. Because at some point, I was no longer pretending, I was actually having a good time. I mean, granted, it was still a process, and there was still work on myself to be done. But I was working on getting there.

Getting off track here, but my point is that the grief that I experienced after Pete died held a major mirror up to me. I had a lot of shit to take ownership for my life. And it was terrifying. But it was freeing. That experience humbled me. Grief really is the great equalizer. And the best way to tackle it is to be honest with yourself and others.

During the height of my grief, I felt raw. I felt figuratively naked. I had nothing to give. Every bit of energy I had went into bare surviving. All I had the emotional energy to give at the moment was school and later work. But the life and ability to thrive that I enjoy now did not exist. I only got to this point because I made it a priority to work through my grief. And working through it looked different on different days. Some days, I took road trips, and drove and cried until my sight was blurry. Other times I visited museums and felt Pete's spirit with me as I felt him hugging me as I took in the wholeness of what I was experiencing.

Grieving Ali was different though. I remembered how I felt. I literally hurt on a cellular level. I remember feeling like literally every cell in my body hurt. Every hair follicle on my body hurt. But it wasn't a physical pain. But it hurt. It hurt so bad. I recall how I pulled up a chair to the windows in his home and stared out. The whole afternoon, I looked outside and tried to make sense of what was happening. My cousin was gone. My working through Pete's loss prepared me somewhat for Ali's death. I was aware to give myself grace. I refused to hide my emotions to make others feel warm and fuzzy. If I was sad, I cried. And when I needed to drive cross country, dammit, that's what I did. Some people tried to make me feel guilty for grieving on my own terms. And I didn't give a shit.

I'll have to tell Tene one day how proud I am of her. She's not just giving herself busy work. She's not smoking or fucking through her grief. She's processing and taking it day by day. She's not afraid to talk about her husband/my cousin. She owns her feelings and her emotions. She's not afraid to be vulnerable.

And that's how you work through grief. Ask me how I know.