14 Years On: How Grief Changes Over Time

The one thing I’ve learned over the last 14 years, since Mike died on March 13, 2012, is that I can not predict how I will feel or what the time leading up to the date will look like. The only sure thing is that I will feel sad and miss Mike with all my heart.

The first few years were especially hard, when the anticipatory grief could last the whole month. I didn’t realize until after the 1^st year that my mind envisioned that I would have to see Mike die all over again. The actual day was not as bad as I thought it would be, but the day after brought with it the reality that Mike was not coming back. There would be no more memories of him from the year before. I’ll always remember a man in one of my hospice grief groups saying, “The first year is hard. The second year is harder.” I didn’t want to hear that at the time, when I felt like I was drowning, but it was helpful to know that this was normal as I entered the second year.

How I deal with my grief is dependent on how the year has been. There have been peaks and valleys in family relationships, making some years harder than others. Everyone grieves differently, which I didn’t understand at the time. I’ve always been an emotive person, and that is the way that my grief came out. A lot of people are uncomfortable with that, and I had to find people I felt safe showing that side of me with. It was only through the grief resources and webinars that I learned that everyone grieves differently. Relationships to the person who died are going to be unique, even within the same family, so it makes sense that each person’s grief would be different.

This year, I’ve had health issues that have been a distraction from my grief. However, over the past few days, my physiological and neurological grief responses have come to the forefront. I often feel on the verge of tears. It might be a song I hear that pierces my heart, or going to get my taxes done, which my dad used to help me with, and the person who prepared my taxes was so kind. People choosing to be kind when I’m feeling vulnerable tends to make me cry. The flood of memories of the day before and the day of Mike’s death still feels fresh, leaving a deep ache in my heart and my nerves on edge. It also interferes with my ability to think and remember what I’m doing as grief overtakes my mind, leaving little room for daily functioning. Knowing that it’s temporary doesn’t help when time feels like it is slowing down. I just want the anniversary to be in the rearview mirror until next year.

One thing that has given me moments of respite when I’m feeling sad has been improv and art. When I join my Zoom improv groups, I feel enveloped in a community of caring, funny people. I can leave my life for a while and disappear into play space. The grief waits outside while I become someone else. Watercolor painting has been a balm to my soul, a place to create something from blank paper and paint. At the suggestion of two of the women I follow on YouTube, I’ve created an art wall outside of my bedroom. Every time I create a new painting, I add it to the collection. It brings me joy to see the colorful wall whenever I enter or leave my room.

I have learned to live with grief because I chose to love Mike. Grief has softened over time, though it will rear its head, sometimes when I least expect it. I now live in both worlds, where I can find joy and sorrow, knowing that it is what it means to be truly alive.