Have you ever had to grieve someone who wasn’t dead? Note: Ambiguous grief is mourning someone who’s still alive. There’s no funeral, no closure; just the quiet ache of loving someone who isn’t who they used to be, and maybe never will be again.
Sometimes the hardest thing you'll ever do is grieve a person who you might run into on a random Tuesday. This is a kind of mourning that's just hard to name. If you feel that you've had to make things easier for everyone when talking about this kind of grief, to that I say don't.
Hey, so look, I wanted to talk about the kind of grief that we don't really have the right words for. The kind we care for people who are still alive, right? It's the kind we try to step down or pretty up or explain away so it doesn't make the room too quiet. So I just watched this movie exhibiting forgiveness on a flight. Because, I mean, let's be real. I'll watch anything with Angenu Taylor and Andre Holland in it. And there I was, about 35,000ft in the air, crying into this cranberry juice, watching Terrell wonder why it had to be him to bring his father back from the grave that he'd already buried him in years ago.
And I thought, yeah, that's it. That's exactly it. Some people die but keep walking around. And sometimes the hardest thing you'll ever do is grieve a person who you might run into on a random Tuesday just around, around the corner. I mean, there are mothers and fathers and siblings and lovers and friends holding funerals in their heads for people they still text sometimes or don't because it hurts too much. You know, sometimes it's addiction, estrangement, mental illness, betrayal, or some rupture you really just didn't see coming.
But whatever the reason, they're not dead. But the version of you then you know that knew them and the version of them that knew you is gone. You're left carrying this love with no landing place. I mean, and then there's hope, which is like the shape shifting a****** that keeps the wound soft like a scab, you know, because it might come back maybe next month, maybe next year, someday. But, you know, here's the truth that I hate admitting. And that's. Sometimes it would almost be easier if that person were really gone.
At least then you'd know what to do with your grief, right? You'd have a ritual, a ceremony, a funeral, a real funeral. You'd have people bringing you food and listen to you without flinching. But instead you get this awkward silence and the pressure that comes with trying to make the conversation easy for everyone so that it can just not bring the mood down. But to that I say, let the mood come down. Let it sit there. Let the grief take up space because it already is. So you know, there's nothing wrong with you for feeling that way.
You are broken. This is a kind of mourning that's just hard to name. But you're not alone in that. And if no one's told you lately, you know, you get to grieve people who are still alive. You get to say goodbye even if they never did. You get to protect your peace. You get to make a home in your heart for what was without having to keep the door open for what might never be again. So if you haven't seen the movie exhibiting forgiveness, please check it out. For this reason alone, for the reason that I'm telling you.
And if you feel that you've had to make things easier for everyone when talking about this kind of grief, to that I say don't. It's hard. And keeping it real, you find that other people are doing the same. I hope this helped.
