By Allison Daily —
Does grief end?
It’s a question that varies for each person and depends in part on the person’s relationship to the one who has died. The death of a child is different than that of a parent or grandparent. The death of a spouse is different from that of a sibling or best friend. Men handle grief differently than women do.
I lost my brother Rod to suicide. I got the call, heard the gory details, and had to get my parents home and then tell them, “Rod has killed himself.” It’s been nineteen years since that day. I will tell you that I have never stopped loving him and wishing he were here to know my husband and children, to share in my life. But, has grief ended?
Certainly, the worst of the pain is gone. What’s left is the love. Each year, the grief loosened its hold on me. The first year was the hardest. Each day, I questioned, “Could I have done something to help him?” Nights haunted me with either insomnia or nightmares of “the phone call.”
After the one-year anniversary, I felt a shift in my sadness. The “firsts” were over (birthday, holidays). The next year, things changed a little more; there was still sadness but less intensity. I found I was moving on and was not as focused on the emptiness and was not worrying about my parents as much.
I can’t tell you any definite event that happened that showed me I was turning a corner. It was a day-by-day, simple desire to come out of the grief and honor Rod with joy (not depression) that helped. By the fourth anniversary of Rod’s death, I began to feel I was out of the darkness.
Each year, I found new ways in my heart to remember him. One time, I planted a tree in his honor; one October, I bought flowers each week in memory of his birthday. I simply tried to turn the sadness around. This couldn’t have happened in the first few years, and it couldn’t have happened unless I had gone through a lot of therapy.
I began to see a counselor almost immediately after the suicide. I was still in shock and I was stuffing all of the emotions. My grief began to surface as anger and rage. The counselor provided a safe place where I could vent the anger, feel the sadness and let every emotion surface. The key for me was a SAFE place. I didn’t have that with friends mostly because of something lacking in myself. I was in my early twenties and not emotionally mature. Many people also expected me to be done with the grieving, a common mistake from people who’ve never had a major loss.
I think the safety and unconditional love and acceptance from someone is extremely helpful to the healing. If you have someone who will let you vent and not judge your emotions or the time frame of your grief, that is a beautiful gift. If you don’t have that in a spouse or friend, and even if you do, the help of a therapist or counselor or support group is really helpful. Being able to talk and “tell your story” over and over can be a huge part of healing. It’s part of acceptance and releasing.
Each day is different. Grief can even creep back and ask you to revisit some unresolved pain. I went through a time of intense crying six years after Rod had died. The difference was that I would have a day of strong emotions, but the next day I would feel a real release. There was almost a beauty in the grieving. It was a time where I really felt him around me and felt him asking me to let go and be really free and happy. Once I let go, let myself feel it all, I found that an authentic happiness could enter.
Allowing myself a real time of darkness in the first years was important. Trying to be perfect or trying to be in control often get in the way of the grief process. Next, a safe place to sink into and feel all emotions is a gift. When time passes and the light begins to enter, find ways to honor and remember the one you love. Don’t rush anything. Grief has no rules. Give yourself grace and acceptance for whatever your journey looks like.
For me, grief did end. I feel bad saying that…like I am betraying Rod. When I look at pictures of him around my house and tell my boys about him, I just feel peaceful. I remember all the wonderful things about him that blessed my life. I have come to a place where, while I very much miss him, I trust that he wants me to love him and honor him with that love.
Tags: grief, hope
Thank you Allison. Thank you for the gift of hope. My sister died, 4 months ago tomorrow on September 18. Well, that’s when the coroner pronounced her dead. Actually time of death was between 9 pm Thursday Sept. 17 and 9 am on Friday September 18th. My sister was murdered. Stabbed in the heart. As of today, no arrests, no viable suspects. The only thing missing from her home…her purse and her cell phone. No forced entry into her home. Most likely someone she knew. So I’m sure you can about imagine where I am in this process. I see a therapist and ongoing grief support. I see my doctor regularly too. Like you, I was at my firs therapy session soon after burying my beautiful sister. When I read your post, I felt such and overwhelming sense of hope, I had to respond. I know I have a long way to go. I try to be patient with myself. I try to take care of my health. The therapist helps, like you said unconditional acceptance. My sister and I shared that, unconditional acceptance and love. She was my go to person and now she’s gone. I feel as if the anchor on my ship called life has been cut and I’m drifting out there somewhere.
