On Grief and Honesty

A month ago, my beloved grandmother died, less than three months after the death of my grandfather, her husband of 70 years. Six months before that, my husband's grandfather, with whom he was extremely close, died. My best friend's grandmother died a few months ago as well. I feel surrounded by, and consumed with, death.

I am nearly 30 years old. I am told over and over again how fortunate I was to have my grandparents in my life for so long, and that I was able to be so close to them. This is true, and I am indeed grateful. But this does not lessen my grief, which is immense.

Perhaps it is silly to grieve this deeply for "just" my grandparents. Grandparents that I was fortunate to know for almost 30 years, and have a loving and close relationship. I feel silly sometimes when I think about it. I am not over it, not even close. Some days are OK, and some days I feel like dying too. Some days my anxiety disorder gets so out of control I can barely function. I often question whether this is normal.

Understandably, many people have asked me over the course of the last several months whether I am OK. I am a people pleaser, so my first instinct is to always reply with "Yes." I did this throughout November and December, falling deeper and deeper into depression until Christmas Eve. That night, I was so numb I felt like I was reciting lines and pretending to have normal emotions. I told my husband how I was feeling, and that I didn't really see the point in life. He urged me to get help if I continued to feel this way. I became outwardly defensive, but inside, I knew he was right.

The death of a young friend of my husband's on Christmas Day helped snap me out of this state. I didn't realize how serious my depression had become until I was somewhat removed from it. I started to recover,  and then my grandmother died. I feel like I am falling into the depressive state again, although I'm trying to fight it with everything I have.

One thing I am doing differently now is freely admitting when I am not OK. When people ask me how I am, I tell them when I'm having a bad day, if I am sad or angry, or if I'm feeling so anxious I cannot function.  Initially, I was embarrassed by this, but I am finding that people are more compassionate and understanding than I originally anticipated. Friends are letting me know that they have felt this grief too, and that I can call them to talk about it.  It sounds like common sense, but when you are in the depths of grief and depression, you do not think logically.

Maybe my grief isn't textbook, but it is real and it is mine, and I might as well be honest about it.