By Megan Tripp, Staff Writer, Emerson College
Recently, I read an article claiming that people typically take two to three years to get past grief.
One month ago was the second anniversary of my Grandpa’s death and I don’t think I am anywhere near “past” it. Either there's something wrong with me, or there's no possible way to put a timeline on individual emotional growth. I would argue the latter. I feel like grieving, or at least my own grieving process, is less about a time period passing and more about learning to live with the loss, learning to incorporate it into your sense of self and daily life.
During February of 2011, my mom, her five siblings, most of my cousins and I gathered in my grandparents’ living room. We stayed by my Grandpa’s side for days as he slowly passed away. It was a long illness; Grandpa had been sick for as long as I could remember. But he had always seemed strong anyway, and perhaps because I had never experienced the death of a loved one before, the idea never occurred to me that one day he would simply not be around. I saw it coming but didn’t fully understand what losing him would mean until it happened.
And now, two years later, I’ve just turned twenty and I still don’t think I have any better understanding of the loss. It is still incomprehensible to me that I will spend most of my life without my grandpa. I cannot completely wrap my head around the idea that he was married to my grandma for sixty years, that they were together for twenty-three years, and now she doesn’t have him anymore. The gravestone, though comforting to talk to, does not make me think of him. He is not what is buried underneath that stone; he is not in that shiny wooden box under that too-green grass. He’s gone. He simply doesn’t exist anymore. How do I even describe this, let alone get past it emotionally? I have no idea.
So does my inability to comprehend all this, my tendency to start crying when I think about all these things in my life I won’t get to share with him, mean that I’m not over his death?
I no longer cry myself to sleep every night like I did for the first few weeks after the funeral. If it’s sunny on February 21st, I’m no longer angry at the world for not recognizing the anniversary of his death. In fact, this year, February 21st was not a horrible day at all. I cried more the next day instead, and only once or twice. So have I moved on?
But I still think about him at random points during the week. I think about the makeshift hospital room we set up in the living room, his face after he passed, the unnaturally cold but familiar feel of his hand in mine after he was gone. These memories will flash in my mind when I least expect it and throw me into a funk for awhile.
I feel like there will always be a hole where he once existed. I feel like something that used to be in me is now gone. It's almost like a constant feeling that I’m forgetting something, but I don’t know what.
I constantly think about my family and the disconnect between us when it comes to grieving this loss. Those that live at home in California can visit Grandpa’s grave or talk with Grandma about him while I’m three thousand miles away. Together, they experience Easter and birthday dinners without him while I simply don’t, and that makes me sad and also unsure if I am grieving differently than them. I wonder if perhaps being with them would make me feel better about all of what happened.
So does all this mean that I’m not over it? Maybe; maybe not. Essentially, my question is this: who has the right to tell me what the proper process is for grieving? It has to do with my brain, my emotions, my view of the world. This statistic, this “typical case” that says people get over grief in two to three years - I can only assume it was compiled from an average time period of many different cases of grief. But it’s been two years and I don’t feel as if I am any closer to being “past” my grandpa's death. I don’t even know what "getting past it" means. Will I someday reach a point where I can think about him without feeling that hole or imagine the day of the funeral without crying? I can’t imagine that ever being the case.
I feel different now that he’s gone, not only because I can feel the emptiness of the space in my life that he used to fill, but also because I had never experienced death before his own. Before he passed, I had never really questioned my mortality or that of any of my family members. I took them all, Grandpa included, for granted. And now that I know firsthand that life is fleeting and that no one’s tomorrow is guaranteed, I feel as though I have a better idea of how I want to live my life and develop my relationships. I cried very rarely before he passed, but in the two years since the funeral I feel like I’m much more open about my tears or my need to release frustration, stress, and grief through crying.
I’m not contesting that I’ve accepted the fact that he’s gone, but I also haven’t let him go. I’ve incorporated it into my identity. I’ve accepted this loss as part of what makes me, me, or at least I’ve started to. I’ve moved myself from the group of people in the world who have never experienced the death of a family member to those who have. That changes how I view the world and my place in it, and I’m coming to terms with what that means, slowly but surely. I don't know if there’s a plateau or a finish line or a final destination ahead of me here, but that’s okay. I don’t really think I need to look forward to one.
So am I over my grandpa's death? No. Absolutely not. Am I living with it? Am I letting it influence my daily life for the better? Am I acknowledging that I have irreparably lost something precious? Yes. Absolutely. And if getting past it means losing this feeling, then I don’t think I want that to ever happen.
Rest in Peace, Grandpa Hal Zimmerman. January 22nd 1925 – February 21st 2011
I love you.
Megan Tripp is a junior WLP major who drinks way too much coffee and watches and re-watches Gilmore Girls way too often. She likes shiny things and looks forward to making a career out of making things up and writing them down.
