I Won’t Feel Guilty For Continuing to Grieve My Late Husband
By Louise Rampersaud
Grief is a fickle companion.
When we were first introduced after my husband passed away, I thought we’d hang out for a while, grab a coffee here and there, reveal our innermost feelings over some late-night talks, and then eventually go our separate ways.
“Oh good, I’ve made it through the one-year mark,” I’d be able to profess, because it always seemed like the one-year mark was the goal and I’m big on goals. “I’ve melted down in the grocery store, been remiss on personal hygiene for more than 5–7 business days, and purchased elastic pants. I’ve gotten my fill of grief.” Then I’d return to my regularly scheduled programming.
But that channel seems to have some permanent static.
I didn’t know that while grief still lingered, I’d be faced with something I call “grief guilt.” There is this pervasive attitude in society that somehow you should be “over it” (yes, people actually use those words) in some predetermined fashion or time. And if you’re not, well, do you even know how to grieve?
Admittedly, it’s been seven years, and grief is still hanging around. Sure, it doesn’t pack for all seasons like it used to, but trust me: it makes appearances during weekend getaways and wine nights once in a while.
When I first learned about the stages of grief, I thought it was a linear program. When you’re done with Depression, honey, just hand in your card and we’ll move you right on to Acceptance. You’ll love it this time of year. Everyone’s just so happy!
But no. Each stage randomly pops up like Whack-A-Mole and, truth be told, sometimes you have the mallet, and sometimes you don’t. I’ve learned that is completely okay. Grief, like life, is unpredictable. It doesn’t operate on a timetable and can sucker-punch you when you least expect it.
Does that mean that you can’t or won’t find happiness again? Absolutely not. But don’t be surprised if you still have moments that stop you in your tracks and send your heart back a few paces. Until I recognized and acknowledged that, the “grief guilt” left me puzzled. Am I not doing this correctly? Is there something wrong with me?
Rest assured. There’s not.
The grief you experience years after a loss is no longer that overwhelming, blanketing sense of sorrow you once felt. You’ve changed since the loss, and so does the grief you experience. I think of these moments now as softer, gentler reminders of a shared life. And why wouldn’t you want to reflect on that at times? Curl up with a cup of tea and a few tears and be reminded of a bond you shared, a family you created, a journey you undertook hand in hand.
Will I continue to post a tribute on the anniversary of my late husband’s death? Absolutely. Will I continue to feel a little sorry for myself and my children when milestones come and go in their lives without a father to cheer them on? Most certainly. Does it mean I haven’t accepted the loss? Does it mean I’m still mired by the weight of it all?
Not at all.
Grief means remembering love, and love is here for the long haul.
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Louise Rampersaud is a writer, educator, children's book author, and co-creator of Quarantine Cards. She cared for a critically ill husband for ten years (courtesy of Vascular Ehlers-Danlos), was subsequently widowed, raised two girls, and has inadvertently eaten blue cheese and guacamole. It's been a hard road. One paved with little cobblestones ready to throw you off your footing along the way. But she's come out the other side and wants you to know you can, too. Deep, collective breaths!