“You don’t get to tell me about “sad”.”
Anyone who has lost someone will tell you that grief is non-linear.
Some days you realize it’s been several hours since you thought of your loved one which then triggers a new wave of sadness, realizing how the passing time has shaped your grief.
Grief surprises my family at any point, all throughout any regular day.
Nights are the most challenging, when my daughters lie down to sleep and miss their bunny brother.
Walking into the living room to see the empty fireplace where he sat upon his throne is hardest for me. And the other morning before school, when I went to grab a glass bowl out of the cupboard and realized it was the one we used as his water dish. I openly wept.
I had to correct my husband, someone who has never owned a pet before, when he referenced the point in time when we would “get over” our loss of Oreo.
No.
That’s simply not how grief works.
You never, ever “get over” the loss.
Instead, I recently came across an article about grief as a ball in a box that contains a pain button. In the beginning, the ball is large and almost always triggers the pain but in time, the ball gets smaller, hitting that grief button less often. Still, the intensity of the pain of the loss never dulls. It’s as if it just happened, no matter how much time has passed.
When we first heard the shocking, tragic news, I encouraged my girls to grieve openly. Not to hide. Suppressing only prolongs. We wailed and howled. Each girl took turns collapsing into my arms; sometimes, I held all four at once. We were away from home and we were broken.
Others nearby thought a close human family member must have died. When they learned it was “just” our rabbit, they were relieved and had a hard time understanding the intensity and duration of our sadness.
“I’m sorry our grief makes you uncomfortable.” I quickly retorted.
But I will never apologize for the open expression of our sadness.
“You don’t get to tell me about “sad”.” -Taylor Swift “Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?”
New Leaf Parenting 