A friend on social media posted (or I should say re-posted) an article from last year on the three types of grief people don’t discuss. I happened to be taking a 5 min mind break at work, and read it. I wish I had left it to later in the evening. If I were smarter, I would have realized that from the title alone.
Sitting there, in my cube, reading 3 Kinds of Grief Nobody Talks About, I had a powerful emotional moment. One of the kinds where you feel like your bones might break from the weight of it.
“Grief is not always about death, but it is always about attachment and separation.”
Attachment.
Separation.
I’m currently going through the process of selling my home, building a new one, and moving into a temporary place. My whole life for the next few months will be transitional. I’ve been looking through closets and cupboards purging things that I won’t be taking with me into this new chapter of my life (or even into the interlude before the next chapter).
Occasionally, a level of unexpected emotionality will just hit me. “Pretty soon, I’ll be out of here…. This will be the last time I do <x> here…”
And then the big whammy, “When I get to the new house, I won’t have any memories of my dad there”. Cue the waterworks. I have to remember to take deep breaths and think about puppies.
I remember having similar feelings when my car died and I had to get a new one. I cried. I didn’t cry because of the car, I cried because of the memories it represented. It was the physical manifestation of those memories. Losing the Batmobile (yes, I called it that in my head), I lost the ability to see and to touch those memories. Like the memory of pranking my dad by turning on the seat heater in July without him knowing. I can still see him shifting uncomfortably in the seat. I finally couldn't hold my laughter in any longer and let him off the hook. He laughed and was glad nothing was wrong with his "@$$."
I was attached to the car not because I'm materialistic, because of my memories.
I knew what my dad felt sitting in my car or in my house because I was there with him. I know because I experience the same environment firsthand. I know this sounds weird. I could tell that my boyfriend at the time thought I was being weird. He was smart enough not to verbalize it, but I could tell nonetheless when I said farewell to the Batmobile.
Moving on to new places and things, there’s no connection. There’s no attachment. I’m separating myself from what I knew and the life I have lived to create a new type of life. I’m cutting one cord, and grabbing on to a new one that not everyone I’ve cared about has experienced. I also have no idea if new attachments will be forged.
I already grieved the loss of my dad, as he passed away a few years ago. But, I never thought about the anxiety I go through during big changes, like I’m going through right now, as a form of grief. That in making these memory attachments to “things” and “places”, I go through yet another grief cycle when those things are gone too. I hate feeling this way.
If you’ve read any of my other bogs, you have probably figured out I’m quite an introvert. There are days I just want to wear a sign that says “Can’t people today, #SorryNotSorry.”
What are the main traits of introverts? We live in our heads, we typically aren’t outgoing people, we tend to have a smaller group of friends, and we like being home. We like controlling our environment. We limit our attachments to people.
If we have limited attachments, we have less opportunity for separations.
If we control our environment, we have a larger control over the probability of separation.
If you are an introvert. You suffer less separation. But when it happens (at least to me) holy !@$!%!.
“Grief is not always about death, but it is always about attachment and separation.”
Attachment.
Separation.
What if the real reason I’m an introvert, isn’t some random genetic trait? What if it comes down to one simple thing - the ability, or capacity, to grieve?
Could I be less socially awkward and introverted, if I simply learned to be more comfortable with the loss of, or change in, relationships? What if I just need to learn how to be more efficient at the cycle of grief? Or fear grief less?
Maybe I do need to grieve more, but I sure as hell don't want to....
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