I wrote the first version of this a year ago today. A lot has changed since then, so I rewrote it.
This is for anyone grieving someone they love right now.
I lost my daughter Maddie to suicide in April 2015. She was 14.
Earlier this year my mom died. She and my dad had been married more than 60 years. I told my dad, “In its early stages, grief is the worst fucking thing you’ll ever experience.” I meant it. There were days I wasn’t sure how I’d get to the end of the day, let alone the end of a decade.
Some of you might want to join them because the pain is too much. I know that feeling. Over the last eleven years, I’ve wanted to join Maddie more than once.
Sometimes it was the faces of my boys that got me through. Sometimes a song that made me grateful. Sometimes just a sunset, because it meant I’d made it to the end of another day. I once wrote down what kept me here. Eight things held up.
Grief is a sentence with no end date. There’s no early release for good behaviour. You sit with your thoughts, sometimes for days, with no relief in sight. Then one day, for me, it eased a little.
If you’re in that place today, please tell someone. Today.
If you’re in the first few years, some of what I say below might make you angry. That’s fair. I’d have been angry reading it in 2016. Take what helps and leave the rest.
💜 Take as long as you need. There’s no schedule for grief, whatever anyone tells you. Some of what I understand now took me fifteen years to get to.
💜 Your brain has changed. You’ll walk into a room and forget why you went in. You don’t come out of this without damage. For nine years I tried to get back to the person I was before Maddie died. Last year I stopped. [That person is gone.]
💜 Things you used to love might not interest you for a while. Move anyway. Go for the walk. Some of the clearest signs I’ve had from Maddie came outside.
💜 Some friends will go quiet. Most of them still love you. They just don’t know what to say. Tell them you need them. The quiet usually starts the day after the funeral.
💜 Ask people to say their name. Ask for stories, photos, videos. One of our biggest fears is that they’ll be forgotten. I’ve asked people to remember how Maddie lived, not how she died.
💜 Find a way to celebrate their life. For me, it was writing. One of the first pieces was about her photo on my fridge, in 2017. It doesn’t have to be public. You’ll find your own pace.
💜 Stay open to something that gives you purpose again. Don’t force it. The MentorWell came from my love for Maddie. It took me ten years to get there.
The pain is still here, because the love is still here. It took a decade, but something did change. These days I hear Maddie ask me who my favourite child is now, and I laugh. I wrote about that in The Funniest Person in the Cemetery. I couldn’t have imagined it in year one. I’m not asking you to imagine it either.
If you’re struggling right now, call or text 9-8-8 in Canada or the US. It’s free and open any time.
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