You may have read that tile and wondered, “What do these three things have in common?” or you may have seen the Scarlet G word and stopped reading altogether. I can’t blame you if you chose the second option. It’s the one I would have chosen. Grief is not a fun topic to talk about, think about, read about, and/or deal with. It’s part of being human and something we have all faced or will all face at some point in our lifetime and yet bringing grief up in any conversation is a sure fire way to kill the mood. If you ever want to get out of a conversation, just start talking about grief and the convo will be over before you know it!

Last week I was scrolling through Facebook and a Facebook memory popped up. I’m sure when Mark Zuckerberg and his minions created this feature it was done so with the intent of reminding people of the amazing things they had done in the year or years prior. He and his minions did not take into account that there would be some memories from years gone by that one would not want to relive. A memory from 2 years ago of a family vacation popped up and that vacation occurred BLC.. Before Long Covid. I made the mistake of scrolling through the pictures and taking a stroll down memory lane.. Big mistake. All the strolling reminded me of was how different life was two years ago. How happy I was. How I had no idea that in less than 2 months my life would change forever. I often think about had I known on August 5th that it was the last day of life as I knew it, would have done anything differently? It’s a hard question to answer. After spending way too much time strolling down BLC memory lane, I signed out of Facebook with tears rolling down my eyes and my friend grief accompanying me.

A couple days later I walked into Target. Now, Target is one of those places that just sparks joy for me. I walk in needing allergy meds and walk out with 10 items Target told me I just had to have. Yes, Target speaks to me. As soon as I walked in, I was met with their discount section filled with tubs teachers use in their classrooms. I swear it was like someone came up and punched me in the gut. My mind immediately went back to how excited I was every year for the target teacher bins to come out, so I could start organizing my classroom for the next school year. I stood there looking at $3 plastic tubs and telling myself, “Sara, you are not going stand in Target and cry over $3 plastic tubs.”

Of course the tears threatening to fall from my eyes weren’t about the tubs, but about a part of me that is gone. I was a teacher and I loved being a teacher. It was my passion, my purpose, and it’s gone. Yes, I know some of you reading this will say you don’t know that and maybe things will be different down the road. It’s important for me to accept reality. The reality is that where I am physically and cognitively now going back into a classroom as a full time teacher is not an option now or for the foreseeable future. So there I am standing in the discount aisle of Target and my friend grief decides to make yet another appearance. Two big show stopping appearances in a matter of days… lucky me!

I’m relaying these two experiences to A+ therapist during our last session and she looks back at me like it’s totally normal a Facebook memory would leave one in a puddle of tears on and off for days and that almost crying in the discount aisle of Target over $3 plastic tubs is something everyone does. She looked at me and said, “That’s grief. You’re grieving.” Then she started to give me all these metaphors for grief. I’m not sure what poor soul spent their life’s work coming up with metaphors for grief, but I feel sorry for that person. There’s the metaphor that grief is like a box with a ball in it and eventually the box gets bigger so when the ball(grief) moves its not always touching the box and triggering crying over Facebook posts(I added the Facebook posts part; that is not in fact part of the metaphor). Or there’s my favorite metaphor that grief is like a skinned knee and you have to dig out all the debris, dirt, etc before you can bandage it or it won’t heal. After she gave me that incredibly uplifting metaphor I promptly responded that she should release a line of Hallmark Cards filled with such uplifting statements.

The more I’ve thought about it the metaphors for grief don’t really accurately describe what grief is. Grief is the most annoying unwanted houseguest that shows up on your front porch, invites themselves in, eats all the good food in your pantry and fridge, jumps on every nerve you have, and overstays their welcome. Grief is unrelenting and inconsistent. She has no boundaries and shows up whenever she pleases. She has no problem making her presence known whether that’s with tears, anger, or a literal ache in your chest that never seems to quite go away. She is the friend no one wants to know or hang out with. And lucky for me, she apparently is going to be around in some form for the rest of my life. Another one of the profoundly uplifting statements A+ therapist made last week.

Almost all of you reading this have experienced grief in one way or another. Whether that grief was big or that grief was small, I’m sure it was still hard to navigate the rollercoaster that is grief. Actually, amusement parks should make a rollercoaster inspired by grief because that coaster would take riders on one hell of a ride. According to A+ therapist all I can do is allow grief to come, feel the grief, and allow myself to be where I am. Delightful news for those around me who get to experience my sometimes daily ups and downs brought to them by grief.

For those of you currently grieving, I am told it gets better, the box of grief gets bigger, and cleaning out the skinned knee of grief doesn’t hurt so much, but apparently it takes an undetermined amount of time for those things to occur. Yes, I did ask if there’s a grief timeline with a start date and an end date. There is not. Apparently the person writing all the metaphors for grief didn’t think a timeline was needed.. I disagree. All we can do is hold on, breathe, and ride the coaster of grief through all the hills, valleys, and loops it takes us.