Saying Goodbye to A Good Friend, Grief
Grief and I have spent a lot of time together.
We have seen the inside of many shower walls. We have felt the damp sadness of dozens of pillowcases. We have journeyed across the country together, my suitcase big enough for the both of us. We have walked through the daylight, through the rain, through the quiet hours before dawn. We have spent hundreds of afternoons lost in thought.
He tends to show up after change.
As many of us have, I had the chance to get to know Grief pretty well. Just as it is in friendship, it’s hard not to become close with someone when you spend so much time together. I’d like to think we have formed a tight friendship – and I think that this friendship has been healthy.
Allow me to explain.
Toxic human friendships or connections occur when it becomes parasitic. One person sucks the life out of the other; you become wholly dependent on the other person for your life-force. You absorb the other. You become the other. That is toxicity. That is scary. That is life-threatening.
To me, that looks like Depression. You become your sadness. Your grief is no longer a companion, walking with you through change and loss. Instead of allowing you the space to acknowledge and struggle with the change (like Grief does), Depression sucks the life out of you. Friendships with Depression become poisonous and often cause you to lose sight of yourself. You lose sight of your soul.
Keeping this in mind, Grief is not the enemy. It is not something to be afraid of. Many of us fear Grief. Why?
To answer that question, we have to answer the following.
What is the value of grief?
Grief is an emotional mechanism for us to cope with change. It allows us to process a loss and move on into our next chapter of our lives. It shows you care. Grief tells us that you cared deeply about something or someone and lost it.
I used to be afraid of breaking down into tears in front of someone else. In high school, bathrooms were the best place to cry without being seen. However, during the few times that someone heard me, I’d apologize profusely, over and over again from behind the bathroom stall door.
“Sorry, I’m totally okay, don’t worry, I’m sorry, I’m fine.”
If I cried in front of my therapist, the first words out of my mouth were “I’m sorry” as I tried to wipe away my tears and pull myself together.
But why was I apologizing for Grief? Why apologize for the fact that I cared intensely for something before it was stripped away?
Why should I apologize for loving until I burst?
The fact that I love deeply is beautiful and powerful and a superpower stronger that anything or anyone I’ve ever known.
it deserves to be held in reverence by someone who recognizes that.
That, however, was not something I recognized right away. For a long time, I hated Grief. It hurt. I felt torn apart. I felt like I was living without a lifeline, drifting in a sea of people I didn’t recognize. I didn’t even recognize myself. I hated the fact that I had gotten myself into this situation. I rejected that part of myself – the consequences of loving so deeply and honestly felt humiliating.
It is not uncommon for people to reject the idea of loving deeply after an intense change. It can be hard to appreciate that part of ourselves because that is exactly what got us here in the first place. Perhaps we loved someone deeply and authentically, and then they betrayed our trust.
We think, “Maybe if I hadn’t loved them as deeply, it wouldn’t have hurt this bad. Maybe if I cared less, it would hurt less.”
That, both fortunately and unfortunately, isn't true. Even more importantly, the fact that it isn't true is what makes human connection so radiant.
We love deeply at the risk of deep, painful loss.
We choose to care, despite the obvious risks and the dangers, and expose ourselves to the hands of Change. Unfortunately, both people and things, despite our most desperate attempts to keep them the same, change. They change, and that is when Grief knocks on the door, asking to come in and stay a while.
And now, as I sit on my bed, the night before a whole new year of being nineteen begins, it is time to show Grief to the door. To be honest, this is a bittersweet goodbye. Just as it is hard to say goodbye to a good friend or companion, it is just as hard to say goodbye to Grief. He is the energy that has walked with me, every day, for many days, weeks, and months. But it is time to say goodbye.
As I hold open this metaphorical door, I feel an odd melancholy shift in the air, almost as if I am sad about not being sad anymore. Nonsensical as it seems, moving onto a new chapter is terrifying and this goodbye to Grief seems awfully permanent. What if I’m not ready to walk alone? Am I beyond the territory of longing, ready to stand on my own two feet?
I don’t know but I hold the door open anyway.
Grief, as all good friends do, will pay me a visit every so often, and we will walk together again more than once in this lifetime. But for now, I am not afraid to bid my companion au revoir. This is not the last time we will see each other.