Those Complicated Moments Called Grief
Take a look at this list:
A short, petite woman walks in my neighborhood, carrying small weights and wearing a colorful hat that matches her socks and a crossbody bag.
I drive past a furniture store on Route 19.
I catch a whiff of the scent of fresh-cut grass.
At a cocktail party, I see a man is wearing a colorful Robert Graham shirt with the cuffs turned back.
Tommy, my son, carefully places a Sudoku book on the shelf.
While doing laundry, I discover that I am completely out of laundry detergent.
Chicago’s rendition of “I Love You More Today Than Yesterday” pops up on my music playlist.
A family photo pops up as a “memory” on my Facebook newsfeed.
What do all of these events have in common? Each of them caused me --- a mature, somewhat sane and (usually) very responsible adult --- to break into tears.
As my friend Holly’s mother would say, “Well, bless your ass.”
How can these commonplace, seemingly innocent, very mundane experiences make me want to run to my room, curl up in a ball, and cry myself to sleep?
Each of the events listed above are connected to a memory of my husband Tim, who died in 2018. They’re just some of my grief triggers.
What are grief triggers?
To define them, I’m reminded of when I taught fourth grade, and I helped my students identify English parts of speech--- nouns, verbs, prepositions, and the like. Nouns were easy because they’re everywhere. The definition --- “a noun is a person, place, or thing” --- was easy to remember and the kids could simply look around the classroom and identify dozens of nouns.
Well, a grief trigger is like a noun. It’s a person, place, or thing. It can be anywhere, anything, anyone, any smell, any sight, any sound, or any sensation. And, like nouns, grief triggers are all over the place. But unlike most ordinary nouns, grief triggers cause sadness, anxiety, or, in my case, nonsensical hysteria.
And just when you think you’ve identified them all, another one pops out at you. Journalist Carol Smith, in Psychology Today, describes grief triggers as “… sneaker waves that slam you when your back is turned. There is seldom any warning” (2021, ¶ 6).
So how did a woman who walks in my neighborhood become a grief trigger for me?
Let me give you the backstory.
For years, I have taken a daily walk in my neighborhood. Sometimes I wear a colorful hat. Occasionally I carry small weights. But never have I worn colorful socks that match a hat. And, while my purse is a crossbody bag, I don’t ever carry it while taking a walk.
One Saturday afternoon, Tim and I were driving home from running errands, and we saw this woman walking through the neighborhood.
“That woman looks just like you when you take your walks,” Tim said.
I disagreed. While this woman was wearing a very cute hat and socks, and her crossbody bag was just fine, and I didn’t object to what she chooses to wear, her outfit was nothing like mine when I walk. I’ve NEVER worn socks that match my hat, nor have I ever worn a crossbody purse as I walk the neighborhood.
And Tim countered with “But your clothes always match! Matching clothes are important to you! And you do wear your purses across your body like that!”
“But not when I walk!” I replied.
This lovely little lady, who looks nothing like me, reminded my husband of me simply because her hat matched her socks and she wore a crossbody bag.
And it became a joke between us. Whenever we’d see her walking, Tim would say, “There’s your walking twin!”
Recently, I was driving home from grocery shopping and saw the same woman happily walking along, dressed as she usually is. The sight of her stunned me. I could barely see because of the tears that stung my eyes. Suddenly, I was cruelly reminded me that I no longer have my husband to joke around with. No one to tease me about wearing colorful hats and socks, matching clothes, or crossbody bags. I sobbed hysterically all the way home. I ran into my empty house, flung myself on the couch, pulled a blanket over me and wailed.
That’s what grief triggers do. Just when you think everything is ok, and life is good again, something that appears to be quite ordinary to the rest of the world happens. And BOOM, there goes your composure, your feel-good attitude, and your positive outlook on life. Grief triggers can make you want to crawl into a fetal position and turn out the lights.
And the crazy thing is, even funny things become grief triggers. The little lady whose eclectic attire as she walked our neighborhood and made my husband and me laugh together was now the reason I was curled up under a blanket, sobbing.
In fact, researchers who conducted a qualitative study to identify grief triggers tell us: “One could say then that humor should be expected to trigger grief whenever the deceased was known for having been humorous or for having enjoying humor. Furthermore, when past humorous activities that were enjoyed with the deceased person are recalled, one should expect grief to be triggered” (Wilson, et. al., 2022)
Oh, but grief triggers suck.
