I always thought I knew the feeling of grief.
I was 12 in 2011 when my best friend’s mom, Michele, committed suicide. It was incredibly hard for me; Michele had been like a second mother to me for most of my childhood, and I had never lost anyone that close to me before. I remember seeing her in people on the street, in songs on the radio, in my best friend’s smile. But as time went on, my grief subsided. I was able to miss her without feeling pain; I could recount stories of her without having to leave the room to cry. I’ll always miss her, but I’ve come to terms with her loss. And that’s what I thought grief was.
And then my sister died.
It was 2016, my senior year of high school, when we got the call – my oldest sister, Rachel, had overdosed. And suddenly, my entire world was turned upside down. That was two and a half years ago, and my world has yet to return to its upright position.
They say there’s 5 stages of grief – denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. And from what I’ve always heard and understood, from what I’ve seen portrayed on TV and film, you go through each of the first four stages one at a time and eventually it all cumulates into acceptance.
I’ve gone through the first four stages – I sometimes go through multiple of them every day. But the last one is the one that sticks with me. Acceptance.
How can I accept that my sister was taken by a drug she’d never taken before? How can I be expected to be okay with the fact that my nephew will never remember his mother? How could I ever understand that I’ll never be able to see my sister again, to hug her, to tell her I love her? I can’t accept that.
It’s been two and a half years since we lost Rachel, and sometimes, I feel like I’ve taken a step back. Acceptance is something I am far from in the stages of my grief; in all honesty, I’m not sure I’ll ever get there. But what I’m learning is that that’s okay. Grief isn’t some linear progression of feelings that change and evolve uniformly. Grief is a messy, disgusting, heartbreaking path lined with missteps and bumps in the road. Yes, I feel denial, and anger, and bargaining and depression. But sometimes, I feel the same burning pain and loss that I felt the day we lost her. And that’s okay. Grief is different for everyone, and every case.
Some days are better than others. Some days, my memories of Rach make me smile. But other days, the pain of knowing I’ll never make more memories with her tears me apart. I don’t know if it’ll necessarily get easier, and I really don’t think I’ll ever get to acceptance, but I know with time I will grow to learn better how to process my grief.
It just takes time.