Today I wish that this was not the blog post I was writing. I actually had an announcement to make. A really sweet one. But, instead I am sharing with you my deepest feelings of loss and pain. I lost my stepdad on Saturday. 39 years, my second dad. A dad. It was not a shock and yet isn’t it always? I am sharing this with you because my space feels quite empty. I am sharing this with you to remind us all that it is ok to need love and support. And I am sharing this with you to figure out together how we can effectively be there for someone through the grief & loss, including ourselves.
When You Get The Phone Call
My dad called me with the news about my stepdad at exactly 4:11pm. It was November 4th, 2023. Isn’t it crazy how an ordinary date on the calendar can take on an entirely different meaning – forever and so quickly?
His name was Jackie.
We also called him Poppy.
We always laughed how he was the one who took me for my first bra. I always snuck him sweets after my mom went to bed. I would give him an extra spoonful of ice cream and a huge dollop of whipped cream. He really liked that. We had so many things we disagreed on, but we managed to stay on our own sides and respect the differences most of the time. He acted like a child if he couldn’t choose the movie or the restaurant. That really annoyed me and yet I really loved him. A forever kind of love.
It is impossible to believe that I must refer to him in past tense.
I had just spoken to my dad 30 minutes earlier. We were discussing if it was time for me to go and be with my mom. We had been having this conversation since my stepdad was admitted in the hospital over a month and a half ago.
My mom kept saying to wait. She would need me more later on.
I was getting tired of the back and forth. Go. Not go. I was even a bit short about it.
I just wanted so much to be there.
Of course, my responsibility.
In my mind: Why did I listen? Another thing that I missed because I live so darn far.
I had just spoken to him. My dad. He was going to call me with an update.
Nobody knows when the time will come – even when they are really sick – and then when the time comes, it hits you.
The past tense.
This idea of before and after the call and everything else.
Acknowledging That It Is Ok Not To Be Ok
Being ok starts with acknowleding that, in fact, we are not ok.
Kris Carr, Author of the book, I am not a Mourning Person
So I am not ok.
I am not ok that I live so far away.
I am not ok that I wasn’t there to say goodbye.
And I am not ok that maybe he didn’t know how much I loved him.
I am not ok that I wasn’t there for my mom. Or my dad and stepmom who really stepped up the love and attention. Stepped in where I wasn’t.
And I am not ok for my mom’s suffering right now.
And yet, there is this ashamed voice whispering:
This should not be about you. Why are you making it about you?
And yet, me here. Not ok. I am acknowledging it.
As Kris says: it’s a start.
Ya Just Can’t Fix Grief & Loss
Kris also says:
So often we miss this step or avoid the truth of how we actually are. There’s so much pressure to be grreat!- happy, wise, and in control – that we have a hard time sitting with our internal reality.
Instead we cover up angst by racing forward, looking for people, things, and solutions outside ourselves – as if we are problems to be fixed.
In truth, we are not broken. We do not need fixing. We just need loving.
And this says it all. Because in those moments of grief and loss, there are no grand gestures to be taken, no appropriate words to be said.
There is nothing noone can do to fix you. Actually you are not all broken. Just your heart is.
I don’t know why they call it heartbreak. It feels like every other part of my body is broken too.
Chloe Woodward
Grief & Loss Is Empty & Numb
Sometimes, when one person is missing, the whole world seems depopulated.
Alphonse De LAmartine
There is however, something to be filled.
My first feeling after I received the call was emptiness. I felt empty and numb. The numbness maybe comes intuitively to protect us from the huge, excruciating pain of the loss. It is better to feel nothing.
It is like when we go to the dentist and hate the injection.
And yet, we take it every time because we know that it is better not to feel all that would be felt afterwards.
When I received the call, it was like the shot. After I hung up. Nothing.
So empty and numb. Because although there is nothing to be fixed, there is so much that will need to be filled. And we do this with love. Love and support.
So as I type these words I make a mental list of all that will need to be filled.
My mom.
My daughters.
Myself.
How To Fill The Grief And Loss
Self-Soothing Myself After The Call
No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.
c.s.lewis
So right after I received the call, the news on my Italian side spread quickly. My phone started to beep. One message after another.
And I decided not to read a single one.
It was as if the news wouldn’t turn out to be real if I didn’t read the love, compassion, and support flowing my way.
It was as if I was requesting for the numb feeling to last as long as possible.
