Grief has a way of sneaking in when you least expect it. One moment, you’re doing something ordinary—folding laundry, putting away groceries, or making a sandwich—and the next, you’re in tears, overwhelmed by emotions that feel as endless and unpredictable as the sea itself. It’s exhausting. The tears feel like they’ll never stop, and I can’t remember a time in my life when I cried this much.
Yet, I remind myself that it needs to come out. One day, a friend I was talking to, as the tears streamed down my face told me that my tears were water medicine, just to let them flow. She said they were healing, even when it didn’t feel that way.
Some days, I feel okay, like I have it all together. On other days, I feel unglued, questioning my sanity. It’s hard to explain what I’m going through, except to say that sometimes it feels like I’m losing myself in the process. My life before losing my daughter feels so far away, so foreign. In just one moment, my world changed forever. But they say ‘Life can change in the blink of an eye’—an understatement that feels cruel in its simplicity.
The Hard Truths of Grief
Now that the dust has settled, I find myself noticing things I might have overlooked before. Stories of loss—tragedies I once skimmed past—now feel personal. I recently read about a young woman who went missing, her body discovered in a landfill years earlier this year. There was a tip that she was in the landfill and the process it took to conduct the search to look for her. In the end they found her body, identified her by her dental work. How does her family process that kind of loss? My heart aches for them. Her case in unresolved in the end, the police say the suspect died from an overdose so cannot be charged, his name will not be released. Just like that her family has to move on. Then I think about my daughter. I am so grateful to not have had to go through what this family is going through.
Another story that runs through my mind is when I had a conversation years ago while working at the bank. I called a woman about a dormant account, only to learn it belonged to her son, who had disappeared. He was out with friends, stepped outside a pub, and never returned. I still think about that call, her voice as she shared her story, and the weight of her grief. I will never forget that call. I could offer nothing but my condolences.
There are so many stories like hers, like mine. It’s strange how, over time, we hear them, we empathize, and then we move on, busy with our own lives. But when it happens to you, there’s no moving on. Grief doesn’t fade into the background; it’s always there, wrapped around everything. And that brings me to the complexity of grief.
The Complexity of Grief
What I’ve learned in these six months—six months without my daughter—is that grief has no roadmap. People talk about the stages of grief as though it’s linear, as though you can check boxes and eventually arrive at “acceptance.” I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that I googled the stages of grief looking for guidance more than once only to discover it really doesn’t work like that. The truth is, grief is unpredictable. It’s messy. It’s uniquely yours.
For me, it comes in waves. Some days, I’m caught in a tidal wave, unable to catch my breath, sweeping over me as I struggling to breathe. Other days, the water is calmer, but the undercurrent is always there, I never seemed to be prepared enough as it wants to pull me back into the depths when I least expect it.
I’ve found myself relying on my logical side more often than not. Breaking things down, one step at a time, it helps me make sense of the madness. I can focus, slow it down and ask-what now? How do I do this? Did this really happen? Then like a slap in the face, I am here, still in disbelief. As time marches forward, dragging me by the heels with it I refuse to count the days yet I am living the year of firsts. Her birthday, my birthday, the birth of our first grandchild, Thanksgiving…Christmas is coming, sigh. Time won’t slow down despite the tears. This wave won’t left me off. I grimace as I know it won’t be long until we will have a year without her. These are milestones I don’t want but can’t seem to avoid.
My Grief Journey
Everyone has their own way of navigating grief. I am still working on how this looks for me. I know that it is and will always be intensely personal. A journey that is mine, and mine alone. And when I try and reflect on the topic, I don’t have answers, only questions. But maybe that’s okay. Maybe I don’t need to conquer these waves that I feel, maybe I only need to hang on and ride.
I know that grief isn’t something to “get over” because I am not sure that I ever will. It’s something you carry, something that shapes you in ways you never wanted but must learn to live with. My friend Susanne told me a story about a rock shortly after my daughter died. She said she read something that made a lot of sense and she wanted to share it. Grief is like a rock in your pocket. When the rock is first in your pocket it is heavy and uncomfortable. You really don’t want it there but it’s there. Then as time goes on, even though the rock is still there, it changes. You don’t accept it or just get used to it, you learn how to carry it. You learn how to manage with it in your pocket and even though it never goes away, it does get lighter with time.
So for now, whether I am riding the waves or have a rock in my pocket, I am pressing on.
References
CBC News. (2021, February 11). Saskatoon Family Continues Search for their Daughter . Retrieved December 4, 2024, from
Saskatoon family continues search for missing daughter
(n.d.). Canada Unsolved. Retrieved December 4, 2024, from
https://www.canadaunsolved.com/cases/missing-dean-mortensen-1992-edmonton-ab
Saskatoon News. (2024, August 6). Saskatoon police find Mackenzie Trottier’s body in landfill, lead suspect died in 2023.
Saskatoon police find Mackenzie Trottier’s body in landfill, lead suspect died in 2023. Retrieved December 4, 2024,
from
