On Grief

I’m trying to find a rhythm in writing more - and consequently, updating my blog; but it’s been a tough few years. I would like to blame a global pandemic, but that would be too easy of an out, and wouldn’t cover all of what has been churning in my mind. I have sat down to write many times, or thought I would be writing more, but admittedly, I have never made it a priority. Part of the pause was the amount of grief I was holding, and am still processing through.

What has primarily taken up space in my mind in the last five years is grief. My own personal losses, transitions, and endings; my patients’ grief(s) of break-ups, unexpected change of plans, deaths; the collective grief of being in a world that is at times literally on fire. We survived covid-19, but with what on the other side? 

I presented with some colleagues at the AFTA Conference in 2023 in Baltimore on the grief and trauma of Asian American violence in Oakland Chinatown as part of my work with community members with two of my colleagues. In preparation for this plenary session, we discussed the disenfranchised grief (Dr. Kenneth J. Doka) that came up, the ambiguous loss (Dr. Pauline Boss), and the collective rage (Dr. Jennifer Mullan) we had endured as scapegoats and figments of other’s imaginations. It was both heartening to be able to speak to a room of mostly white clinicians about this, and also discouraging that we even needed to present on this. But naming this grief out loud, and with others, was an important step to alchemizing it. 

I have been on a journey of understanding grief more. To be processing, metabolizing, and naming the heaviness around. I am at a life stage where grief is a regular part of my daily and weekly conversations - with family, friends, and patients alike. “Did you hear? So-and-so was just diagnosed with cancer.”  “We had to put our dog down last week. I don’t know how to talk to my kids about this.” “I am still here missing this person, but life continues to move on. Time doesn’t stop for anyone.” 

One of my good friends is becoming a “death doula”, and it felt so intuitive to me to hear her share about this role. We have birth doulas, who prepare child-birthing persons in bringing a living being into this world. Why not death doulas, who prepare each of us for our departure from this side of earth? Our avoidance in naming what is to come has served us in some ways, but detached us from the reality of actual endings. Can we hold the unknown of what is coming for each of us in the future, while still being present in today?

Something I say often in therapy to my patients is, “Even when you want it, change is hard.” Even when we know and expect the change to come, we are creatures of habit and tend to prefer the known to the unknown. Grief is made all the harder when we are not prepared, or we have found ways to avoid and compartmentalize these parts of us.

I am currently walking alongside a number of patients who are in different places in their grief. Grief of losing a loved one. Grief of not having the life they thought they would have. Grief over watching endless violence in the media. Grief over their body not working the way they hoped or the way it used to. Grief over watching their parents age. Grief over the presidential election and what is to come in the next four years. Some are finding it harder to accept than others. Others are on a swinging pendulum of extreme sadness to acute numbness throughout the day. 

We all have our reasons to grieve, and none can be judged as “right” or “wrong”, or “good” or “bad”. I would argue that it is a crucial part of being human. I think of Brene Brown’s quote on grief: “The brokenhearted are the bravest among us. They had the courage to love.” Our grief reflects the depth of our love. May we never lose that. 

I am inadvertently becoming a cultural anthropologist in trying to understand how different cultures grieved. What are those practices? Were they public or private? How did we understand transition, either of the living to death, or just simply transition from one state to another? Do we find value in grieving? My current commitment to myself as I age is to allow grief to be a part of my everyday vernacular and conversation. What about you?