Tag: death

Sad Songs Say So Much

carissaricci

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.

We’ve all heard about the the five stages of grief…the milestones that we used to think progressed neatly in a straight line. 

I don’t know about you, but grief definitely does not look that way for me. I might hit some (or all) of the above, but not typically in that order–and I’m certainly not done in just one pass through. If any of you have mastered that, please let me know how you did it. I always end up chaotically bouncing around those five stages like the balls in a pinball machine—sometimes hitting more than one stage at a time. I’m graceful like that. (I’m also a recovering overachiever/multi-tasker, so that might be contributing to the problem.)

The more we learn about grief, the more we realize we have left to learn. If we imagine grief as this large solid sphere that sits inside us, the previous ways of thinking indicate that the ball would shrink over time as we processed it—but that honestly never reflected my experience. The more accurate version doesn’t involve the ball changing size at all, but rather, we learn to construct our lives around it. As time passes, we get more adept at learning to live with it—as it is. Instead of fading away, it’s still very much present. We just learn how to sit with it differently.

Every so often, a smell, a sound (especially a song), or a visual glimpse of something can catch me off guard and immediately take me back to the feelings of that initial moment of grief. A stark reminder that the ball hasn’t shrunk at all…I’ve just gotten used to accommodating it. It has become a houseguest in my soul, and not always a great one. It doesn’t consistently pay the rent on time. It leaves the kitchen a mess and forgets to take the garbage out. Sometimes it kicks back and lets me rest for a bit, but occasionally, it slams into me head-on—demanding attention and not letting up until I acknowledge it.

Anything we have to say goodbye to–jobs, relationships, former selves, pets, places, ways of being–all require us to grieve what will no longer be.

The other myth about grief is that we only feel it when someone dies. The truth is that we will grieve many, many things…not just the deaths of those close to us. We experience so many “deaths” over the course of our lives. Anything we have to say goodbye to—jobs, relationships, former selves, pets, places, ways of being—all require us to grieve what will no longer be. 

In addition to the individual grief we feel, there are also moments of collective grief. I listened to a podcast episode during the pandemic where Brené Brown interviewed David Kessler1 and he talked about the idea of collective grief as well as what he calls the sixth stage of grief—finding meaning. Even though finding meaning can help as we make our way through, he clarifies that “you can’t use it to spiritually bypass the pain you have to go through. You’re going to be in pain, you’ve got to let the pain happen. There’s no way around the pain. If you don’t feel it, you can’t heal it. You’ve got to feel that pain.”

To experience life with our hearts open means signing up for all of it…and I’ll be honest. There have been days when I’ve wanted to slam the doors shut and just not feel. But then I remember what I’d be giving up if I did that, take a breather, and fling those doors back open. 

Finding some respite in Glacier National Park

For those of you who know me well, this won’t be shocking—when things feel heavy, I often turn to music. Whether to help drag me out of the pit or to help me cry the tears that need to come out, I crank the tunes and let myself be where I need to be. If you’re looking for a song to help pick you up out of the grief for a respite, give Shake it Off by Florence + The Machine a go. If you’re looking for a song that will help you sit in the depths without completely pulling you under, try Sad Songs Say So Much by Elton John. And if you’re looking for something that will help get the tears flowing, Easy on Me by Adele just might do the trick.

I’m still working on letting my emotions be what they are and if you’re in that spot, too, remember that “it takes strength to face our sadness and to grieve—and to let our grief and our anger flow in tears when they need to.”2 Call on that strength when you need it and surround yourself with people who will encourage you to be exactly where you need to be. Those who will shed tears with you. Who will hike it out with you. Who will sit in silence with you when that’s all you have the energy to do.3

If you’re in the midst of grieving something right now, know that you’re not alone. It’s okay to feel the heaviness. The anger. The tears. The exhaustion. The disbelief. The hollowness. The desperation. And maybe even a little hope—that one day, you’ll become better friends with the ball of grief that is setting up camp in your space. That you’ll meet others who will understand what you’re carrying and sit with you while you try to make sense of your new reality. That even though the pain feels unbearable at times—you will make it through. One step at at time. One breath at a time. You’ve got this.

