What Grief Taught Me
Six Lessons I'll Never Forget
While attending the Okoboji Writer’s Retreat, I made the decision to to be more authentic in my writing. For me, that meant writing about death, grief, and loss. I’ve been afraid to share that part of my life here in this space, but as I’ve progressed in my grief journey, I’ve found it healing. I first wrote about the death of my son Christopher back in December and it was hard. After reading some of the comments from that post, I thought maybe I shouldn’t have written something so personal. However, I am a writer. I am a human and death is a fact of life. If I learned anything from the Okoboji Writer’s Retreat it was this: Show up on the page and tell the truth. This is my truth. These are my lessons.
1. Grief can be ugly. It is a wrenching process. I'll never forget the day that I emitted the most guttural and primitive sound that I'd ever heard. I wailed like a wounded animal. I attempted to get up from my couch and walk to my bedroom but fell to the floor. I wouldn’t allow anyone to touch me or help me. I alternated between crying, falling down, crawling, and getting up. This was a process that I repeated over and over until I found the sanctuary of my bedroom and slept for hours. Looking back, I know the wailing had to happen. It was a controlled burn, necessary to allow cleansing and new growth. My grief needed a pathway and an outlet.
2. Grief will change you. Living in the aftermath of grief has allowed me to observe myself. I've become quieter and more thoughtful in my interactions with others. I've learned to cherish my time with those closest to me. I live in the moment and look for the joy – no matter how small.
3. Grief will teach you to call on the village. If you didn't have a village before, you will need one. As social creatures who evolved to live in tribes and communities, I don't believe human beings should grieve in isolation. We are meant to take care of each other. It made sense to me that my Des Moines community showed up with food, love, prayers, shoulders to cry on, and listening ears.
4. Grief makes you hungry. There is the metaphorical hunger, and there is the actual feeling of hunger. It is the deep rumble that reminds you that to survive grief, you must eat. Some people can find eating difficult during this time, and that's okay. I found comfort in food. While funeral potatoes and casseroles made their way to my doorstep, the "grief empanadas" warmed me from the inside out. They were delicious and made with the love and care of a cherished friend. She fed my spirit.
5. Grief requires the assistance of a navigator. My navigator was my therapist. I am forever grateful to my therapist, who helped me develop healthier coping skills. I stopped going to the grocery store, quit driving, and had panic attacks whenever I heard sirens. My therapist assured me I would return to driving and grocery shopping, and I did. He taught me breathing exercises and body postures to deal with the anxiety and explained that, eventually, I would be able to hear the sounds of sirens, and I'd be okay.
6. Grief is a form of love. It is the most important lesson that I've learned. We grieve because we love. All of it is natural and normal. I lost a child that I carried for nine months. I named him Christopher Garvey Zilk, and for 21 years, I had the privilege of watching him blossom into a beautiful young man. I've learned to live with his physical absence but continue holding him in my heart's light. Knowing that grief is a form of love makes it a little easier to bear his passing.
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Oh, Teresa. This. This. This. We need this.
I love the authentic Teresa. Keep it coming.