Coping and Hoping through Grief

The past week has felt like one very long day, punctuated by brief restless sleeps and consumed with intense grief. My grandma passed away Monday just before three in the morning. I was privileged to be with her in the moment she took her final breath, with my hand on her shoulder and my eyes soaking up every last detail of her beautiful face that they could.

Losing one’s grandparents is part of the normal order of life, but for me that expected sequence was flipped around. I lost both my parents while my maternal grandparents were still alive, so they took on an even deeper importance—if that’s possible—and filled part of the parentless void that had been left in my life. My 88-year-old grandpa is still with us; seeing his heart completely break over the loss of his wife of nearly 69 years is equally as difficult as the loss of my grandma is.

Coping with grief through anxiety and depression is difficult. I am very much a “show me the schedule” type of person due to my anxiety, but loss doesn’t follow a set agenda.

Before Grandma passed, at first we thought she would return home, then we thought she would go to a rehab facility, then we thought she would go home under Hospice care, then she declined so quickly that she stayed in the hospital. Everything happened so rapidly that the only thing I came to expect was more change.

Then, after she passed, not knowing the exact itinerary of the memorial service ahead of time made me feel quite anxious. Who would be there? How would Grandpa hold up? Would there be songs? Which ones? How would my boys be? Would Cullen make a “Karen” joke to a relative named Karen?

Cullen, our 8-year-old, is named after my grandma (it’s her maiden name) and has anxiety and depression just like me. He was very close to his great grandma—Nana, as my boys called her. My husband and I knew he would need breaks during the two-hour visitation time before the service so he took both our boys out for a bite of food and then took Cullen for an extended car ride before returning for the service.

My heart broke even further seeing my boys weep during the service for the Nana they so dearly loved. At the same time, my heart was filled as they comforted me despite their own grief.

How can we help our kids—with or without mental health issues—through the death of a loved one? How can we be gentle with ourselves through our grief? Here are some things that helped my family throughout the past week, especially during the visitation and service, and I hope they can help yours, too:

1. Let everyone know what to expect (to the extent possible). Will there be an open casket? An urn? Who will be there that they know? Will there be any unfamiliar-to-them religious practices that you can explain ahead of time?

2. It’s ok to cry. It’s ok not to cry. Whatever you are feeling is right for you.

3. It’s ok to laugh at happy memories and stories. It doesn’t mean you are any less sad.

4. It’s ok to hug. It’s ok not to hug. You get to decide.

5. It’s ok to take a break. Scope out some break-time options like a separate room, a back corner, a place outside, or even the car.

6. It’s going to feel weird and uncomfortable at times. Everyone else is feeling it, too.

7. It’s ok to ask any questions you have.

8. People will be sad for different amounts of time, including after the funeral. A piece of you may always be sad. However, it’s ok to start feeling happy again, too, whenever you are ready.

I think the most important take-away is that everyone grieves in their own way. There isn’t one right way to do it, and sharing information and answering questions can help calm anxieties. Grief has a thousand different faces and it can be complicated by mental health issues. Give yourself, your children, and those around you grace and space. Today might not be the day a smile returns to your face…but tomorrow might be.

I was beyond blessed to have my grandma for 42 years of my life. It doesn’t quite feel real yet that I won’t see her again on this side of heaven…but it’s time to start a new day. Love you forever, Nana!