Once, I thought I would surely die of Great Grief, as the wise Sally Kubler Ross called it, but I didn’t. I resented the happy people who didn’t recognize my paralyzing pain. “You need to get over it”, they said. “Time heals all wounds”, they said. “God will use your grief for something good”, they said, as they gave a brief hug, and re-entered their happy space, leaving me with guilt for not “moving on with my life”. Thirty years have passed, and good things have happened, and I can function just fine,thank you, but an unguarded thought can take me instantly, in a nanosecond, back to the grief. Not paralyzing, but not forgetting. Your day will come, but not as soon as you hope.
Thank you for sharing this. I really feel the truth in what you say on how careless words can add a whole extra weight to grief, when you’re already carrying more than enough. I’m so sorry you had to hear those things. I find comfort in what you describe though, that grief doesn’t vanish, but changes shape over time. That feels very human, and very real.
Yes, exactly ❤️ it changes but never goes away. At first, I could do nothing but go outside in my garden, and sit staring at the huge sky, reflecting the vastness of my sadness that I thought would swallow me in to the black hole I felt expanding. Outdoors is still where I go for some help with the healing but back at the beginning I became nervous of going out where there were people because of the attempts to be kind with well meaning comments like ‘oh he was a good age’, as well as those you have mentioned. I planted Meadow Sweet in my garden this year. After reading this, I feel that act was unconsciously significant. Thank you for sharing your experience xx
A floodplain is, for me, the perfect description. Thank you for sharing those words. My Daddy died on 28 May 2019. The floods do still appear sometimes and unexpectedly at times. My heart aches for you, in those times I have said the words ‘it’s ok to be not ok’ trying to allow it, ignoring suggestions about how long grief ‘should’ last…it will last for as long as I love him, because grief is love with nowhere to land. I am sending you a hand to hold or a hug, depending on what your grief allows. Please be gentle with yourself xxx
Thank you so much for this and I’m so sorry about your dad. What you say is so true: grief lasts as long as love does, and there’s something strangely comforting in admitting that it doesn’t have an expiry date. I love your phrase grief is love with nowhere to land, it captures exactly what it feels like. Thank you for the kindness of your hand (and hug). Sending one back to you too. xxx
You’re so wise Carrie! And doing the hard job of keeping your head above water when you feel like drowning. My Dad died in June. He was nearly 90 - so it was expected. But the landscape of your life changes. Nothing is the same. Let’s get through autumn and winter in the knowledge that spring will come, as it always does. And life will go on, as it always does. And our memories will make us stronger. Xx
Thank you so much for this and I’m so sorry about your dad. Even when it’s expected, the whole shape of the world tilts, doesn’t it? I think you’re right. If we can just make it through these darker months, spring will remind us that life does go on, in all its stubborn greenness. Sending you love as we both navigate this new landscape 🌿 xxxx
The image of grief as a flood plain is beautiful. Some forty years on from losing my mum, I can confidently say that particular floodplain is home to my richest soil, and it hosts a vibrant ecosystem. And I'm increasingly comfortable with the idea that the ground beneath my feet is not solid. A flood dramatically reshapes the landscape in an instant, while rain, ice and wind take their time. But ultimately, even as everything changes, life persists and new pathways take shape. Meadowsweet will come.
Thank you, Dru. That’s a beautiful reflection. I love the way you describe your own floodplain as home to the richest soil, and a vibrant ecosystem. That gives me hope. 🌿
Such a rich, generous and skilfully crafted piece of writing, Carrie. Interwoven with deep grief, ecological knowledge and the eternal wisdom of nature. Beautiful stuff. 🩷
Another beautiful post, thank you Carrie! So sorry to read about Dougie. My dog Toby died about 18 months ago. Just last week I found myself walking along one of the routes we used to take together and out of nowhere the flood returned, totally unexpected and quite overwhelming. I like the floodplain analogy- although I'm lucky not to have yet experienced grieving a close human family member- I certainly see that grief moves in ways that are unruly and unexpected.
I also love meadowsweet – such beautiful flowers with the most gorgeous scent. I often make a tea from it, but I didn’t know the history and richness you shared here. That image of something tender and healing growing out of the flood feels comforting- my experience is from it growing along the canal banks. Its honey sweetness emerging from the not so sweet water below!
