When is it the ‘right’ time to talk about my grief?
By: Catherine Corcoran White
Tags: Death, Grief, Death And Dying, College, Grief And Loss

Here is my question. When is it the right time to talk about grief? Where can we discuss our grief? And how can we fully express it without being diagnosed or isolated by our friends, our peers, or our community for having too strong of emotions — for which ‘others’ cannot handle or attempt to suppress altogether?

I find that there is a fine line between what is helpful and what is definitely not. When I lost my father during my senior year at Duke University after he suffered a sudden heart attack — I felt that the ground beneath me had completed collapsed. Since I had a Regatta ( Former Varsity Rower) that weekend in Virginia — it was decided that it would be best to tell me when I got back. Unfortunately — even with my family’s greatest efforts in sending an aunt from Maryland to Durham, NC, the news traveled faster via Facebook Messenger. I found out that my dad had passed away from a distant cousin who I hadn’t spoken to in years.

I attempted to go back to practice and hold myself together — but my brain was quite literally sent on a rocket ship and into a whole different dimension of consciousness. I remember distinctly the moment when I realized I could no longer relate to my peers. I was at practice and a teammate of mine was complaining about the oar soap getting into her blister which had burst. I couldn’t believe it. In my mind nothing mattered — hello a human just died — my human just died — we are all going to die — what’s the effing point to all of this.

After a few months of isolating myself — and not going to classes which served to drop my well-protected GPA — right before competitive grad school applications — I began to talk about my grief. However, it was in a way that was more palatable to others.

The way I put it at the time — and even had changed my tagline on my Linkedin profile to read — “What doesn’t kill you makes you more sarcastic.” That sums up the narrative of how I spoke about the events that had happened — while also making sure that others around me were okay as well. I think that a comedic space is a very valuable one. There are even resources out there and platforms that serve this expression of grief and can be therapeutic at times.

That being said, the real — animalistic — raw — having my heart ripped out and thrown to the ground period — which to this day ebbs and flows during anniversaries and holidays even — is anything but funny. What was and still is even worse, is not being able to articulate the experience — nor having space and the language to really express my true feelings. Thus, cue the isolation.

It seems to me that death is the true equalizer in life — that is — if you are alive long enough — you will experience the death of a loved one and you too will die someday. What I find most shocking is that our reaction to death is still handled as a ‘personal issue’ one that a human must figure out on their own time and accord. There are no universal bereavement policies and most U.S. workers get about 4 days off to ‘deal.’ For college students, it is a case by case scenario — but more often than not, the student is left with the responsibility to figure it out themselves — really super helpful during that already awkward period in development.

Here is my point. When a person undergoes significant loss, whatever it may be, their entire world is altered and their life’s trajectory can prove more vulnerable to negative, even grave outcomes. With the proper support and space to grieve and process — especially during the acute phases — I believe that the long term health outcomes for populations will significantly improve.

I will end with this, we as a society cannot keep stepping over grief and loss and only later address the symptoms that arise after having not addressed it in the first place. We need to recognize its universality and hold space for one another to experience it in its rawest — messy — not so funny whatsoever — forms.

Cheers,

Catherine