Over the summer, I made the choice to stop speaking to a friend whom I'd known since college. It wasn't a decision I took lightly. Without getting too into the details, she expected me to bend over backwards if she had a problem, but when I had one, not only did she not offer that same support, but she could be petty about it if I dared to speak up. Looking back, it's probably something I should have done long before July. While we had our fun moments together, she liked to keep me in a box, and when I stepped outside of it and did something she didn't approve of, it didn't go over well. I just don't censor myself or make myself smaller for other people anymore.
Life is too short for that, so I finally decided that it was best we go our separate ways. Even so, I still find myself missing her from time to time. We'd been through a lot together — the deaths of our mothers, travel adventures, career ups and downs — and we texted almost daily for years.
I still grieve that friendship. And I still grieve the pilot I met in Costa Rica a few years ago — the guy who I thought would be a part of my life forever, but who turned out to be just a chapter. When I walked away from him at the airport last year, I knew deep down it would probably be the last time I ever saw him. And while I know that it was for the best, every once in a while, I still feel this earth-shattering ache deep in my soul when I think of him.
Sometimes, I grieve for co-workers from my old job who were once friends but distanced themselves from me after I left. I grieve for family members whom I don't see or talk to these days. It's something I'm sure every single one of you can relate to — mourning someone who isn't dead but who isn't a part of your life anymore for one reason or another.
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Once upon a time, I was talking to a lady who works as a therapist, and she told me that grieving someone who is still alive can be even more painful than longing for our loved ones who died. Some call it "grieving the living," while others call it "ambiguous loss." There's not necessarily any finality to it, which can leave you feeling stressed out and confused. That person who you missed is still out there walking around, but you no longer have a physical or emotional connection.
When someone dies, you know that's the end. There's no coming back from it. When someone chooses not to be a part of your life, you're left with a lot of uncertainty. There are often questions left unanswered, and you know there could be a resolution if that person just came back. But you don't often have the power to make that happen, or maybe you know it's best not to try. And therefore, you have a hard time defining your grief. It may even feel silly at times. But it's not; it's just complicated.
And it's more common than many realize. In the past, I know some of you have shared stories with me about parents, siblings, and children who are no longer a part of your lives.
It can result from almost any situation involving two people: the end of a friendship, a breakup or divorce, a physical move, the decision to simply distance yourself from someone like I did, or even something like dementia, Alzheimer's, or any other illness that takes its toll on someone's mental and physical health. I know I've written a lot about my mother's death, so I'm probably repeating myself, but for the last year of her life, between her health issues and being isolated due to the pandemic, her mental health declined along with the physical. Before that, she'd been my best friend, but during that last year, I watched her slip away, and I missed her long before she took her final breaths.
It could be a child who is adopted who knows their birth parents are out there somewhere. It could be the loss of a loved one to addiction or crime. For those of us here with strong beliefs, you may have even experienced a loss over something like politics, which I find ridiculous. But it happens — a good friend of mine stopped talking to me the day Donald Trump was inaugurated, even though she claimed our differences never bothered her. That hurt.
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There may not be a funeral or a ritual attached to this type of grief — no one's lining up at your door with casseroles or sending you cards in the mail — but you still lose a version of yourself who existed when that person was a part of your life, much like you do when someone dies.
And that's why it's important not to dismiss it as something silly or shameful, even if it doesn't look like a traditional loss. You have to allow yourself to mourn. Some experts suggest finding a way to add some finality, like writing a letter to the person saying goodbye, having your own little ceremony, or gathering the items that remind you of them and placing them in a memory box. You can tuck that box away somewhere or, well, even burn it, if you like.
It's also important to seek support. If my own experience is any indication, those around you won't always understand what you're going through. When I had to say goodbye to the pilot, I told someone that it hurt more than losing my mother some days, and they dismissed my feelings, which made me feel like I was doing something wrong. But I eventually found others who could relate, and that's really what helped me move on.
As with all other types of grief, the key is finding a way to deal with it that works for you — that allows you to survive it and learn how to live with it. It never truly goes away, but coping instead of ignoring it or feeling ashamed about it will make it less overwhelming.
