Child Loss · Grief

Is It Getting Easier?

They ask, “Is it getting easier?”

They mean well.

People want it to be easier. They want to think that it’s “getting better”, “getting easier”, “not as hard”.

It isn’t easier. It isn’t better. It is hard, every single day.

In many, many ways, these past few weeks (maybe months) have been harder than the first few weeks.

Grief progresses, but it is sloppy and unpredictable, and oh so very painful.

I disagree with this popular “7 Stages of Grief” being called “stages”. Excuse me, but that’s bullshit. (Yes, I swore. I don’t know a better word today.)

I understand the premise. I’ve felt and experienced many of the so called “stages”, but they are not STAGES, and shouldn’t be called “stages”.

I don’t think grief is that linear, that orderly. I don’t think you “make it through” those stages and WAHLA, you’ve survived.

There are no steps. There are distinct elements to grief, but the way they choose to fall, the way they ebb and flow is as unique as the heart carrying the weight of it all.

Grief swirls. Grief rolls like the tide. Grief crashes like waves. Grief falls and blows and drifts like snow.

Grief is now part of me. Part of my life experience. Part of who I am.

I will not ever be the same. I am permanently changed by grief.

I’m having to get to know myself in a new way.

I will find my way, but I won’t “get over it”.

I am forever marked by both love and loss.

I’m not wallowing in it. I hope people don’t perceive it like that. It is part of the fiber of who I am.

I can’t will it away or make it “less” just by trying harder.

And I wouldn’t want to.

I can’t “let go” of grief any more than I can let go of love.

I’m sorry if you love me and are having to watch me live in so much pain. I’m sorry if you’re one of the ones that get the desperate texts when I’m falling apart at the seams. I imagine watching me grieve feels horrific. Thank you for being there in the depths of this with me. You don’t have to know what to say.

I imagine one day that there will be a quiet strength that slowly rises out of depths of this pain and settles in my spirit.

I imagine that one day I’ll be able to give again.

But for now, I’m grieving deeply. 8 months of deep, crushing pain.

You will see me smile. You will see me celebrate life.

You will see me loving the ones dearest to me.

Celebration and Mourning coexist. I am both. Always both.

At times, one will suddenly overtake the other, and for a few moments I will Celebrate with full strength. And then in other moments, grief will take over, and I will Grief with all of my being.

It’s ok. This is how it works.

I am a woman who loves, celebrates, grieves, breaks, stands up, walks, falls down, carries love, is buried by pain, lifts her head high, and crawls into a cave.

I am a woman who is becoming.

And, no, this is far from “easier”.



8 thoughts on “Is It Getting Easier?

  1. I can never imagine the depth of your pain, I do know that grieving is ongoing, some days lessened by happy details of our lives. My grandma was my caregiver, my everything. She died in 1983 and there are days I cry for her as if it was today. A song, a statement, a picture, a thought. It is never ending and I love you for sharing your grief, reminding us that it is THE hardest thing we will EVER do and we do it together!

  2. You do not owe anyone an answer of why or how you feel or grieve. Grief is as individual as there are individuals in this world. Yes there are ” stages” or , more appropriately called areas of grief, but they are almost never linear, nor do they always, if ever, come to a finish, or conclusion of total acceptance. Rather, I find that we just flow in and out of those areas over and over thru out our lives. Those who feel that grief ends, either haven’t experienced it or haven’t loved deeply enough to know the deeps of true grief and loss. God alone knows and understands what you feel for He is the Creator of you as a physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual being. He alone has what you need to bear you and your family up every day, for all your days and nights til He calls you to be with Him forever where your Mattie waits for you. My prayers are continual for those of God’s children who are called to be in such times of difficulty, for someday it may well be that others of us will also find ourselves in like times of suffering. God bless you as you reach out to Him in your need. My love to your whole family, Lynn

  3. 8 years after losing my mother, 5 years after losing my husband, 3 years after losing my dog and Aunt, life is still filled with moments of deep crushing pain.

  4. this has been such an inspiring read for me. i lost my husband 10 months ago, he killed himself. there, thats it, i said it. no i didn’t see it coming, i didnt even know he was suffering, i didn’t know. and you know what you are right, it isn’t getting easier, and I’m sure its hard to watch me fall to pieces some days. gosh i love how you just nailed it all down……”its part of the fiber of who i am”……forever changed by this, stronger, weaker, it just depends on the moment you see me! thank you for these most amazing words. i am so sorry for your loss, xo

  5. I use to read your blog and loved reading your heart for the orphans. Then I lost my 1st born son in Dec. 2010 and I slowly stopped reading blogs. It was all too painful. Everyone’s life just goes on and the world keeps spinning while you’re just standing still in the middle of it. Today, I came across your blog again and was heart broken to hear of Mattie. My heart goes out to you. I wish no mother had to experience this. Strangely I just realized that this is the week we have come to Kansas City from Colorado for the past 5yrs. We would bring a group of high school jr/seniors and freshman college students to IHOP. It was a place of deep healing for us. This is our first year to not come since his death. God connected my heart there anyway through your blog. He sure works in strange ways.. Maybe my son is playing with your Mattie. He had a huge heart for orphans and I had read some of your posts to him. I chose to believe it. I’m praying for you today.

  6. Oh Dawn, welcome back to my heart here. I’m so sorry for your loss. My heart extends fully to you. You are loved.

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