1If you want to listen to the entire episode, you can find it here.

2Fred Rogers knows what he’s talking about.

3These two penguins each lost a partner and meet regularly to comfort each other, standing together for hours watching the dancing lights of the nearby city. #friendshipgoals

Turning Grief Into Action

carissaricci

Trigger Warning: Death, Suicide, Mental Health

This year will be seven years since a good friend took his own life. Seven years. Every time I think about it, I’m immediately transported back to the moment I found out and exactly how it felt to hear those words. I have lost a lot of people in my life. In tragic ways. In unexpected ways. Whenever it happened, the grief cycle felt familiar—until that day. This was different. The denial was THICK. I literally couldn’t wrap my mind around what I was being told. It didn’t compute. This vibrant, charismatic, brilliant, funny, full-of-life friend…gone. And in a way that was unimaginable to me. My brain couldn’t comprehend it.

The next week was spent in the densest mental fog I’ve ever navigated. Coming to terms with the reality took…well, if I’m being honest, I’m still grappling with it. Grieving someone who leaves life in this way is an elusive beast. There is no closure. No rationalizing with it. And the relentless questions like, “What if I had just…?” plagued me as I analyzed every tiny detail of the last encounters I had with him. 

Shortly after I got the news, someone who was trying to comfort me said, “Life is hard. Some people just aren’t strong enough to make it.” My heart rate immediately skyrocketed. I was incensed. I knew that this was coming from a well-meaning place, but in the midst of my deep grief, the anger surfaced. Sharp and ready. Somehow, I managed to regulate myself enough to make a simple statement about how when someone makes that decision, it isn’t because they aren’t “strong” enough. 

Whether for a sprained ankle or chronic anxiety, we all deserve to feel unashamed to ask for help.

Needing support with mental health care does not mean someone is weak or lazy. They are not broken or deficient. They are not selfish. Yet these are some of the very reasons why people often don’t seek help—because they feel like they will be viewed in these ways. Weak. Lazy. Broken. Deficient. Selfish. These descriptors are categorically untrue, but words and perceptions hold a lot of weight in our world. Imagine these words being used to describe you if you broke your leg. Would it feel different to seek care if you thought that’s how people saw you? If they thought you should just be able to “tough it out”? 

I want to live in a world where everyone feels empowered to find the care and support they need. Whether for a sprained ankle or chronic anxiety, we all deserve to feel unashamed to ask for help. When I think about my friend and other bright souls who left this earth too early, the words, “It didn’t have to be this way” play over and over in my head. And that breaks my heart even more. They won’t get to see another sunrise or sunset. They won’t get to spend time with people they care about or make new memories on trips they would have taken. They won’t get to see the incredible impact they had on the other humans in their circle. They aren’t getting to experience their futures which were once full of possibilities. 

We must take action.


View from the end of a pier in Southern California—thinking about all the things.

I invite you to become an advocate in this space if you aren’t already—let’s do whatever we can to normalize this topic. For current generations, future generations, and those we’ve already lost to this battle. Let’s use the fire of their memory to light the way forward.

I’ve heard people say, “Check on your strong friends,” but I’d encourage us to do one better. Let’s check on all of our friends and make sure they know they’re loved and supported.

Whether you’ve lost someone in this way or not, we can all contribute to spreading the message that it’s okay to ask for help. In that spirit, a dear friend has kicked off a dream she’s had for awhile now. Please check out the Phoenix website for some creative ways to remind people that they matter and where to go for support. If you or anyone you or anyone you know is looking for mental health resources, she has curated a helpful list here.

I’ve heard people say, “Check on your strong friends,” but I’d encourage us to do one better. Let’s check on all of our friends and make sure they know they’re loved and supported. Let’s start having the uncomfortable conversations and reinforce the message that there is no shame in asking for help. If you hear someone say things like, “Well, I guess they just weren’t strong enough”, let’s be brave and speak up. It’s long past time to change the narrative…and it starts with each one of us. 

Disclaimer: This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your mental health professional or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have.