My Story. Not yours.

Grief. This complicated word has a two word definition, "deep sorrow". What does that mean exactly? For each person, grief is different. Just like no two snowflakes are alike, no two individuals grieve the same. One person may shy away from the universe and sulk in silence and demand no other presences while another person may throw themselves into their daily life while maintaining a busy lifestyle to hide the pain. Either way, grief absolutely sucks. It's a never ending process. You grow in your grief and you learn to live with the pain and eventually it becomes numb but it comes back, always.

I'd like to think this post is for those who have judged the bereaved. Who have walked away from those who are suffering because you just couldn't handle the roller coaster of emotions. The waves of the storm. The change in the person you once cared for. But one day, and don't kid yourself, you will be on this side of grief. Watching people who once were there for you, disappear; talk about your story, when it isn't theirs to talk about. Suffer the darkest days of your life, alone, even though there are so many people around you that you could suffocate. You'll watch the universe continually spin and everyone you know go on about their lives while you struggle to figure out what day, month, year you're in. The world won't stop for you either. You can't even begin to prepare yourself for this.

Each grief victim has a story. A story that has changed their entire being. A tragedy that takes your soul into its fists and crushes every strand and then somehow we manage to put the pieces back together, and much differently than before. So when you ask 'what happened' to others besides that person, or talk about their tragedy by adding your opinions, you aren't helping the situation. Those conversations usually get back to the bereaved. Your words hurt but not nearly as bad as the tragedy. Our lives are bigger than your hearsay. Our hearts have more to deal with than your 'well I heard'. In the grand scheme, it doesn't matter what happened, and it doesn't matter what you'll hear. We are broken, isn't that enough? You preach on kindness, and making the world a better place, yet when someone right in front of you is hurting beyond words, you talk. You say things that aren't true and you make guesses that are far fetched from the truth.

My baby died. It's as simple as that. She died. It doesn't matter where, it doesn't matter how, she freaking died. I didn't do anything to deserve losing her, neither did my husband or her brother. This wasn't karma, and yes, I've had someone tell me that. This wasn't a test of my faith - because if truth be told, I would have failed. She died. So before you start talking about the next victim of grief, remind yourself that they are hurting. Dying on the inside. Contemplating how to take their life so the pain will stop. Thinking every tree they drive by looks like the right one to smash their car into. And stop thinking and creating stories by reading this. I'm okay, today, but I am human and I was in "deep sorrow".

People you know are in "deep sorrow". Weather that storm with them. Let them know the world is continuously spinning but you're in the area of stopped time with them. Ride the roller coaster of the five stages of their grief in no order: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Allow them to stay out of work for days, weeks, months, or allow them to get back to work quickly without judgement. Allow them to tell their story. It's their story, not yours.