The Gift of Grief

Over six years ago a woman was murdered outside of my local Costco. For years after, there was an altar where she was slain. It was updated with the seasons and maintained with care. When I passed it I would think, Wow, they’re holding on.

They reminisced, they mourned, they grieved… for YEARS.

Grief? I don’t know her. Can’t feel her. Can’t find her. Can’t relate.

But I want to, sometimes.

The last time I cried about a death I was in college. My Grandaddy passed suddenly, and I felt blindsided by his absence. My roommate bought me a bear to console me and it made me realize people could tell I was upset. Embarrassing. So, naturally, I stopped being upset. It felt unnecessary to cry at his funeral and in typical Black fashion, the repast was joyous. Then, I moved on.

In general, I don’t cry when people die. My brain ctrl, alt, del negative feelings so quickly it feels irresponsible to try to navigate something that doesn’t exist. When my Uncle Randall passed in 2022, about a week after seeing him on Christmas Eve, I remember yelling out “fuck!”, then going to work. I spoke at his service weeks later and thought about how nice it would be to cry, but it never happened. I physically couldn’t do it.

This extends beyond death; I just don’t hold onto much. If it is unsettling, the feeling lives in my subconscious, but it is typically inaccessible to me. There are some somatic repercussions but I’m not gonna lie, it makes my life easier, and I am not real pressed to change it.

However, this year has been one of loss for my friends. Back-to-back-to-back I’ve witnessed them lose their fathers. It has reminded me that other people don’t respond the way I do.

And they are grieving.

They have actively existed in the cycle of mourning and healing, but as the holidays are approaching, it is a cruel reminder that their traditions have changed, their obligations are different, that the presence of their loved one is gone.

Full transparency, I feel wholly unprepared to provide them with significant support. I check on their overall wellbeing, but it feels clunky and inefficient. I am often at a loss for words and will google what tangible actions to take. I don’t know how they feel, and it shows.

People are always surprised when I say this, and I can understand why. It sounds borderline unhealthy to not feel something so heavy. Honestly, I’ve only recently realized how much my body has conditioned itself to condense big feelings into abbreviations that are easily digested and discarded. I thought it was normal. In this efficient system, there is no room for grief, very little space for sorrow, and maybe a minute for mourning.

I just read a meme that said, check on your friends that have lost someone, their first holiday is going to be rough. Yes, check on them. But also, check on the ones that are grieving from losses years ago. Appreciate them and make space for their journey, however long it may take. To grieve is a gift, it is a privilege, it is an act of bravery. But to grieve is inconvenient, it is exhausting, it is messy. I’m in awe of anyone that does so openly and unapologetically. I could never, and there is a part of me that is jealous. Not enough to try it, but enough to value and try my best to support it.

To my friends that inspired this blog, I am thankful to witness your strength during this season of grief. I know there is no reassurance that will land the way you need but I hope your memories play like a highlight reel when you need it the most. I hope your tears are met with tenderness and that the darkness of sadness is followed by the brightness of the brightness of love.