LEAVE ME ALONE: Valuing Silence In Grief

Grief can be a solitary experience.  As much as we try, we cannot make others see life through the same lens.  Even when two people share the same experience, each will recount it in a different way.

 

When my daughter died, what I needed most wasn't for someone to make me feel better.  Hannah was dead and nothing could change that.  I needed fewer words and more tears.  I needed someone to hold my hand while I cried.  My daughter's death catapulted me into a tangible aloneness which almost killed me, and then it saved me.

 

For months after Hannah's death, I wanted to die. At one point, I stood at the side of a road, feeling fully prepared to take my own life.  I was not afraid, because no matter what happens when we die, my daughter had already done it.  I felt desperate to know that she was okay.

 

Before I stepped into traffic, I suddenly felt myself breathing.  In and out, in and out, my body inhaled and exhaled regardless of my pain. This realization piqued my interest, and I forgot about wanting to die.  I knew then that something inside of me is still choosing life, and I decided to trust and follow this part of me.

 

Suicidal thoughts are the unspoken secret of many bereaved parents.  Despite the presence and support of friends and family, we can feel completely helpless and alone.  Solitude serves best when it is chosen rather than imposed.  It is an active aloneness which does not feel lonely, where something sacred can emerge.

 

How we use time determines the speed and direction of our healing. Time in silence allows us to experience how grief is ever-changing, and we see aspects of our sorrow and our strength that we may not otherwise see.  Too much time with others and not enough time with our own thoughts makes us overly self-conscious about how others see us.  Our cultural fears around death make people unsure how to act. We find ourselves becoming different people, pretending to feel better than we do.

 

Ultimately grief invites us to a new level of honesty, which sometimes means we choose the quiet of our own company over the distractions of the outside world. This is where our memories bubble up to provide new perspectives.  Being alone with our thoughts reminds us that we are whole even when broken. This broken wholeness becomes our new normal, which once accepted can be shared with those we love.  Denying our need for silence may make us feel lonely even in the company of others.  If I am not myself, then the one they are loving is not me.