Blog 1: Physical Side of Grief
Hello, and welcome to my blog. Today marks 9 Thursdays, since losing my dad, & most wonderful man I’ve ever known. I have spent the last few weeks pondering the idea of a grief blog. The idea stemmed from a way to express my grief through words because I have been a writer my whole life and I’ve found expression through words comes easier than talking out loud. My dad also loved my writing and so often times writing makes me feel closer to him. But it wasn’t until I randomly would open up on social media about the raw reality of my grief, that I realized I wasn’t alone during the worst time of my life. Unfortunately, anyone who has experienced loss, I can relate to in more ways than those who have not. It’s just how it is. We think we could envision how much someone is hurting who has lost somebody, but only until we’ve felt that loss, do we actually comprehend.
So, I’ve spent the last few days thinking of the right topic for my first blog. Then I realized, how do you pick the “right topic” for something so awful? Something so detrimental, life shattering, and so heartbreaking? You simply can’t. This blog is going to be raw. And by raw I mean, the ugly truth, unfiltered, anything goes, and I plan to be vulnerable.
Someone asked about the physical part of grief. I almost wanted to write something more “safe,” or less emotional you could say. But then I realized why would I do that? This is WHY I started a blog. To talk about the things no one else from the outside world understands, or knows how to talk about. This blog is a place to not be embarrassed, or not want to say something because you’re afraid no one will get it. I honestly feel like the physical part of grief, is a very raw part of grief that is often not understood by those not grieving. For me, it’s been so prevalent. Sure, I could say, “It hurts, a lot.” But what does that FEEL like? What does that even mean?
For me, I think the physical part of grief happened long before the actual day I lost my dad. I call this pre grief.
I know some readers out there have experienced “pre grief” in many ways…some their pre grief may have been drawn out for weeks, months, maybe even years. For some it may have been sudden, without even a chance to know what was happening. For some this may also differ in your own personal ways. For me, looking back, I think I dreadfully always knew I’d lose my dad during my young adult years, as he was more elderly. But what I did not expect was when it happened, and I also never knew how debilitating it would be. I thought I had at least 5-6 more years. When my dad got sick, I got another 4 and a half weeks with him.
During the first 2 weeks, I think I went into survival mode for him. I was his medical power of attorney, and I was on autopilot while he was in the hospital. When my dad went home, I thought we had made it. We were out of the hospital, he was doing better, and I thought we had begun the long road to recovery. It was not until about 5 days later, I realized how wrong I was, and I began to grieve.
I vaguely remember writing about grieving when I realized the reality of what was to come, I even made a grief playlist, and the unbearable thought of losing my dad consumed every bone in my body. I actually wrote down in a journal what I was feeling during this time: hyper aware of noise, headache all the time, stomach hurt from not eating so I’d eat just enough to make it stop screaming at me, but then I’d get nauseous from doing so, every joint hurt, every muscle was screaming, and insomnia like I’ve never experienced because sleep meant less time with my dad.
During those 4 and a half weeks, my body had been hit physically by pre grief in ways I didn’t know possible. I essentially lived in a hospital chair at first, then around the clock in his home. I quit working, my diet was crap when I even remembered to eat, sleep was close to nonexistent, recovery wasn’t in my vocabulary, my already poor health ceased to matter, the back pain I felt was excruciating yet numbing at the same time, and I often felt dizzy or in fog. But again, autopilot was my only gear and I don’t think I realized what was happening until some of my close friends asked me if I was sleeping, if I was eating, and told me they were worried about me. But again, I did not care. Nothing mattered but being with my dad, and doing everything I could to be the best daughter, efficient medical power of attorney, and keep my head afloat for him.
And then, when my body was functioning on about 1-3 hours (broken up here and there) of sleep a night, I had lost close to 9lbs, handfuls of hair came out in the shower, my eyes now sunken in, and I was in a constant haze…grief swept in like a thief on the evening of April 11, 2019…and took over my entire body.
I do not remember the next week, except that the legalities and necessary steps following a loss, are devastating to me. Necessary yes, but cruel. I wish I could say the days following I was able to mourn with my family, rest, reminisce. But for my family, that simply wasn’t in the books. The next week of packing things up, legalities, funeral homes, decisions, nightmares, flashbacks, and heartbreak are a blur that continued my physical part of grief. Somehow, 9 days later, I showed up in Fairbanks, AK leaving my life of the last 10 years in New Mexico, behind me.
