The "Right Way" to Grieve

There’s no “right” way to grieve a loss—not of a job, not of a home, not of the beloved oak tree in your yard, not of a friendship that sputters and dies, not of a pet, and not of the death of someone you love.

(All of these losses are important to recognize as such. Grief is not confined to the sphere of death. What follows below, however, is in regards to death of a loved human being.)

Western society places a lot of emphasis on cultural expectation, in pretty much every area of our lives. We are exhorted to dress a certain way, wear our hair, speak, and exhibit approved behaviors to be in conformance to our gender. For example: “That’s not ladylike,” “Boys don’t cry!”, Men don’t like women with short hair,” “Masculinity means always being strong,” etc.

These statements come from centuries of conditioning and enculturation, and while individuals are (at least, as of now) free to buck them, there is no escaping these tropes’ influence upon our culture. This influence is quite apparent in the biases we have towards people who dare to dress, behave, and speak in ways that are “contrary” to the roles we have been taught belong to us.

And when we experience the death of a loved one, the culture is quick to assert itself boldly and guilt us into grieving in a particular way. In America, we are expected to “move on” within a succession of stages (I call them windows¹):

The initial window is the first 72 hours after the death. Most employed people have the luxury² of three (usually paid) days of Bereavement Leave in which we are to attend to the immediate logistics of notifying everyone, planning for a funeral and disposition, closing accounts, making arrangements for dependents’ care, and possible travel—all while navigating the intense soup of emotions that arise after a loved one dies.

Seventy-two hours. Three days. That amount of time is deemed sufficient for attending to everything needed after a death.

Spoiler alert: it is NOT enough time.

The second window starts at the end of the first. Employed folk are expected to return to the duties of their jobs. Sure, everyone at the office expects to have to walk on eggshells around you for a bit, and most will treat you tenderly (if not avoid you whenever possible so as not to be infected by your sadness). But you are expected to perform the duties for which you are being paid. Back to work!

This window has a less-defined time period. It’s anywhere from a week to a month, usually. You are expected to function at work at your usual brisk level by the end of the first week following the death. You are given a little bit of slack for your emotional state, which is still expected to be fragile, but meetings, deadlines, and work duties are not to be neglected.

Outside of work, this window is more forgiving. People are still checking on you regularly, even bringing food or helping with chores and errands. They are, at this stage, quite helpful and magnanimous with their time. Their attempts at comforting you may not suit you, but they mean well and, let’s face it, you benefit. This window holds the rawness, still, and more emotions are about to come move in with it.

Once this window with its nebulous end-time is over, the third window begins.

The third window begins without fanfare. Work is back to “normal.” Period. Where your coworkers gave you a decent amount of latitude in Window 2 if they caught you bawling in the bathroom or having a lash-out at some seemingly minor thing, once Window 3 begins, those incidents will start to work against you. You are expected to have moved on. The workplace (and the public square) leaves very little room now for emotions (and the behaviors that often stem from them) that don’t belong within its walls.

On the personal front, true friends remain helpful and at your service, both physically and emotionally. The rest start pulling back and moving on with their lives³. Acquaintances tend to avoid you if you aren’t behaving in a way that says you are trying to “get past this.” They are the ones who meet each other in passing and cluck their tongues at what an awful tragedy you suffered, but have no real patience to “deal with your sadness” right now.

Here's the thing, though. You are still raw, and reeling. Even if you do not believe this (because you, too, have bought into the culturally-mandated timeline of How Long Grief Should Last), your emotions betray you. The culture demands that we suppress our feelings of loss past a certain time, but everyone grieves differently and feelings aren’t on some stupid timeline.

A story: I took care of my aging mother on a regular basis a year or so before she passed semi-unexpectedly in 2019. She lived alone and could mostly care for herself with a little outside help, but once a week after work, I went to her grocery store and bought the items she needed, then I came to her place and cooked and ate with her, gave her a much-needed bath, spent the night, made her an absolutely necessary pot of coffee the next day, and did things like caring for her toenails, cleaning and stocking the kitchen, organizing her pills for the week, taking her to doctor visits as needed, and enjoying her company. It was a ritual we both looked forward to.

After her death, I still passed her street every Thursday on the way home from work (because the 3 days was up!), and I cried, uncontrollably, all the rest of the way home. I’m really glad I didn’t need to go into her store, because I could not do it. The thought of walking down those aisles just gutted me. (I didn’t return to that particular store for 2 years, in fact.) One day during Stage 3, I was at my grocery store near my house (same chain) and when I walked down the coffee aisle, I lost it. The smell hit me and I broke down, bawling, crumpling to the floor. People looked at me either with pity or distrust as they passed, but I bucked the cultural expectation⁴ and just let it all out in that store.

Window 3 is the classic rendering of cultural expectation slamming up against the reality of grief: it doesn’t follow a linear path, it doesn’t give a damn about culturally-expected timelines, and it will barrel down on you when you least expect it and knock you to the ground, breathless and heartbroken.

And this is all completely normal. 

You are not broken if you get triggered by the sudden smell of coffee days, weeks, months, or even years after the loss; you are not broken if you collapse right where you happen to be in that moment; you are not broken if you haven’t “moved on” in a specific window of time.

Buck the expectations—all of them, including the gender-specific ones—and feel/express your feelings, as much as is possible, when they hit, without suppressing them. If you have the privilege of being able to take more time off work, do so. (Yes, I know being at work helps distract you from the loss, but you will be better off in the long run if you do not seek out distractions right now.⁵) Routines are way more effective than distractions.