So I sat. With myself. In silence. For quite a while. I was cold, but I couldn’t move. Empty. Numbed. And now paralyzed. I wasn’t even thinking. Just sitting. Sitting within.
And then, I cried.
I went to my computer and started pouring out everything that I was feeling. It was the only way I could make myself feel anything and my fingers knew this as they typed frantically.
And I cried as I thought about my stepdad and all the moments we shared.
I remembered things that I had long forgotten.
Like the only time he grabbed me when I was in my teens and I had done something – can’t remember what – that really scared him and my mom.
And the time we had a huge fight over political views in a pizza place on Staten Island and I ran out in tears.
The bad moments. And all the good times.
Our last visit last Spring. Memories of him teaching Kenia to drive. I insisted that he be the one with her during her exam and I am so glad that I did.
A lifetime of memories flashing before me as I typed and I cried.
And then, all alone. Me and my words. It transformed into FEAR.
The realization that this feeling will soften and there will be life to be enjoyed and then other loss will arrive.
More pieces of broken hearts. Cracks of love. And more parts to be filled.
Beyond words
I once read a post on IG that said:
What do you do to help someone heal? You sit with them on a park bench in silence.
Our words. The things we say.
- This is life.
- To love is to lose.
- You will feel peace again.
I have said all these things to my daughters. I said them when their Nonna passed away a year and a half ago.
So I am learning today. In the future I hope to support better.
As always, personal experience is the best teacher.
Our wisdom and compassion grow stronger from our own pain. I feel myself growing right now.
Because right now I remember how useless words can feel. Any words. No matter how deep, eloquent or right they may be.
Right now, I don’t want to hear a thing.
Supporting someone’s grief and loss often means filling them with your loving silence.
And so, often the best thing to do is simple. Perhaps it looks something like this:
- We listen. Don’t think. Don’t talk. Just listen. People begin to heal when they feel your silent presence.
- We sit with – and for ourselves, within. And wait. Silently wait. And let love do it’s thing.
- And we create a safe space. A space where you and your loved one can feel comfortable feeling all those feelings that arise while sitting.
Filling The Real Needs
Most of us want so badly to be able take care of and comfort others. Do something incredible for them.
We like taking care of people because it heals the part of us that we needed someone to take care of.
Our intentions are good, but whether it feels like there is an elephant in the room or you simply wish you had shoved a sock in your mouth, supporting someone in a compassionate and effective way is usually really hard.
We tend to want to do when all we have to do is be.
We forget over and over again that in these moments words fail.
As the griever, grief directs us directly to a dark place. We want to cry and feel bad all we want for as long as we want.
Hibernate for a little while in that puddle of sorrow. And while doing this, we want to know that there is someone near by who will be there to dry us off.
Because the thing that frightens all of us the most is the idea of being alone.
That fear of completely losing ourselves in our sorrow and nobody there to pull us out when we finally realize that we do not want to drown.
So if you are caring for someone in pain, this is your main job. Just be there.
What Not To Say Or Do To Fill The Needs Of The Grieving (from my personal experience)
While there is no manual to provide emotional support – each one of us is so unique, how could there be? – here are some quick guidelines when you do speak.
- Don’t say too much. Silence and a hug are always better than trying to fill the space or them with your voice.
- Don’t be overly poetic. Stop trying so hard. A simple, I love you goes a long way.
- Don’t say something that lessens. Even if you think that it isn’t such a big deal, be compassionate. The pain is real.
- Don’t encourage an emotional bypass. Each one of us has our own process, our own time to heal. Respect it. Moving on is different from choosing to ignore one’s suffering.
- Don’t try to cheer them up. Leave the positivity and cute jokes for a later date.
- Don’t say that there is a reason for everything. Sure we know that everything is an opportunity for growth, but this is not at all comforting when the wound is fresh. Go back to the silence and the hug.
Instead, ask yourself: What does this person really need? How can I make this person feel seen, understood and loved? What would I need? If you are supporting yourself as well, what do I need?
Some things I may need during moments of sadness, grief & loss:
- moments of rest
- a long hug
- safe connection
- a good cry
- sunlight on my body
- movement
- nature
- warm water – a bath, shower, cup of tea
- nutritious, comfort food. Split pea soup.
- a soothing space
- someone to say I am here. You are not alone.
- a nice message
- someone to sit with and maybe when I am ready to listen
- to pay attention and remember to choose myself first
Letting The Pain Ride & The Love Rise
The pain will come in waves. Someone once told me this way before I ever experienced real grief & loss.