The last 9 weeks have been a blur also. Here is what grief feels like to me now:
Some days, I am okay. In fact, my boyfriend makes sure not a day goes by I don’t smile. In the beginning, it felt painful to smile. But thanks to my family, friends, and boyfriend, I do in fact smile on a semi regular basis. I laugh, too. I am able to workout, most of the time. I wake up and go to work much to my dismay. But not a day goes by I don’t think about my dad. Honesty, I am not even sure a second goes by as my subconscious is constantly thinking about him. I get a lot of headaches. My hair still falls out in the shower, and I do my best to cover up my bald spots. Sometimes I binge eat, which has caused a weight gain, and other times I can’t eat at all. At night I am exhausted, but sleep is the last thing my brain will let me do. I feel uncomfortable in my own skin. My memory doesn’t feel sharp. It’s hard to focus during a conversation sometimes. Weightlifting, something that is a part of me, hurts in ways I’ve never felt. And lately, I often feel like there is a weight vest on my lungs, causing breathing to no longer become a subconscious thing but rather something I have to think about doing. I also go through days of not crying, then days of nothing but crying. Also, my anxiety is out the roof.
Yet somehow, in this mess of physical grief, I am expected to go on. I must go to work, I have to wake up each morning, and I need to do things like brush my teeth. I am living each day in a mystery tornado, never knowing when it will hit me.
Now, let me make something clear. A lot of people have asked how I am able to talk about this so soon. And my immediate thought is, “I am not talking about, I can’t.” Because I honestly can’t talk about it out loud. It makes me sick to my stomach and doesn’t feel like me talking. So as I am typing this, with tears in my eyes, my stomach in knots, and anxiety weighing heavily on me, I hope those reading this don’t think this is easy. It is hard. It is disgusting. It is depressing. It doesn’t feel real. But this is the reality of grief.
So what I ask of you, readers, is to share with me your pain, grieve with me, and know we are all in this together. Because you all know, that despite all of this being said, we wake up each morning, and sometimes have to mask all of these physical symptoms, to simply make it through the day. Or maybe, just to make it 10 minutes before breaking down. It’s heartbreaking. But I often think of you all, and thank you all for being a support system I never knew I had. When I don’t want to wake up, I think of how many others out there are hurting too. That brings my strength. So, I appreciate you all taking the time to read my first blog, and if just one person read this and thinks to themselves, “Wow, I am not alone,” then my job here is done for tonight.
Grief, Giving Up, & Going On Club 
I lost the “love of my life”, my American Bulldog Murphy almost exactly one year ago. It was unexpected and beyond painful. We were constant companions. He was my child, husband & best friend wrapped in a 4 legged body., I cry to this very day. People tell me to “get over it” or “just get another dog”…Murphy is irreplaceable.,We were put together and it was MAGICAL. He made my life better every single day.
I go DAYS without eating, isolate myself in my apartment. Without my Murph, I have no reason to BE.
Your fabulous father Howard always told me that it was important to grieve, but even MORE important to remember all of the GREAT times together.
Your father was an INCREDIBLE friend to me and I am thankful for the opportunity to have had him in my life.
He was kind, intelligent, interesting, funny, wise & very honest. He used to tell me that my eyeglass frames were too big for my face 😂😂.
I miss having the opportunity to “talk” with your dad.
Take care of yourself Robyn…I know you’re dad would want nothing less.
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Erica, thank you for sharing this with me. Murphy truly did sound like he was meant to be with you. What a beautiful bond. There is no such thing as “getting over it,” in my opinion. This is where my 3Gs philosophy comes in…grief, giving up, and GOING ON. There is no moving on, but unfortunately, the sun keeps rising and we are forced to go on. I don’t personally feel as though I am anywhere close to feeling as though I am going on even when the world around me goes. I have to wake up, brush my teeth, go to work..but going on isn’t even in the books yet. I think you are brave for acknowledging your dear Murphy is irreplaceable. It brings to my eyes that you were able to remember what my dad told you during a time you were grieving…this helps me too.
I miss talking to my dad too…every day I go to pick up the phone, or want to get in my car and drive to see him.
Thank you for taking the time to read my post and reply. I am glad we can battle this journey together. Sending you strength and thinking of your loving and wonderful bull dog.
