My favorite analogy about grief is the Ball and Box by Lauren Herschel.
She said that life with grief is like a box with a pain button inside. When someone dies, a ball of grief is put inside a box. The ball is in constant motion. In the beginning, the ball is huge and would always hit the pain button. It would hit the button relentlessly and you can’t do anything about it. Pain is all there is.
Over time, the ball gets smaller and it would hit the pain button less frequently. There will be days that the ball will not hit the pain button. You don’t know when it will hit you, but when it does, the pain will be the same.
Today, my ball hit the button and I woke up feeling like it’s the first morning without Ian.
I went to work an hour early and spent time feeling my feelings. I sat with my pain and cried. I learned that it is healthier to acknowledge my pain and cry my tears. In a grief recollection I once attended, someone said “What we can feel, we can heal. What we can name, we can tame.” And it is true. I used to tell myself to suck it up and stop crying “Kaya mo yan, tama na.” But I learned that tears are my friends. Letting them out is better than piling them up inside of me. If I find myself in an ocean of feelings, I stay there, swimming or floating, until its waves bring me to dry land.
I always post my feelings in my Instagram stories. And today was no different. After pressing the share button, I thought “Is this right? Grieving publicly? Am I helping myself by doing this?”. But it was time to start work so I filed it under Thoughts To Ponder On Later.
In the middle of my day, Pinky, one of the lovely people Bangtan magic has brought me sent me an article which reminded her of me.
And, again, just like magic it was about grieving publicly on social media. Maybe the universe is telling me ponder on this now?
It was about a father who lost his daughter to childhood cancer.
His words just resonated with me deeply. Reading about his experiences that were similar to mine is comforting.
Let me share some of his words that struck me.
“I basically put that first tweet about Francesca out there because I didn’t know what to do. I needed help. I needed help from anyone. It was an act of desperation, I’ll be honest.”
If you’re my Facebook friend, you know how I publicly shared Ian’s battle through social media. I was posting a lot, I was sending messages in different chat groups. Because I was desperate. I wanted people to know so they can pray for him. I wanted people to know so I can get medications, blood, and anything that we need.
“The outpouring of support was something I never in a million years would’ve suspected. People started offering to help, other people began calling and texting.”
People began sending me messages about him. I was overwhelmed. We were able to receive financial support, but the messages of encouragement and stories about him was a big part of what kept me going.
“It was so terrible and horrible and, I don’t know, I find that when I feel the most horrible grief and consuming sadness I want to share about it. Especially now. I find it therapeutic to share with the world how I’m doing.”
I also don’t know but I also find it therapeutic when I share.
“The only people I’ve found who’ve truly understood our situation are the other parents who’ve lost children. In terms of empathy, I mean. It’s weird how, when somebody reaches out, you can kind of tell if somebody has had something truly terrible and scarring happen to them. You can tell it by the way they reach out.
There’s an honesty, too. I remember chatting with one parent who’d lost their kid and I asked, ‘hey, does it ever get better?’ and them saying, ‘No, not really. There’s something there — just knowing that other people are in that struggle. ”
I am lucky that I have a friend who also lost her partner at a young age. I asked her “Will the pain ever go away?” And she said “No it won’t go away.” And it is comforting to know that there is another person who understands me.
“So many people have a desire to help or fix the situation in some way. But they cannot fix it. So, in response to posts, my feeling was and still is: I need you to just be there. I need you to hold my story. Just doing that will help me.”
Just like Andrew, I also need you to just be there, to hold my story.
Grief is such a complex and complicated thing and we don’t need to fix it. We can’t fix it.
To you, dear reader, thank you for being here. Thank you for being with me. Thank you for holding my story.
Just feeling seen means a whole lot.
Hay naiyak naman ako. Grabe! Iyak mo lang din ýan ber.