Recently, I read an article claiming that people typically take two to three years to get past grief.
One month ago was the second anniversary of my Grandpa’s death and I don’t think I am anywhere near “past” it. Either there's something wrong with me, or there's no possible way to put a timeline on individual emotional growth. I would argue the latter. I feel like grieving, or at least my own grieving process, is less about a time period passing and more about learning to live with the loss, learning to incorporate it into your sense of self and daily life.
During February of 2011, my mom, her five siblings, most of my cousins and I gathered in my grandparents’ living room. We stayed by my Grandpa’s side for days as he slowly passed away. It was a long illness; Grandpa had been sick for as long as I could remember. But he had always seemed strong anyway, and perhaps because I had never experienced the death of a loved one before, the idea never occurred to me that one day he would simply not be around. I saw it coming but didn’t fully understand what losing him would mean until it happened.
And now, two years later, I’ve just turned twenty and I still don’t think I have any better understanding of the loss. It is still incomprehensible to me that I will spend most of my life without my grandpa. I cannot completely wrap my head around the idea that he was married to my grandma for sixty years, that they were together for twenty-three years, and now she doesn’t have him anymore. The gravestone, though comforting to talk to, does not make me think of him. He is not what is buried underneath that stone; he is not in that shiny wooden box under that too-green grass. He’s gone. He simply doesn’t exist anymore. How do I even describe this, let alone get past it emotionally? I have no idea.
So does my inability to comprehend all this, my tendency to start crying when I think about all these things in my life I won’t get to share with him, mean that I’m not over his death?
I no longer cry myself to sleep every night like I did for the first few weeks after the funeral. If it’s sunny on February 21st, I’m no longer angry at the world for not recognizing the anniversary of his death. In fact, this year, February 21st was not a horrible day at all. I cried more the next day instead, and only once or twice. So have I moved on?
But I still think about him at random points during the week. I think about the makeshift hospital room we set up in the living room, his face after he passed, the unnaturally cold but familiar feel of his hand in mine after he was gone. These memories will flash in my mind when I least expect it and throw me into a funk for awhile.
I feel like there will always be a hole where he once existed. I feel like something that used to be in me is now gone. It's almost like a constant feeling that I’m forgetting something, but I don’t know what.
I constantly think about my family and the disconnect between us when it comes to grieving this loss. Those that live at home in California can visit Grandpa’s grave or talk with Grandma about him while I’m three thousand miles away. Together, they experience Easter and birthday dinners without him while I simply don’t, and that makes me sad and also unsure if I am grieving differently than them. I wonder if perhaps being with them would make me feel better about all of what happened.
So does all this mean that I’m not over it? Maybe; maybe not. Essentially, my question is this: who has the right to tell me what the proper process is for grieving? It has to do with my brain, my emotions, my view of the world. This statistic, this “typical case” that says people get over grief in two to three years - I can only assume it was compiled from an average time period of many different cases of grief. But it’s been two years and I don’t feel as if I am any closer to being “past” my grandpa's death. I don’t even know what "getting past it" means. Will I someday reach a point where I can think about him without feeling that hole or imagine the day of the funeral without crying? I can’t imagine that ever being the case.
I feel different now that he’s gone, not only because I can feel the emptiness of the space in my life that he used to fill, but also because I had never experienced death before his own. Before he passed, I had never really questioned my mortality or that of any of my family members. I took them all, Grandpa included, for granted. And now that I know firsthand that life is fleeting and that no one’s tomorrow is guaranteed, I feel as though I have a better idea of how I want to live my life and develop my relationships. I cried very rarely before he passed, but in the two years since the funeral I feel like I’m much more open about my tears or my need to release frustration, stress, and grief through crying.
I’m not contesting that I’ve accepted the fact that he’s gone, but I also haven’t let him go. I’ve incorporated it into my identity. I’ve accepted this loss as part of what makes me, me, or at least I’ve started to. I’ve moved myself from the group of people in the world who have never experienced the death of a family member to those who have. That changes how I view the world and my place in it, and I’m coming to terms with what that means, slowly but surely. I don't know if there’s a plateau or a finish line or a final destination ahead of me here, but that’s okay. I don’t really think I need to look forward to one.
So am I over my grandpa's death? No. Absolutely not. Am I living with it? Am I letting it influence my daily life for the better? Am I acknowledging that I have irreparably lost something precious? Yes. Absolutely. And if getting past it means losing this feeling, then I don’t think I want that to ever happen.
Rest in Peace, Grandpa Hal Zimmerman. January 22nd 1925 – February 21st 2011
I love you.
Megan Tripp is a junior WLP major who drinks way too much coffee and watches and re-watches Gilmore Girls way too often. She likes shiny things and looks forward to making a career out of making things up and writing them down.