EVERYTHING I KNOW OF LOSS

  1. It's different, every time.
    Your relationship to the person, place or thing you're mourning is as unique as you are, multiplied by how unique they were. There's no pattern, little snowflake, no chance for predictability, no matter how many times you've grieved before.
  2. It's not going to be okay, okay? Okay.
    It happened, and it sucks. That it happened is never NOT going to suck. You're just going to carry it differently. No one gets to dictate what that looks like, or when. Carry what you can, when you can, how you can.
  3. You can laugh. Or cry. Both. Neither.
    You can sing. Scream. Or not. Dance. Hurl. Talk. Or don't. Huddle. Stretch. Write. Don't. Apologize for none of it. (Thanks, Sherman Alexie)
  4. Say when.
    This one was shocking to me: Part of being a grown up means knowing when to say when. And doing it! When you can't walk the dog. When you can't be present at work. When you can't, acknowledge it. You'll carry your grief differently in an hour, a day, or a week... whenever. But it's okay to say you can't when you just can't. Others will rise to the occasion. They've probably been where you are now. You're not alone.