Grief is a very curious and individual experience. I cried many tears this morning, as I accompanied my 19 year old cat while she awaited humane euthanasia. Honestly, I felt the urge to run out of the room but, thankfully, I didn’t. Whiskers deserved me there petting her forehead and whispering softly to her.

My grief would have its time. In this case, grief was and will be the price of great love. Grief is not restricted to the loss of human life. Were the tears I cried for Whiskers, or for my beloved dog Molly who passed away last year,  different than the tears I shed for friends and family who have passed away? Were these tears different than the tears I cried during my grieving for my empty nest, a long term career that came to a close or relationships that ended? 

Grief is a recognition and processing of significant loss. If we enjoy the benefit of great love and/or meaning then doesn’t it stand to reason that we would feel the depth and breadth of our loss? Again, grief is not solely connected to loss of human life. It extends to loss in general.

It’s not unusual to want to run out of the room, literally or figuratively, and avoid pain and heartache. If we do that, though, we constrain our ability to feel great love or experience great meaning. We can’t shut one thing down without shutting down everything. We think we can but we can’t.

I’ve heard people say that “you’ll get over it” or “I want to put it behind me” or other variations of wanting to get the grieving over with FAST. There’s no set timeline nor specific way to grieve nor ability to put it behind us. There’s no magic eraser. What we can do, though, is allow ourselves time and space to process the loss so that, one day, its power may be less intense and/or less frequent. The price for great love is, oftentimes, great pain.

I read somewhere that tears are emotions come to life. I love that. What might you be grieving that deserves tenderness and attention?