It's My Grief and I'll Cry if I Want to

     Death sucks. Sorry, but there is no nice spin I can put on it. Whether it's a lingering illness or a sudden accident or health issue, death rips a loved one from our lives and leaves a giant, gaping hole in our hearts and families.
     But death not only seems to steal our loved ones away, it also steal the right words needed to express sympathy. There's an awkwardness surrounding grief. A stumbling over Hallmark-constructed words meant to show compassion and kindness. Phrases like "I am sorry for your loss" or "my condolences" are harmless generic phrases, and I will allow them. I've tripped over my own tongue searching for the right words.
     But as someone who lost her father when I was 27 and my mom when I was 32 and pregnant with my first child, I honesty hate those phrases that sought to deny or diminish my pain. I understand the people saying them meant well and may have never experienced loss. But any time someone told me "at least you had 27 years with your dad" or "your mom is in a better place", it felt like a slap in the face. I know I am lucky to have had any time with my parents. I have amazing memories of adventures with both of them.
     And yes, my mom is safe in the arms of Jesus. I just wanted someone to acknowledge that my arms lay empty longing for my mother's squishy embrace. I wanted to feel her long fingers, the twins of mine, playing with my hair while watching Singing in the Rain or The Little Princess. I knew her pain had ended just as mine began. Because grief isn't for the departed but for the ones left behind.
     I wanted to scream anytime someone told me my mom was an angel smiling down on me. She may sport a halo and a harp now, but I missed the woman with the floppy hat, fanny pack, and paint brush ten times more and would tear down the walls of heaven to get her back. I would fight St. Peter himself to have a conversation with my dad about the musical and historical merits of Hamilton or the political fiasco that is our current president. Both of my parents played a huge role in my life and occupied substantial territory in my heart. Taking them from my here and now punched life-size holes in both. No gif of an angel or celestial roses can fill the void.
     Now I am not advocating wallowing in grief. Life goes on. Hearts piece themselves back together albeit with invisible fissures between fragments. Grief made me kinder and more emphatic. I was baptized by pain into a greater understanding of myself and the world I live in. In fact, my experience with death forced me to live. My dad's death spurred me to move to San Diego and embrace my own choices. My mother's death reminded me to always express my love to others and my creativity.
     All I am asking is that people learn to acknowledge someone's mourning instead of negating it with well-wishes. I have several friends who have recently experienced life-changing losses of loved ones. And I see the same insipid phrases being tossed up on their Facebook page. I know the words are kindly meant and that people grieve in different ways. But if someone tells you they are hurting or crying over or grieving their lost loved one, put yourself in their shoes for a minute. Would you want someone to tell you to get over it? That's what those phrases like "cheer up" and "at least you had..." mean. This is not a Pollyanna moment. No glad game can gloss over the rollercoaster ride your emotions will take you on during the first year after someone dies.
     When my dad died, the words that meant the most to me were "I'm here for you". It meant I wasn't alone. It meant I had someone to lean on and maybe even cry on. Because when death steals someone from your life, it helps to know there are still others here connected to you and loving you when love feels buried six feet deep and gone.