4 Things I've Learned about Grief

On September 5, 2012, I had my first bitter taste of grief as an adult at the vulnerable age of twenty-two. My friend had just died tragically, and I was left to process the news on the cold concrete floor of my boyfriend’s garage. 

He was just supposed to fix my car, I told myself as he stood there awkwardly hugging me, unsure of what exactly to do (he wasn’t exactly the affectionate type). Just go back and fix my damn car, I wanted to yell at him. But my voice was muted. I couldn’t process the fact that my mundane afternoon had somehow turned to this.   

Consumed with anger and depression, I spent the next several years in and out of various relationships, bars, and repeated college courses. It took the better part of five years for me to even begin processing my emotions and start to heal. 

As I approach the eighth anniversary of my friend’s death, I can’t help but reflect on where I am today and how far I’ve come. Since 2012 I have experienced grief in many other ways. I’ve had to grieve the death of both grandparents, damaged friendships, and poor health. I’ve had my heart shattered by men who promised they were “different” more times than I can count. Not to mention, 2020 has felt like one giant tornado of collective grief over changed plans and how life “used to be”.  But because of all of these experiences (plus difficult inner work and self-reflection), I have been able to grow. And where there is growth, peace and contentment can almost always be found nearby.  Looking back on those difficult years of grieving, here are four things I’ve learned—and wish I would have learned sooner—about grief. 

1. It comes in waves. 

For anyone who has known a significant loss, you’ve probably experienced exactly what I’m about to describe.  One day a few months after my friend passed away, I was carrying plastic bags full of groceries to my car in the Fred Meyer parking lot. My mind was focused on my dinner plans that evening, what brand of cabernet I had just purchased, and how I hoped it was worth the extra three dollars I had just spent on it compared to my usual brand.  Grief and loss were off in a distant part of my mind at that moment, as I was happily distracted by my day-to-day activities. Suddenly, as I reached in my purse for my keys, I saw something out of the corner of my eye that stopped me in my tracks. A vehicle had just slowly entered the parking lot and pulled into a spot right next to mine. Pontiac Vibe, I mumbled.  It’s a freaking Pontiac Vibe.

 Then...

 Bam. 

All the painful emotions I had tucked safely away came rushing back, washing over me like a salty ocean wave, burning my eyes and nostrils in the process. 

My friend owned a red Pontiac Vibe, and the last time I saw it, it was in a photo on the local news. It was in shambles after she had been hit head-on by another driver. She was the only person I knew at the time who owned one of those cars, so even to this day my stomach drops any time I see one, thinking of that horrific photo. 

2. Grief feels like fear. 

In his book, A Grief Observed, Christian author C.S. Lewis writes, “No one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing.” 

I didn’t eat a full meal for seven days after my friend died. The only other times I physically cannot bring myself to eat (I pride myself on my hearty appetite and profound love of flavor-filled foods) is when I am overcome with anxiety. Sleep seemed to come to me in one to two hour increments in those first few days, my active mind waking me throughout the night as if a cruel joke, making sure I didn’t find the quiet relief of sleep for too long. 

3. Grief and joy can exist simultaneously. 

In that first year, I found myself feeling immense guilt for experiencing any moment of happiness. How dare I sit here and enjoy my life, I would utter to myself, when hers is just...over? Any time I found myself experiencing joy, I would immediately push the feeling away, like a toddler shoving aside her broccoli.  It wasn’t until I’d been through years of therapy that I finally discovered that allowing yourself to feel joy in the midst of profound grief is a very beautiful thing. 

One of my favorite authors, Brené Brown, explained in her book Daring Greatly,  “The mark of a wild heart is living out the paradox of love in our lives. It’s the ability to be tough and tender, excited and scared, brave and afraid-- all in the same moment. It’s showing up in our vulnerability and our courage, being both fierce and kind.” Similarly, we can also experience joy and grief in the same exact moment. Yes, it takes vulnerability and courage, and yes, it’s hard. But to be able to smile and feel genuine joy in the midst of raw heartache brings a hope that cannot be shaken. 

4. You’ll never get over it, but you can get through it. 

I still have vivid dreams about my childhood dog that passed away over fifteen years ago. In those dreams, (Jake) is alive and well, relaxing in the backyard while meticulously chewing one of his yellow tennis balls he used to play catch with. In my dreams, he always looks just how I remember him— long, grey fur, pointy ears, and full, fluffy tail. 

Even though these dreams are lighthearted, I often wake up from them in uncontrollable tears. Even after fifteen years, my heart sometimes gets heavy with the sadness of losing my beloved childhood friend. 

Grief is not something someone simply gets over. No matter how many years go by, somewhere, in the back of your subconscious or hidden deep in your heart,  it will always be there. 

But grief doesn’t have to be the end of anyone's story. Lysa TerKeurst, Proverbs 31 Ministries contributor and author of It’s Not Supposed To Be This Way, has shared openly in her writing about the many trying seasons in her life, including her experience after the tragic and unexpected death of her younger sister. But instead of allowing her grief to define her and dictate the rest of her life, Lysa has found ways to transform that pain into healing and hope. In a 2016 post from womens’ Christian online devotional (in)courage, Lysa wrote: 

 “Then one day, you take off the blanket of deep grief. You fold it neatly and tuck it away. You no longer hate or resist it. For underneath it, wondrous things have happened over time. Things that could have only come about when Divine Hope intersects with a broken world. You look up, blow a kiss, wipe a tear, and find it’s still possible to dance.” 

If I would have read those words eight years ago, I would have rolled my eyes and scoffed in disbelief.  How could anyone learn to live in full-acceptance of their pain?  But here I sit today, legs criss-cross on my couch, fingers on my keyboard, writing this post. I’m not angry. I’m not overcome with pain. My heart, of course, is saddened as I think about that September when I lost my friend. But now, in this moment, 

I have so much peace. 

“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.” Romans 8:28

Chelsea Duffy 1990-2012