Why can some move on from grief while others are left in its wake for years or even a lifetime?

Human biologist Paul Shephard states, “The grief and sense of loss, that we often interpret as a failure in our personality, is actually a feeling of emptiness where a beautiful and strange otherness should have been encountered.”

With our unrelenting determination as a society to constantly move forward, grieving often is deemed unacceptable, out of control, or too emotional for a society that expects people to pick themselves right back up – be exactly what they were before – within days of suffering a loss. What is left is a person who pushes everything inward, trying to cope alone as they wonder why they can’t sleep or function as they used to, suffering silently under the weight of intense sorrow. So, why do we ignore our grief and suffering?

Instead of being alone, this is a time, more than ever that we need community and connection.

My Story

I have a story. I always tell my story the exact same way. I didn’t realize this until recently when I told my story differently and things started to fall apart. I realized that if I ventured from my usual telling, it became more than a story, it became real.

            My mother first had cancer in 1977, when I was six. It was breast cancer on the left side. She had a mastectomy, all the lymph nodes removed, and radiation for a year. The next time was 10 years later, breast cancer again, another mastectomy.

            The most recent diagnosis came in 2001, lung cancer, but technically it was breast cancer cells that had survived from her first diagnosis. These cells were in the lining of her lungs. Through the next years she did several kinds of chemo and decided to stop in February 2009. The following month the doctor insisted she have someone, besides my father, to care for her. My partner and I moved in.

            In mid-June, I was home from work on a Thursday when my father said he wasn’t feeling well. The next day I brought him to his doctor where they took blood work, gave him cough medicine with codeine and told him that he had allergies. The following day the doctor called and told me to bring him to the E.R for more blood work. He was admitted and a week later they gave us the diagnosis, small cell lung cancer, 1-2 years to live.

            In the meantime my mother started to go down hill quickly. She passed away on July 9th, my father 12 days later, on the 21st.

            That’s my story. It’s rough. But I can say it to people if they ask. I’m detached. Part of me likes to see them shocked at the end. Then listen as they try to make it okay by saying, “Oh, they must have really loved each other, to die so close together,” or “How old were they? Oh, 73 and 83? So, they lived a good life.” Or some other ridiculous remark that makes me think I should be okay with them dying. The truth of it is, I haven't been okay.

            When I tell this story, I disconnect, it's not real. But there is so much more to this story, there’s a whole life, a family.