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Thank you for doing this blog. It’s so easy to feel alone in grief and I don’t really understand why. I lost the same man as my mom and sister but somehow they cling to each other and I wasn’t grieving the same as they were and it became hard to relate or even support one another in this grieving process that I’m not sure ever ends. I feel your pain through your words and I understand where you are and it does bring strength to know someone else is out there and I’m not somehow broken and dysfunctional for still crying regularly. Also know that it is still okay to have happiness and smiles. Overtime the smiles and laughs become more regular and almost like how life was before, that sadness and grief can sweep back in at any given moment and knock the wind out of you. Finding ways to constantly travel this whole process is a struggle. Having others on this road make it a little less lonely. Thank you
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I also do not understand why it is so easy to feel alone in grief. It is something everyone goes through at some point, yet no one understands. I also TOTALLY understand grieving differently from others. SO MANY people lost the same man as me, and none of us are usually on the same stage of grieving. Sometime that makes me feel even more alone…just knowing you have felt yourself at different stages also makes ME feel less alone, so thank YOU Claire. If there is one thing I have realized though, it’s that you can only grieve how your body wants YOU to grieve. The way a human grieves, in their individual way, does not make one person broken/dysfunctional and another strong/collected, etc. Perhaps I am wrong in saying this, but I think EVERYONE grieving is brave, strong, dysfunctional, broken, shattered, and beautiful despite how they grieve or what stage they are at. Thank YOU. I am glad we can embark on this awful journey together.
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Thank you for coming into my life at the time where I am experiencing my own version of grief. I too used to write a lot and stopped. With work, kids , life my writing took a backstop. Now I know for the last couple years I have been living pre grief as I tried to hold on to my dad as long as I could. I knew others felt this but not until I went thru it did I really understand. I know know I am not alone and have somewhere to voice myself. I pray for you as I pray for myself as well as those who cane before us and will one day be here. This is a lot for me because I grew up catholic and now have nowhere to turn after the church turned their back on me for leaving an abusive husband.(Topic for my writing another day) but thank you for not making me feel alone in this journey. I also have my boyfriend at my side and he has been thru it so he has helped me in ways I can’t explain and unfortunately this has even brought us closure. I feel like I am finally able to open up and start talking about and around what happened. Thank you just thank you. Sending you prayers and hugs
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Maria, thank you for being so brave to share that with me and reach out. I feel so grateful to have someone as brave as you read my blog, and feel it is a safe place to voice yourself, because it certainly is. I wrote my dad for about 6 weeks as well, and then had to start working again and it became a reality that it was not always possible. Through my blog I have found even more of a breakthrough. I am glad I am not alone in feeling as though I went through pre grief for years too trying to hold onto my dad as long as I could. I am so glad you have a wonderful boyfriend to support you during these times. Sounds like our boyfriends would get along. It takes a strong and wonderful man to be at our sides. You are certainly not alone, and any time you want to open up and talk about what has happened, know this is a safe platform. You may also always email me via my contact information if it is too personal to comment. Thank you again for sharing with me, and I am glad we are not alone in this awful journey. Also, sometimes with grief comes other emotions with past traumas, experiences, etc. So, if anything with your past comes up unrelated to a topic, please know any topic that brings up grief, emotions, battles within, etc…are more than welcome.
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Wow… I want to be honest and tell you that i was scared to read this blog, because I was afraid of the emotions it would bring. This week is also hard for me because I lost my dad 12 years ago and it still feels like it was yesterday. I find myself to be sad and angry during this week because I don’t have my dad here with me. 12 years later and I still look for him in every crowded room. I’ve struggled with speaking about my loss and grief because I lost the one person I felt comfortable with sharing my thoughts and emotions with. I’ve always been a quiet person and he was the one person who understood me even when I’m silent. Thank you Robyn for sharing your heart, feelings, words… I know it’s not an easy thing to do and I’m glad we are not alone. Love you my friend! Thinking of you.
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I recently lost a very close friend to suicide. Around the time I heard I was grieving and fighting through other mental issues. Today marks 6 months since he left. I find myself stuck trying to talk about him. I still go through many emotions, people say suicide is the most selfish thing. I agree. I want to be mad, but my emotions take over and I feel like I should’ve been there for him. I ache and wish I could’ve been there. I hurt to know he was so unhappy and I had no idea. I wish he asked for help. There’s not a moment I go by without an ache in my heart for him. I’ve struggled with coping with his death ever since. I lost my focus, my motivation, my energy and my worth. Your blog about physical grief was very easy for me to relate to. So to you, I hurt for you and the pain you feel for you dad. You truly are so brave, strong, and you have the kindest soul to write about your sweet dad. So thank you so much for these writings that I know are incredibly personal and heartbreaking to write. Love to you. Xxx
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