We’ve been taught there are 5-7 stages in the grieving process.
Shock-Denial-Anger-Bargaining-Depression-Testing-Acceptance.
If you’ve had the misfortune knowing grief firsthand, you’ve probably found that this process is more like a cycle; often times, you can go through multiple stages in a single day. It’s exhausting.

Initially, I despised the term “grieving process”. It sounded so predictable and common, and my loss was so personal to me that it felt anything but common. It was insulting- like the pain of losing my sister was so normal that a pretty little label could be slapped onto it and it be explained away as normal. As I began cycling through the different stages, I realized that what I was feeling felt more like waves- I’d have moments where I was handling things okay, and then a wave would come on so hard and unexpectedly it would knock the wind out of me. Screw their “grieving process”- what I was dealing with was waves. Yes- waves felt right; personal to my individual situation.

It wasn’t long until I learned that “waves” is also an incredibly common term used to describe grief. I hated that other people used my word- like we’re all in some stupid little club using words that people that haven’t met grief couldn’t possibly understand the magnitude of. (This may sound insane to you- but much of this “grieving process” hasn’t made a lot of sense.)

[Can I just be honest for a minute, too, while we’re on the topic of things sounding insane? This admission might make me sound like a terrible person, but it’s the truth of my experience with all of this…

For a while, each time I learned of someone else passing away after my sister died, I felt resentment- both for the person that passed away and for those that mourned them. The fear was real of people moving on and forgetting Lindsey. Each time I learned of another’s passing, it felt like it chipped away at just how astronomical the loss of her was- like they were moving on too quickly. Deep down I felt great sorrow for all involved, as I could resonate so personally with their pain. But it still felt a little like a punch to the gut.]

After some time, I found some solace in knowing that people out there somewhat understood how painful and suffocating this “journey” really is. Eventually, I became thankful that people had coined terminology that could help me explain and understand what I was feeling, and better know how to navigate going forward to find healing. While I wish so badly others didn’t have to know the heartache of losing someone they love, there is some comfort to be found in knowing you’re not alone.

What’s hard to cope with these days, is feeling okay, and dare I say good– happy even. At the beginning of all of this, anything other than pain felt like such a betrayal. My mind would play tricks on me, replaying conversations Lindsey and I had had when we were in arguments, where she’d sometimes say “You’d be happier if I was just gone”. Feeling happiness, with that in mind, felt like the ultimate stab in the back.

Last year, Thanksgiving 2021, was my first Thanksgiving and holiday without my sister. Last year I was completely and utterly broken; I dreaded the holidays and felt bitterness and jealously towards the people that could joyously celebrate them. It was so hard to muster up the enthusiasm Dylan needed from me to help him make it through our first big holiday without her there. I truly wished holidays would just cease to exist so I wouldn’t have to disappoint my kids with my lack of joy and festiveness.

Today is Thanksgiving, 2022. I thought about Lindsey, all day. She wouldn’t be at mom and dad’s. Wouldn’t be making her homemade macaroni that we all loved. Watching the Macy’s parade made me think of all the years we watched together as kids- while we’d make our handprint turkey cards for family and friends, and how we anxiously awaited our favorite and last float in the parade- Santa- the start of the Christmas season. She didn’t come out of her room while we were at my parents, or play with my kids… and for a moment I panicked realizing we were all eating and Lindsey wasn’t there “yet”; for a fleeting moment it felt like she was at her boyfriend’s house and would be home soon. All day long I was aware, and while of course it hurt, I was also okay- for the most part.

That feels strange and hurtful and confusing to admit “out loud”. But a lot of healing has also taken place in this past year. It goes without saying that I’ll always grieve the loss of my sister- nothing will ever be the same without her here. We are all forever changed, and I miss her endlessly. But tonight especially, I’m realizing that I don’t have to stay broken. My faith and my family and my friends have helped me pick up the pieces of my broken heart and patched me back together again. It’s a lot messier than it was before Lindsey left, but like stained glass, beauty can exist where things have been broken.

Grief isn’t always sadness. No, it’s the complicated web of a journey you learn to make peace with. It’s a process; a painful, messy, complicated process. Waves will come, and you have to ride them out. But each time you do- even if that wave completely knocks you down and pulls you under for a time- you get a little stronger each time.

Make no mistake- I’m still sad, and somehow the shock of her being gone is still so fresh. I break down over the most seemingly random things. But I’m also learning to embrace being okay.

One of my favorite quotes now is this: “What is grief, if not love persevering.” And alongside that persevering love, we learn to persevere [and even find our joy again].

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”
Romans 15:13