Grief Surprises

Shattered Heart is open to let the light in

I am surprised by my feelings of losing my confidence and sense of who I am now. Before losing Kevin, I thought I knew what I wanted for my future. Loss and grief have upended my life, and even after five years, I still struggle to identify and find myself. Who am I now? I have questioned the very purpose of my existence. I often think of the phrase "imposter syndrome" and wonder if that is who I am now. I want to write a blog but have nothing valuable to share. Who wants to read about suicide and grief? I feel stifled by all the inadequacies that overwhelm my heart, being and soul. Before losing my son, I never questioned myself or what I wanted to accomplish. I had a checklist. However, losing Kevin has rearranged me emotionally, mentally, and physically. As the shock wore off, grief took up permanent residence, leaving me numb, a normal response to grief and loss. 

However, writing, rewriting, and rereading my work has presented glimpses that I can do this. I can write and share my story of love, loss, and finding light. I did not want to be a failure due to grief. I turned to faith, knowing that it is essential to take the first step even when I don't see the whole staircase (Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.) Tears are a constant presence, and I allow myself to cry because grief has taught me that it is evidence of love that once existed. 

I gradually changed my perspective around grief and developed a sense of awareness. I allow myself to sit with grief when it shows up. However, I am surprised by the fluidity and authenticity of the grieving, which could be around dates, such as birthdays, events, or even certain smells, which can evoke a strong emotional response. Before losing Kevin, I never thought about who might be judging me. I have come to accept that what others think of me is none of my business. Grief has shattered my world into tiny pieces, and picking them up is tedious and exhausting. Some days, I don’t know where to begin.

I have learned to be kind to myself consciously, but it is easier said than done. Perhaps I failed at parenting, and that is the reason I lost my son. Like if I can control death. I am surprised that thought even crossed my mind. Who can control death? What is in my control? I guess very little, and as feelings (irrational or not) show up during grief, I am trying to make sense of them and find healthy ways to process them. It is not easy; some days, it is more challenging than others. 

Another surprising aspect of grief is the profound loneliness, which I had never considered before, but my loss has brought that to the forefront, intensifying my sadness. A famous Japanese writer, Haruki Murakami writes, "Loneliness is not just the absence of people. It is the absence of purpose, the absence of meaning. When you find yourself in a world where everything seems alien and distant, every connection is superficial, and every attempt at understanding is met with indifference, you realize that true Loneliness is not being alone but feeling alone in a world that no longer makes sense."

I find it easy to empathize with and connect to others who are experiencing pain because we have more similarities than differences. Our new world is filled with struggles and sadness, and I know the importance of genuine empathy and kindness. I feel driven to spend time with those who are grieving, to be there for them, and to hold them close to my heart. Grief manifests and reminds me that it's okay to encounter these surprises because they are alive, present, and here to stay. It resembles a river, flowing, calm for one moment and rough the next. 

But today, 5 years after my son’s death by suicide, I still have feelings of magical thinking. I know he is gone, but my mind cannot accept it. The emotions of acceptance numb me as I ruminate that this will be my forever journey. Is life unfair? Why did I lose my son and struggle with all these overwhelming feelings? I vacillate between who I was in the past and now, but I know I will never be that same person. The death of Kevin has altered the trajectory of my life and is molding me. I have become malleable in my helplessness; only time will tell what the new “me” (Chano) will become. I can’t wait to discover my new future self as I make room for love, loss, and light to manifest itself and more grief surprises unfold. 

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