I searched for relatable stories to guide me through the grief, or at bare minimum make me feel like I wasn’t totally losing my mind. I sought wisdom from those who could shine a light on this path that I was now on, the reality I never asked for. I wanted spaces that I could show up just as I was, that wasn’t trying to rush me to some obscure destination in grief – closure, back to normal, acceptance, whatever you want to call it.
I wanted to be met where I was, and I know that others feel the same. I couldn’t find those spaces, or enough of them. I’ve started making them myself and that’s why I’m writing my upcoming book.
I created and continue to facilitate a peer lead grief support group for people who have lost a partner to a substance use related death. With over 16,000 people dying from drug overdose poisonings in British Columbia since it was declared a public health emergency in 2016, and over 50,000 across Canada, this group has a devastatingly high need.
This means I’m meeting grieving people all the time and understand the challenges we face in a culture that doesn’t get it. I’m honored to hear the stories of loss from my members, and to provide connection and community for grievers.
When members share their stories, they often say that they no longer feel so alone. There is so much power in this, and my hope is that my writing will reach others who need it, and that they won’t feel so alone either.
Death is part of life. And yet we often live in a place avoiding the idea that everyone we love will die. To that I say, remember, everyone you hate will die too. That’s just a little dark humour there for all my grieflings, but my point is that it’s inevitable part of life and we need better skills to face loss and support people when they need it most.
We must get better at meeting our hearts where they are, and at allowing other people to have their pain without trying to fix it.
I don’t have the promise that time will heal all wounds. I will never bullshit a grieving person. And I can offer this. When Mike died, I thought I would always feel as bad as I did. And a few years out from his death, I don’t feel the same way. The acute pain from loss softened. That’s been true for me.
