Grief 12 Years Later

When I was in elementary school, my friend had invited me to go with her family to a country concert at the Crystal Palace. On the way to the concert her Dad had brought up how much it hurts to lose a loved one-- at this point it had only been a few months since I lost my sister. Even though I don't talk to this friend anymore (we just went our separate ways) what her Dad said that day, stuck with me. 

He spoke on how people say things will be okay even though they won't or have little idea if they will, that it doesn't ever get easier like people tell you it will, and though the pain will never go away you just learn how to cope (eventually, or not at all). Out of the many people who had something to say to me, I valued his the voice most, because it was honest.What he said didn't give me any false hope. For the first time since my sister passed, I wasn't being spoken to like a naive child; people didn't realize, but my childhood ended the same night my sister died. As sad as it sounds and however much people would like to disagree; it's true. A lot of people assume that I don't remember much from that night,but the fact of the matter is I remember every little detail. I became a little girl whose sole mission was not to cry, because I couldn't bare seeing my parents cry. 

People don't understand how much a family can disconnect, especially when we're all trying to avoid the unavoidable. Things weren't easy at home, at school I was the "the girl whose sister died" (an identity that still follows me), I wasn't able to connect with my friends anymore and the one friend I that I was able to connect with, passed away two years after my sister. I was 12 years old dealing with way more than I could handle, way more than any of my friends could understand, and way more than any stupid Chicken Noodle Soup book could relate to. 

Eventually, all my sadness turned into anger which ate my heart away. I became someone I didn't like, someone that my own parents couldn't even recognize, someone who just didn't care. I was just tired of it all and it became easier to be angry than it was to mend myself. I ended up going to a boarding school in Yaak, Montana (a whole different story) and as much as I hated being there, I was given the space I needed to finally accept that my sister was gone and my life would never be the same. I learned that I will always be a little sad on holidays and special occasions, and that there will never be a day that I don't miss my sister (or my bestfriend), but that doesn't mean I can't be happy. 

I've come to realize that grief is incredibly lonely. No matter how many people you have surrounding you, at the end of the day you're left to deal with it by yourself. I say that because everyone deals with grief in their own way and no way is wrong. Grief is a journey, one that is ugly, yet beautiful. It's a process that you have to let happen before it consumes you. 

They say there are five stages to grief: denial and isolation, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance; but what about rediscovery or reconciliation? No one talks about what it's like to find yourself again or how to forgive yourself as well as rekindle relationships with other people that may have been broken during the process--which is where I am right now. My journey hasn't been easy, but it has made me love a little harder and appreciate more. Through my weaknesses, I have found my strength.  

xoxo, Lo