Softening Grief Isn’t Forgotten Grief

I belong to the local chapter of The Compassionate Friends. At a recent meeting, several people said their grief had gotten softer. Softer is an interesting word choice and one I understand. More than eight years have passed since my elder daughter died, and although my grief has softened, it hasn’t disappeared. Grief will always be part of me.

The searing pain of my initial grief has lessened. I wasn’t aware of this at first, and became aware of it about three years after my daughter, Helen, died. When I look back now, I am able to see my grief journey more clearly, and the progress I’ve made. The journey hasn’t been easy, but I’ve learned many things along the way. One of the most important things I’ve learned is that I’m more resilient than I thought.

My grief has softened, yet the memories are still stored in memory. Today, I’m able to remember my daughter clearly, sometimes with pain, sometimes with tears, and sometimes with laughter.

I remember the time her children’s pet gerbil injured his tail. An engineering student at the time, my daughter fastened the loose flap to the tail with super glue.

I remember the made-from-scratch apple pies she used to make for us. The pies were always a surprise.

I remember her excitement about Christmas and all the thought she put into buying gifts for family and friends.

I remember how she gave to others when she had little to give—a cutting from one of her plants, a carton of summer berries.

I remember how she scrimped and saved to take her kids to Disneyland. The kids were about eight at the time and, although their memories are fragmented, they recall this trip fondly.

I remember the note she wrote when she was going through a divorce and thanked us for being such supportive parents.

I remember when she asked us if she and the twins could come for Sunday dinner. Of course we said “yes,” not knowing these times would help us later when we became our grandchildren’s guardians.

I remember her exuberant laughter and still hear it in my mind. Helen’s laughter was contagious.

I remember her teaching her children our family values: Be kind to others, always do your best, and work hard.

I remember how hard she studied to become a composite engineer, five industry certifications, and her MBA. She died just when she was soaring in life.

These experiences are clear in my memory and, although my grief has softened, it is still with me.  I’ve learned to live with it and created a new life. Don’t worry if the intensity of your grief is ebbing. Your loved one is part of your soul and always will be.