Again, thank you for the post, thank you for the hope.
Dear Shirley the first year is always the lonliest, your heart is broken and the physical loss is all powerful…you will be soul-searching looking for reasons and remedies, at times you will be over-whelmed with your inner sadness,anxiety and need to understand and get back the connection on any level with your sister you willfeel disabled with-out her in your physical world…but in your spiritual world she is always there…in your thoughts and feelings you are still feeling her presence…talk to her, if only in your thoughts talk and she will learn soon after the first year to talk back in the same way… I lost my brother in traumatic tragic circumstances 26yrs ago..I grieved for a long time…too long… because of my own despair ignorance and lack of guidance I didn`t let him in…if I had known then what I know now I would have lifted the barriers a lot earlier and realised death was just a veil between me and my twin-flame.x.x love and light Jojo
Alison, I found a heartfelt inspiration from your article, very similar to my own feelings after my brother took his own life 26yrs ago…thank-you.x.
i had two brothers…. both older then me… one.. the younger took his life 21 yrs ago..it took 18 yrs to stop hurting… time does ease…without a doubt.. my older brother took his life two yrs ago… i loved him so much and he was such a big part of my life.and my kids…. spent the first yr holding together my parents…then i drank.. went to therapy..stopped drinking…married a close friend and moved…not far just 20 minutes away… my best friend has cancer which she came and told me the day after the inquest…we been fighting it now for 6 months and i can only believe she will be cured..x.. i had to get my nephew and am trying to help him come to terms with losing his dad… but i am scared… to say or do the wrong thing.. poor boy is so mixed up and i dont want to let him down.. i wont.. but it is bringing up all the pain for me.. and what good am i when im hurting… i want to move on and i want to be more able…he is talking more now… im just so scared… which i do think is normal… just really hard…am very glad to find this site… and get some advice…x
My older brother killed himself on June 1, 2019, in the parking lot of the crematorium where his wife’s ashes were being held. The drama of that event is the conclusion of a sad yet inspiring journey my brother was on ever since his wife was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. He was slow to accept the diagnosis but once he did, his dedication and love for her was paramount. He began a blog for people… caretakers experiencing the horror and pain of watching the person they love most “disappear.” I was on this journey with him, albeit from afar… through his postings and phone calls. I “knew” I would be here when the inevitable happened. I was looking forward to providing him with the comfort and company I knew he would need. In the process of caring for his wife, his (and her) family in effect, abandoned him. His grief and mission were so all consuming that others in their life couldn’t understand how deep his fear and pain were and it created a wedge between him and everyone else. I, however, “knew” what he was feeling and what he was going thru. I know that sounds presumptuous but I knew he was “hanging by a thread” and could not bear anyone interfering with what he felt he had to do to spend every last moment left to them caring for her and experiencing what little time was left in a way that basically allowed them to continue as they always had… traveling the back roads of this country as if their life hadn’t changed at all. He knew, of course, it had. Anyhow, when the end did finally come, and the work of dealing with her death and the aftermath, he was basically alone – except for me. And I “dropped the ball.” It was’t enough that I was there the day she died. It was’t enough that I stayed that week and “ held his hand” as he began to process what needed to be done. A week was not enough… not when someone is so alone at a time that is so painful and frightening that to be “abandoned” instead of staying “as long as needed” would have prevented what ensued. He even texted me the “day of.” But, because I couldn’t talk to him at that moment and “promised myself” to call him as soon as I could… and forgot to until I got the “phone call” which made sure I would never call or speak with him again. And, for that, I cannot forgive myself, besides leaving him alone to mourn his wife without help or support from anyone. I loved my brother and admired him probably more than anyone else in my life. He always made his own way in his own way and the life he created with his wife was like no other… they were an “army of two” since the day they met and a sight to behold when in their company. I miss him every day.