There is not one way, nor a “right way,” to grieve.

You've got this.

 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

1.)        So as not to confuse them with Elisabeth Kubler-Ross’s Five Stages of Grief, meant to describe what the dying person herself—not her grieving survivors--goes through. Also, my “windows theory” is mainly about what society expects from us, which often differs from what people actually feel and experience

 

2.)        It’s not a luxury—that’s the irony

 

3.)        Which is expected, culturally speaking, but it can still leave you bereft and lonely

 

4.)        That expectation being that tears of that magnitude, and any sort of wailing, are to be expressed in private, never in public. Public grief makes people really uncomfortable, doesn’t it?

 

5.)        The science supports this; it’s not wallowing, it’s dealing.

"Take a Picture--It'll Last Longer"

Every time I am invited to a social function, and someone asks me about what I do, I always say I'm an accountant.

That way, I get to enjoy my bourbon (Basil Hayden, if you please) in peace and I don't have to listen to people complain about their dogs.

Actually, the above is a lie. It doesn't happen.

I don't get invited to social events. But if I did...

Actually, that last part is the lie. I do sometimes get invited to social events, and often, I do attend, because I am an extroverted introvert (yes, that's a thing) and my wife enjoys those types of events very much and I love my wife, so we go.

And when I am asked what I do for a living, I don't lie about it because 1.) I really like what I do, 2.) I enjoy hearing about people's dogs, and 3.) I'm a terrible liar.

So, when I find myself at a social event and I am standing in front of people who have just learned that I am a human trainer of dog owners, I almost always get the following reaction:

One of the couple will elbow their spouse in the ribs and lean closer to me, eyes wide, while saying, "Oh, you really must meet our Snookums! She is TERRIBLE. She poops on the rug, she digs holes in the yard, she chases the cat, she pulls on the leash, she jumps on everyone and covers them with slobbery kisses, she grabs food off the counters, and she bolts out the door every time it is open."

(I have greatly shortened the above laundry list of Doggy Sins, mind you. But you get the idea.)

My face during this speech is largely unreadable. I will maintain a half smile and my eyebrows will rise a millimeter or two as the list grows; it's subtle, let me tell you. I sip from my sweating highball glass, never breaking eye contact. Ice cubes clink.

After they finish the whole long list of ways in which their dog is Terribly, Horribly Naughty, they pause briefly.

Then, they will break into a smile, a smile that shows teeth and crinkles around the eyes, a smile that effuses warmth, and say, "But, she's a Good Dog, and we love her!"

Here's the thing: I have zero doubt that this family has an immense amount of affection for their diggy, slobbery, jumpy, pully, poopy dog. I know that they do.

I know it because no one would put up with all of those behaviors if they did not have an immense amount of affection for their dog.

But do they really and truly love their dog?

In my storied career, I have met many, many people who consider themselves dog lovers. A plethora. A surfeit. An overabundance, a profusion, a megaton.

It's not difficult to love dogs, so it's not surprising that millions of people admit to doing so.

But they typically fall into two main categories, though sometimes there is overlap, and sometimes members of the first group become members of the second, thankfully.

Group 1 is the folks who excuse their dog's annoying, destructive, costly, and even dangerous behaviors, behaviors that may be natural to the dog but are largely incompatible with our homes and yards and lifestyles and having actual friends. Dog tears up the couch? Take a cute picture first, then buy a new couch. Dog ruins the floors because he wasn't housebroken? Get new floors. Dog pulls you down the street on the leash? Buy a harness so he doesn't choke himself, and hang on. Dog steals food? He must be hungry--feed him as much as he likes. Dog chases the cat? Eh, what are you gonna do? He's a dog--he has no impulse control. Dog jumps on people who visit? Eh, those people need to get a grip--the dog lives here, and they don't, right?

Here's a secret for you: these people don't really love their dogs. In the words of the great dog expert Sarah Wilson, they love loving their dogs. But that isn't enough.

Group 2 is the people who understand that dogs' behavior isn't always compatible to our lifestyles, but instead of shrugging and enduring it, they educate themselves on how to make the situation better. They seek out competent help and they follow the trainer's instructions. They build good training habits and practice them daily. They observe their dogs and learn their basic drives and needs, then find ways to fulfill those drives and needs every day. They learn how to train their dogs humanely, with clarity and consistency, so that the dogs know what to expect and know how to act in the home, on the leash, anywhere.

They understand that dogs are not humans in fur coats, but that, like young children, they need assistance making better choices, and that knowing what we want from them makes the dogs truly content. And just as it is their responsibility to provide the correct assistance to their children to help them succeed in life, it is their responsibility to teach their dogs how to be civilized for the human world.

This group really does love their dogs. And they are my heroes.

Dogs definitely have natural behaviors that are inconsistent with our desires to spend our days and nights with them. But if we love someone, we want what is best for them and when it is our responsibility to provide what is best for them, we do so without hesitation.

Dogs are happiest when they know what is expected. When they know what is expected, they suffer less stress and confusion. When they suffer less stress and confusion, they are relaxed, confident, well-behaved, less impulsive, and can handle what life throws at them.

When they are relaxed, confident, well-behaved, less impulsive, and can handle what life throws at them, they are the greatest companions we could ever ask for and we cherish them every day, and even after they have aged right before our eyes, muzzles and tails growing white, eyes and ears growing dim, slowing down day by day as we watch, grateful and dreading, until they melt in our arms as we sob uncontrollably with their last breaths, leaving us too soon--we keep on loving them for years, never forgetting, until our own end arrives.

Don't just take photos. Take action. Train your dog.