It's not linear.

The five stages of grief. We've all heard of them, right?

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.

All absolutely part of the grieving process. The problem? The idea that there are "stages" implies a completion and graduation to the next step. The idea that as soon as you've worked your way through each of these phases you're on to the next until BOOM you're "fixed" and you've grieved and life goes on.

Yeaaaa, not so much.

This weekend, as I swiped through Spotify for something to tune out on while I cleaned, I stumbled across a podcast that really resonated. Some of you likely remember Whitney Port from MTV's The Hills (queue Natasha Beddingfield's "Unwritten"...good luck not having that tune stuck in your head the rest of the day). For the record I love deep thinking and a meaningful discussion, but I also won't deny my enjoyment of trashy reality TV. I've been known to binge some Selling Sunset or Tiger King (ok not really reality TV, but certainly trashy) and there's no shame in my decompression game.

Anyway, back to the point here. I haven't listened to more than this single episode so I can't attest to her podcast as a whole, but the content of this specific episode of With Whit was spot on and offered me language for ideology I haven't been able to articulate myself. Whitney's guest for the episode was Rabbi Steve Leder who was on the show discussing the concept of spirituality and his new book about grief.

Leder talks about how in his early years as a Rabbi when offering condolences to a person grieving, he would tell them "the most honest and helpful thing I can say is that it won't always hurt this much". But after losing his father a couple years ago, he revised that language and instead now offers, "it won't always hurt so often".

Have you ever had someone else articulate something you've felt personally but never actually verbalized? This was on of those, "YES, EXACTLY" moments for me. Leder uses the analogy that grief is like an ocean. Waves come and go, they spread and become less frequent and the sea calms, but eventually after a peaceful period a storm will rear. We can't always predict these storms or see them coming, and sometimes we're blind to the catalyst.

The idea that the pain of loss will lessen over time is misguided. "Time heals all wounds" is a misnomer. The loss will always hurt this deep, just less frequently.

If we can be gentle with ourselves and let the waves of grief wash over us as they come, we can learn to embrace loss and the beauty it offers. When we accept grief into our lives instead of resisting it, there are opportunities for growth.

When loss is fresh and raw, it's difficult to operate with this consciousness of letting yourself feel whatever comes. For me personally, it took 8 months before awakening to the fact I needed to do something to cope and process. The abruptness of my mom's diagnosis and death left me shocked and paralyzed (though I wasn't cognizant of it at the time), and had I been introduced to any of this work immediately following her death I'm not sure I'd be where I am now. That said, there's also no deadline for coping with loss. I say this having had someone in my life who suffered loss 40 years ago tell me they felt it was too late to work through their grief. That grief doesn't disappear when it's ignored- it manifests in other ways. Sometimes physically (hello illness) and sometimes mentally (hello displaced emotions).

Like I said at the beginning of this post, there is truth that denial, bargaining, anger, depression and acceptance are all wrapped up in grief. The point is more so to identify there's a chance each of those emotions will arise and when they do you have a choice. You're not going to stop the waves from crashing, but you can choose to lie down, float and let the moment wash over you.

Literally speaking, floating can mean pulling off the road to cry when a song comes on reminding you of your person. Floating can mean cancelling plans because the idea of being around happy people is exhausting. Floating is giving yourself permission to simply "be" with whatever the moment brings and without judgement, whether that moment is days after death or years after death.

In my last post I wrote about the idea of this collective grief we're experiencing as humankind and how it can amplify past trauma. Leder spoke on this issue and (again) nailed it. He explained that one kind of grief can rebirth the PTSD of past grief. We're in a moment when we're all grieving-- for some it's literally lives lost, it's a loss of freedom, a sense of vulnerability, loss of jobs and homes and special events. We're all grieving and it's stimulating our past experiences.

Something I've often referred to is the gifts to be discovered. The beauty that can be found in the ashes that otherwise may not exist. Leder shares my point of view. He challenges, "while feeling the loss can you also start to think about the beauty of what remains?" Can you lean into that? My mother was beautiful in life, how can I make her beautiful in death?

We can honor and appreciate the beauty that comes from heartbreak without denying the loss itself. It's not to say the loss is worth the pain, but it isn't worthless.

"Death is the absence that is forever present."

And it is also the beauty of what remains.

There are literal concrete takeaways I'm able identify in my mom's death. For example the benefits of therapy and how it's impacted my relationships with myself, my partner, my peers. But the greatest gift? Embracing the depth of wisdom that death can bring. If she hadn't died I wouldn't be able to write what I'm writing. I wouldn't be able to make a difference in the dialogue surrounding death in our culture.

I haven't yet purchased Rabbi Steve Leder's new book but do plan to. Yes, I watch garbage television AND read books #liveinyourintersection (please read into the heavy sarcasm here). In all seriousness I'm sure this blog will benefit from his work and I'll share all of the "ah-ha" moments as they come.

Until next time ✌