What No One Tells You About Grief

In my last post, I mentioned a tragic loss. I've thought about writing this post for awhile, but it never seemed to come to me. A lot of thoughts have gone through my head about it, because grief is a multi-faceted emotion. This might be the most open and vulnerable post I've ever written. I will not advertise it, out of sensitivity to my friend's family and the friends who were closer to him than I was, because in this post I want to be able to say everything that is in my heart. Now, just to make things clear, this post is about my personal experience with grief. Everyone deals with grief differently and I'm not telling you that when you experience grief, you're going to experience everything I'm writing about. But you might. Anyway, here goes.

On May 12, 2018 I came home from the end of the year banquet for my brother's robotics team happy and fresh off having a good time with friends. I was going to text my friend Jared about something that had happened and he was probably going to tease me about it and we would probably text for awhile. Before texting him, I checked a messaging app that me and some other friends have and got this message: "Guys, pray for [his] family. A bunch of friends went hiking today and something happened and Jared was swept down a river. I don't know much, but from what I understand, he hasn't been found yet." It was like my heart stopped. I remember sinking to my knees with my hand pressed over my mouth while tears came to my eyes. I went to my mom semi-composed, but then could barely get the words out. And then the tears came. I cried the whole time my dad prayed for him to be found alive and I cried afterwards. I texted Jared's phone telling him that I was scared and that I wanted him to come home. I had hope that he would be found.

Sunday passed without any news and I spent the whole church service trying to keep the tears in. My jaw ached. I randomly cried throughout the day. On Monday night, Jared's church held a prayer service for him. I could barely sing and I couldn't pray in our small circle. I cried and cried. I wanted Jared back. I still had hope that he would be found alive, but my hope was fading even as I held onto it. The agony continued into the week. It was excruciating to wait without any news. It was agonizing to see the sun sink into the sky and know that the search was being called off and Jared still hadn't been found. Thursday night rolled around and I had been saying that I just wanted Jared to be found. I just wanted to know. My hope was a very, very thin thread.

On May 18, 2018 I clocked out for lunch at work and checked my phone. "I just wanted to let you know they found Jared. He is happily dancing in heaven." Gone was the wish to just know if Jared and alive or dead. It was replaced with simultaneous denial and acceptance. I remember thinking that he couldn't be gone. Jared wasn't dead. He couldn't be. My friend could not be gone. But he was and I knew it. I cried. It took me a long time to say that word out loud. I said it in my head, but it took me a couple days to say "dead" or "died" out loud. I didn't want to make it real. Because Jared couldn't be gone. But he was.

People do talk about denial when they talk about grief, but I feel like it doesn't quite cover it. I denied that Jared was gone, but at the same time, I knew that he was in heaven. It's almost as if you're denying the pain more than the actual fact. My first emotions upon hearing of Jared's passing was that I wanted him back. I knew he was with God and that he was free from all pain, but that didn't matter to me because I wanted him here, with me. I wanted him back so much that I cannot describe the fierceness of the longing. It hurt. I had no words for my pain. I truly had no words. I cried a lot. I cried sporadically and I cried myself to sleep. My heart ached (and still does) for Jared's family. He left five siblings behind as well as his parents. I also knew the friends who were with Jared the day he got swept into the river and my heart broke for them as well.

So, denial is the first thing. A lot of people seem to talk about anger when they talk about grief but I never experienced it. I am not mad at God for taking him. I do remember lying in bed one night and asking God over and over again why He took Jared. Why did God take Jared? I don't understand why. I don't think I ever will. I'm not sure I'd ever be satisfied with the why. As Christians, we do have the comfort of knowing that our loved ones are in heaven and that we will see them again, but that did not satisfy me. I want Jared back. It's incredibly selfish, but it's the truth.

However you lose someone, it's painful. But when you come home one night to hear that your friend is missing, the shock is magnified. You're not supposed to lose a friend at 19. People aren't supposed to get swept into rivers and die. Amazing guys like Jared aren't supposed to leave you. But the truth is, these things do happen. When Jared was missing, I thought was that if he was gone, no one would have gotten a goodbye. I thought that would be the hardest part -that I didn't get to say goodbye. And while the unexpectedness does add to the pain, I realized that it wouldn't have mattered if I'd gotten a goodbye. Because I would have wanted one more. Just one more goodbye. And then another and another. An endless stream of just one more days with him.

People also talk about numbness when they talk about grief. But it's not exactly numbness. It's feeling happy and knowing life is good and not feeling sad and knowing that your friend has died. I felt incredibly guilty when that happened. I felt so awful since I knew the pain his family and close friends must be going through. It felt so wrong to be to be okay -to be happy. Guilt over happiness is something that accompanies grief. And trust me, there will be days, or maybe even a whole week, where you feel absolutely fine. I knew Jared was gone, but I wasn't sad. I was okay.

But that's another thing about grief. It's an undulating thing. There will be those days where you are perfectly happy. And then there will be the days like I've been having recently where I can't even listen to a rapper that Jared introduced me to and we shared a love for because it reminds me too much of him. Days where every little thing reminds me of Jared and where things hurt because Jared won't reach that milestone, or he won't be around for an event. Grief comes and goes. The intense pain comes and goes, but the knowledge that Jared is gone will always be there. And I'm realizing that you have to come to terms that you will be living the rest of your life with an ache in your heart. Some days it will be more present than others, and I'll have good days and bad days. But I'll always miss Jared.

I feel like another people don't talk about when it comes to grief is how they want other people to handle it. For one thing, I really don't like the phrase "I'm sorry for your loss" or "So sorry for your loss". Something about using the word loss bothers me. It's not adequate enough for the hole in my heart. I would rather you just simply say "I'm sorry" or "I'm so sorry". I don't want you to be worried about me. Grief is a powerful emotion and it needs to be felt in order to be healthily dealt with. I might have really dark days and that needs to be okay. I don't blame my family and friends for not understanding. There is no way under the sun, even if you're the most empathetic person in the world, to understand what it's like to lose someone if you haven't lost someone. But strange as it may sound, I appreciate it that people didn't try to understand. Just like I don't pretend to understand the pain of Jared's family. It's okay that you don't understand. I just need you to be there for me. I just need you to let me hurt. I just need you to know when to give me a hug and when to make me laugh and when to give me chocolate and when to distract me.

Because let's face it: my heart is broken. I miss Jared more than anything in the world right now. I miss him so, so much. There aren't enough words to express it. He was amazing and I am proud to have been his friend. It hurts. I miss him. I want him back. What no one tells you about grief is how much it hurts.