Every time the calendar flips to November, I feel the sense of dread spread across my stomach. My therapist asked me to give that feeling a color— “blue,” I said instinctively, startled by the clear mental image of a light blue slab, marbled and thick, that made it impossible for me to take a full, deep breath. “Blue.”
Later she explained how the blue related to my self-preservation response to “freeze” whenever I feel threatened by emotions. Keeping them in check means swallowing them, but holding them inside as they bear down on vital organs has its own set of consequences. For years, I didn’t connect the heaviness I felt inside to the grieving I denied, and for most of the year, that turned out fine. But November, with my birthday, my Mom’s birthday (three days after) and Thanksgiving, refused to be ignored. Not that I didn’t try. The “firsts” were expected tough days, but it was the second, third, fourth years that hit with an intensity that caught me by surprise.
Then came 2020. A pandemic. A volatile election. The 10th birthday without my Mom. Her 10th missed birthday and Thanksgiving. How could any preparation set me up to manage this November?
Sure enough, the regular patterns began to emerge. I was weepy. Short-tempered. Wildly productive one minute, desolate the next. I felt, then envisioned, the slab. And I remembered what my therapist said. Notice the slab. Watch it. Feel it. Let some time pass and see what happens to it. I took normal breaths. The slab expanded, then thinned out, then dissipated. I sat through it. I took a deep breath. And I decided to go to the cemetery to visit my Mom.
At first, I thought it would be good to go with someone—my partner, my eldest son who had been closest to my Mom. Then on my Mom’s birthday, my partner got called to a job and my son felt sick to his stomach (yes, I see what I did there) and I decided to go by myself.
It’s been years since I’ve gone to the cemetery alone, mostly because I never really felt like that’s where my Mom hung out. But her birthday felt different. So I stopped at a Wendy’s drive-through and got a large chocolate Frosty, the kind my Mom always loved. I drove to Gate of Heaven, got lost, then finally found her spot—the headstone with an angel proclaiming that those who believe in God will never die. I spread out my jacket and sat down for a visit.
Thanks for joining me, and here are a few tips about finding your own way to grieve:
One of the most important, and difficult, lessons I learned after my Mom died was that not only was grief completely unpredictable, it was different for every single member of our family. So as I reached out for connection, others withdrew. As I sought escape from dealing with post-death realities, they piled up around me and compounded my pain. In the spirit of offering support for feeling how you feel, here are some thoughts to keep in mind:
There is no right or wrong way to grieve: Even though my siblings and I had weathered our Father’s death without conflict, our Mom’s death was a completely different story. Then, I couldn’t begin to understand their choices. Now, I’m sure they were baffled about mine. There are recognized symptoms of grief, and coming to understand them, and giving more grace than you feel is possible to others who are suffering, can be a bit of a comfort.
Take your time: When it comes to grief, there is no set timeline. You may have heard this before, but the first time it hits home will likely be alarming. Nothing prepares you for it. How can I feel the intense loss of my Mom more than 10 years after she took her last breath? How can weeks go by and I feel that my grief has entered a new stage only to pick up a card she wrote to me and be unable to speak for hours? Grief isn’t a straight-line process for many of us, but it can be a source of learning, of growth and of important self-reflection. Take advantage of the waves of grief by riding them out, taking care of yourself and asking for the support you need.
Professional support: I highly recommend finding a professional therapist to guide you through understanding your own grief process and managing it in a healthy way. For me, that meant finding a therapist who specialized in somatic experiencing as a way to understand, process and manage trauma and pain. The process gave me a sense of control over my grief management and tools I needed to work through dark days, especially dark November days. Here’s an interesting overview of SE, and you can learn more from the man who developed the process, Peter A. Levine, who calls the practice “a naturalistic and neurobiological approach to healing.” In addition, Hospice providers know a lot about grief and grief counseling, and in my experiences were incredibly supportive of family grief in the aftermath of death. As with grieving itself, there are many paths and answers. Finding the best one for you is an important personal journey that is worthy of your time and attention.
Grab Happy: Every day, I come back to this advice from my Mom when I consider my day and what I have, or have not, accomplished. For me, success is being able to pinpoint one moment, one decision, one interaction in which I was able to experience (or at least glimpse) joy. A happy memory. The warmth of a good cup of coffee or afternoon tea. A poem. A graveside Frosty. Those moments don’t erase the grief, but they do put it in perspective. And for me, during November, that’s enough.