Once, I thought I would surely die of Great Grief, as the wise Sally Kubler Ross called it, but I didn’t. I resented the happy people who didn’t recognize my paralyzing pain. “You need to get over it”, they said. “Time heals all wounds”, they said. “God will use your grief for something good”, they said, as they gave a brief hug, and re-entered their happy space, leaving me with guilt for not “moving on with my life”. Thirty years have passed, and good things have happened, and I can function just fine,thank you, but an unguarded thought can take me instantly, in a nanosecond, back to the grief. Not paralyzing, but not forgetting. Your day will come, but not as soon as you hope.
Thank you for sharing this. I really feel the truth in what you say on how careless words can add a whole extra weight to grief, when you’re already carrying more than enough. I’m so sorry you had to hear those things. I find comfort in what you describe though, that grief doesn’t vanish, but changes shape over time. That feels very human, and very real.
Yes, exactly ❤️ it changes but never goes away. At first, I could do nothing but go outside in my garden, and sit staring at the huge sky, reflecting the vastness of my sadness that I thought would swallow me in to the black hole I felt expanding. Outdoors is still where I go for some help with the healing but back at the beginning I became nervous of going out where there were people because of the attempts to be kind with well meaning comments like ‘oh he was a good age’, as well as those you have mentioned. I planted Meadow Sweet in my garden this year. After reading this, I feel that act was unconsciously significant. Thank you for sharing your experience xx
That’s so beautiful Net 💚
A floodplain is, for me, the perfect description. Thank you for sharing those words. My Daddy died on 28 May 2019. The floods do still appear sometimes and unexpectedly at times. My heart aches for you, in those times I have said the words ‘it’s ok to be not ok’ trying to allow it, ignoring suggestions about how long grief ‘should’ last…it will last for as long as I love him, because grief is love with nowhere to land. I am sending you a hand to hold or a hug, depending on what your grief allows. Please be gentle with yourself xxx
Thank you so much for this and I’m so sorry about your dad. What you say is so true: grief lasts as long as love does, and there’s something strangely comforting in admitting that it doesn’t have an expiry date. I love your phrase grief is love with nowhere to land, it captures exactly what it feels like. Thank you for the kindness of your hand (and hug). Sending one back to you too. xxx
You’re so wise Carrie! And doing the hard job of keeping your head above water when you feel like drowning. My Dad died in June. He was nearly 90 - so it was expected. But the landscape of your life changes. Nothing is the same. Let’s get through autumn and winter in the knowledge that spring will come, as it always does. And life will go on, as it always does. And our memories will make us stronger. Xx
Thank you so much for this and I’m so sorry about your dad. Even when it’s expected, the whole shape of the world tilts, doesn’t it? I think you’re right. If we can just make it through these darker months, spring will remind us that life does go on, in all its stubborn greenness. Sending you love as we both navigate this new landscape 🌿 xxxx
The image of grief as a flood plain is beautiful. Some forty years on from losing my mum, I can confidently say that particular floodplain is home to my richest soil, and it hosts a vibrant ecosystem. And I'm increasingly comfortable with the idea that the ground beneath my feet is not solid. A flood dramatically reshapes the landscape in an instant, while rain, ice and wind take their time. But ultimately, even as everything changes, life persists and new pathways take shape. Meadowsweet will come.
Thank you, Dru. That’s a beautiful reflection. I love the way you describe your own floodplain as home to the richest soil, and a vibrant ecosystem. That gives me hope. 🌿
Such a rich, generous and skilfully crafted piece of writing, Carrie. Interwoven with deep grief, ecological knowledge and the eternal wisdom of nature. Beautiful stuff. 🩷
Sending ❤️💕 as you weather the floodplains of grief.
Another beautiful post, thank you Carrie! So sorry to read about Dougie. My dog Toby died about 18 months ago. Just last week I found myself walking along one of the routes we used to take together and out of nowhere the flood returned, totally unexpected and quite overwhelming. I like the floodplain analogy- although I'm lucky not to have yet experienced grieving a close human family member- I certainly see that grief moves in ways that are unruly and unexpected.
I also love meadowsweet – such beautiful flowers with the most gorgeous scent. I often make a tea from it, but I didn’t know the history and richness you shared here. That image of something tender and healing growing out of the flood feels comforting- my experience is from it growing along the canal banks. Its honey sweetness emerging from the not so sweet water below!