Things People Who Have Experienced Grief Wish You Knew

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I’m adding a taglist to start, but this post is open to absolutely everyone! <3

@jesusredeemedme2425 looking forward to this thread 🤍

@jesusredeemedme2425

Grief isn't always publicly expressed. 

@jesusredeemedme2425

People in grieving often want to talk about their person. They want you to keep using their loved one’s name and share memories, rather than acting like they never existed. Ask them questions about the person they miss. Chances are they want to talk about them.

You can still have grief even if your person hasn’t died.

I am 67 f. I have 6 kids all grown. One of which was abducted by his father when he was only 2 years old.

In 1990 I was diagnosed with lupus. Then 6 months later, thyroid cancer. They got it so that was a positive. Then, 2 months later I lost my oldest brother to aids. Then the hero in my life, my daddy. That was horrible. Ihad to check into a mental hospital due to that. Still suffering from that. Then my older sister 2 years later. Then my mother 11 years ago. Then...... which is hard to even type. My sister....I can't even say her name. She was always there for me no matter what. She understood me. She accepted me no matter what. She was always there to help. It is taking the strength of a thousand men to type this. She is ......I still can't say it. It has been two years in March. It seems like yesterday. I became an addict at 60 yrs of age. I couldn't go and see her that tragic day because I didn't want her to see me in my addiction. Now, I will never forgive myself for not being there. I can't mention her name or look at pics of us or anything. I can't say that she....you know. Cuz then in admitting a fact I don't want to face. I suffer from depression, and have all my life due to childhood trauma. Raped at 11, kidnapped twice as a teen, raped again at 14 by 5 men, raped again that same year by two men. My stories are long and painful and unfortunately true. Now at 67 I am an addict for the first time. I am in my first verbally abusive relationship. I have lost my family and friends due to my addiction. I am currently disabled due to hip surgery last year. I just feel like I am useless, insignificant and I feel like death would be better than life sometimes. I am not currently suicidal. I just sometimes think life is too hard to live anymore. I'm very lonely. I could be in a crowd of a thousand people and still feel very alone.

People grieve in different ways and that's ok. I felt so bad, mine took about a year to process. I didn't realise, I wasn't unfeeling. I was numb.

I felt cold for not crying. I felt like I was on medication, it just seemed like a distorted reality that I couldn't process.

My biggest issue was people hugging me when it's not what I wanted. I felt crowded and it's like people were expecting me to fall apart and when I didn't put on a show, they were disappointed..

My cousin reached me and said, it's normal, don't worry about feeling a certain way and that helped but I still felt guilty.

Eventually the tears came out in public at the wrong times, everything seemed to trigger my emotions, that were put on hold.

I found a poem that spoke to me as well.

@scrabblebrain

What was the poem?

@scrabblebrain

Thank you so much! Unless you have lost the same person that I have lost you will never understand.

@jesusredeemedme2425

I'm sharing this because I've lived it. And there are things I wish people had understood.

1. The day it happens, everything is technical.

You're suddenly dealing with clothes, the funeral home, the budget, what outfit goes on the body. You just move through it in a fog. The real weight hasn't hit you yet. So when people say "you're being so strong," we're not. We're just on autopilot.

2. The wake is a performance.

You stand there for hours, thanking people, shaking hands, but you're not really there. It's like you're watching yourself from somewhere else. Don't expect us to make sense. Don't take it personally if we seem distant. We're just trying to get through it.

3. The burial is when it becomes real.

Watching the urn go into the ground, that's the moment it sinks in. You'll never see that person again. Only memories are left, and they're not enough, but they're all you have.

4. What we really want, in those first days, is for everyone to leave.

After two days of people and whispers and food we can't taste, all we want is to go home. To the silence. To the empty chair. To the toothbrush still in the cup, the slippers by the bed. We smile and we endure, but honestly? We're just waiting to close the door and finally be alone.

5. The hardest part starts after everyone goes home.

The funeral ends. The flowers die. The calls stop. And that's where it really begins. Not in the ritual, but in the mornings after. The pain shows up when it feels like it. It doesn't ask for permission.

6. There's no right way to cry.

Sometimes you don't cry at all, and people think you're cold. Sometimes you cry in secret so no one sees you as weak. Sometimes you cry in front of others and they look at you like you should be over it already. But there's no deadline for this. Please don't act like there is.

7. Cleaning out their things is brutal.

It feels like you're erasing them. You take a whole life and fold it into boxes, into storage, into the trash. You hesitate over every little thing. A sweater. Some notes. A pair of glasses. To keep it feels heavy. To throw it away feels like letting go of something you can't name. Just know that this phase is harder than it looks.

8. Seeing someone "replace" them is devastating.

When someone else sits in their chair, cooks in their kitchen, it hurts. Things that were once done their way are now done differently. Not wrong. Just different. And still we criticize, because every difference feels like a small death.

9. Grief finds you when you least expect it.

You can deactivate the phone to avoid their photos. You can try to control it. But grief finds you anyway. In a color. In a smell. In a song. In a place where you once stood together.

10. The phone still haunts us.

There was a time when the phone rang at a specific hour, and we knew it was them. Now it doesn't ring. But sometimes it does. And when it rings, we run to answer, our heart already halfway to believing. And on the other end, it's not them. It never is. And still, after all these years, we run.

11. Time doesn't heal. It teaches.

Years pass. It doesn't hurt as much, not because I've forgotten, but because I've learned to live with it. The world keeps moving. But the longing doesn't leave. It changes. It softens. It becomes something else.

12. What I've learned, what I wish you knew.

Grief is not something you overcome. It's something you make room for.

The silence after the funeral is louder than the funeral itself.

People will say the wrong things. Most mean well. You don't have to forgive them right away.

You can laugh and still be grieving. Joy is not a betrayal.

Moving forward is not the same as moving on.

The phone will ring and it won't be them, and your heart will break a little every time. This is not weakness. It's love that has nowhere else to go.