At first, it is as if nothing changed. We pretend, maybe.
The person is in another room, at the supermarket or maybe on vacation.
Until it penetrates: this person will no longer be sitting in the hot garage on his lounge chair, dosing off time to time – as you sip your mid-morning coffee.
The bigger waves ride when something reminds you of him or her. A song. A book. A place.
Or in my case – A red, Triumph Spitfire parked on some street. A White Castle. Peanut butter cups. A stupid shark movie. Blue eyes. Neon color muscle shirts. Braaaacooliii.
And gentler waves when you are able to embrace it all with gratitude and love.
When you remember that it is worth it. A partner. A parent. A child. A sister or brother. A friend. Anyone you care about.
It means you loved good and hard. This is a beautiful thing. May we hold space for this. Of course, when we are ready.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Kahlil Gibran
Grief & Loss: In The End Return To Love
The emotion that breaks your heart is sometimes the very one that heals it.
Nicholas sparks
Today, almost a week later, I continue to sit and search for love in all its forms.
A word.
A thought.
A flow of loving energy from your heart to mine.
And in my practice of gratitude.
Our gratitude shows up in the most difficult moments to remind us that there is still so much life, love, and beauty to show up for.
And knowing that this won’t be enough, but even if for brief moments, it is.
So this week, I have been reminding myself to look up, over, out, and beyond. Return continuously to love.
Up at the sky and I find the sun.
Out to the birds singing just for me as I lay on my husband’s shoulder, his arms around me and a kiss placed perfectly on the crease of my forehead.
Over to my daughters’ beds where they are safely asleep – angels that glow inside of me.
And beyond – I am so lucky that I can get on a plane on Tuesday to be with my family. Not everyone has this freedom.
Love always provides other possibilies, possibility in the hurt.
Love says: Heartbreak. Emptiness. Numbness. Fear. And also The Rest.
It is the love in us and around us that reliably reminds us that it is the rest that will always fill us with time, in time.
Reactivate our senses.
And with this joy.
The rest is our guiding light, shining brightly in all those extremely human cracks.
This is how we do it.
It being, put our practice into motion so that we begin to heal.
A Collective Return To Love & Support
After we sit with ourselves, we need to eventually move on. We do this by tapping deeper into love and searching for that beautiful middle place where we can be with ourselves and also connect and lean on our safe community.
Because we are not meant to do it on our own. We never have to be alone.
We can reach out knowing that people will be there to catch, collect, hold, listen, sit with some more, and support.
The easiest way to find support is to ask for it.
And we do this by opening ourselves up to love.
And just loving.
Love, received and offered. Love shared as a collective.
So today I am calling upon you, darling friend. To love more in general.
I am aching right now.
But so is the world.
So much feeling of loss in this moment.
And for this reason alone – on some level – aren’t we all aching and grieving?
Something to fix, not to fix?
It doesn’t really matter.
I agree with Kris. We just need loving.
More and more and more love.
Can you do this one act for me today?
Self-love. Love for others. Worldwide love. Can we return to love individually and together?
Final Note: Honoring Life After Grief & Loss
Perhaps they are not stars in the sky, but rather openings where our loved ones shine down to let us know they are happy. – Eskimo legend
So when we are ready to move on what else can we do?
We honor our loss – whether it is by death or another form of heartbreak – by honoring our life and all the people in it even more. I profoundly believe this.
This means us choosing how we will live our lives in every moment of every day.
And maybe asking ourselves: How much can I still devote to love even though I now know the risks and the price to be paid?
May this be my greatest intention as I remember all that my stepdad gave me through all the years.
May I remember to look up, smile, and send him all my love. And also remind myself to extend it to you, the entire globe, and, of course, myself as well.
May these words fill whomever needed to hear them today.
As always, thanks for being here. Our journey is meant to be shared. Please feel free to share yours with me. This would feel really supportive and incredibly loving right now.
my heart reaching out to yours,
Resources
Meditations To Soothe Your Soul
- SUPPORTING YOURSELF, 17 Minute Guided Meditation
- DEEP CONNECTION, 15 Minute Guided Meditation
- TRUSTING YOURSELF, 13 Minute Guided Meditation
- I’M FEELING UNSTEADY, 20 Minute Guided Meditation
- BODY SCAN for Loving Attention, 20 Minute Guided Meditation
- FULL BODY GRATITUDE, 16 Minute Guided Meditation
Book Recommendation
I’M NOT A MOURNING PERSON by Kris Carr