As people who are grieving someone we love, is it possible to avoid this pain? Should we ignore triggers? Tell everyone around us to make sure our environments are “trigger-free?” In fact, even the word “trigger” can be a trigger for some people, and some psychologists and grief therapists call these nasty things “grief activators” instead (Reilly, 2021).
I’m not going to lie. I think it would be really nice if people would rearrange this world and hide those grief triggers (or activators) so they don’t have to pop out of nowhere and traumatize me again.
But one of the most difficult things that people who are grieving must face is the fact that the world continues to revolve and people continue to live as they always did. In spite of the fact that my world stopped dead in its tracks, to expect people to keep my surroundings “trigger free” is unrealistic.
And actually, it might be somewhat selfish, and asking a little too much of people, including that dear little walking lady in the colorful hat and matching socks. When I’m driving by, and I see her on the sidewalk, I can’t pull over, roll down my window, and shout at her to quit walking in my neighborhood.
And then there are all those other grief triggers of mine.
Who am I to demand the furniture store on Route 19 to close its doors and move to a location I’ll never encounter, just so I don’t have to remember shopping there with Tim, looking for furniture for our new house?
How can I ask people to stop cutting their grass so I don’t smell it and remember my husband, who used to cut our grass every Friday afternoon with our sons? (They were not nearly as enthusiastic as he was about this endeavor.)
Wouldn’t it be unreasonable to ask the stranger at the cocktail party to please remove his shirt, since it looks so much like the one my husband used to wear?
Besides all that, the truth is, there will always be another grief trigger to replace those, such as a Sudoku book (Tim had dozens of them because he loved puzzles), the empty laundry detergent bottle (he did the laundry and bought dozens of Tide bottles on sale so he would never run out), or a Chicago song on Spotify. (Yes, Chicago was his favorite band from the 70s, and he loved that song so much that he sang it to our infant granddaughter.)
After almost forty years of marriage, there’s just so much material to work with --- so many opportunities for grief triggers. And all of those damn grief triggers could, if I let them, control my life.
So, it’s up to me. I must learn how to get through them, because the world is not going to rearrange itself for me.
Thankfully, I have figured out a few ways that have helped. Maybe they’ll help you, too:
Recognize what the trigger is. It’s just a moment. It might be painful for now, but it’s just one little moment that hurts, sort of like a paper cut.
Breathe through it. Take a deep breath. Inhale to the count of five, and exhale to the count of five.
Cry if you can --- for 15 minutes. Then put it away. A pity party doesn’t need to last longer than that.
Spend time outdoors. Water flowers. Sit in the sunshine. Go for a walk. (Maybe if I see the lady in the colorful hat, I can gather the courage to say hello!)
Prepare for triggers. If, for example, I’m feeling particularly vulnerable, there’s no need to make it worse by playing music that might make me sad. So, at those times, I choose happy songs that I like and have no association with my late husband.
Make a plan for special days. Anniversaries, birthdays, holidays, and special occasions could cause grief triggers. I usually plan to be somewhere that will cheer me up, but I also acknowledge the day with reflection, journaling, writing letters to my family.
Find something good to focus on. I like to look at my calendar and think of an upcoming event that cheers me, or I do something productive like pull weeds. (Or write a blog.)
And here’s the crazy thing: Sometimes it actually feels good to go back to grief triggers and relive them. If I can think about the memory associated with that trigger, the memory can make me smile. For example, when I see those photos that pop up on my phone, at first, I feel a sharp pain. But then I stick with the memory, and I think about the fun we had on that vacation, or the laugh we shared when raising our sons or the joy we shared when our granddaughter was born.
And that’s what helps to get through them --- knowing that in every grief trigger lies a potential smile.
References
Reilly, K. (2021). When birthdays, songs, other things spark grief long after a loved one’s death. Retrieved from https://www.washingtonpost.com/health/grief-triggers-activators/2021/10/01/e7d84560-164f-11ec-a5e5-ceecb895922f_story.html#:~:text=“What%20activates%20grief%20is%20the,the%20loss%2C”%20says%20M
Smith, C. (2021). Recognizing grief trigger warnings. Retrieved from https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/writing-between-the-lines/202110/recognizing-grief-trigger-warnings
Wilson, D. M., Knox, M., Banamwana, G., Brown, C. A., & Errasti-Ibarrondo, B. (2022). Humor: A grief trigger and also a way to manage or live with your grief. OMEGA - Journal of Death and Dying, 0(0). https://doi.org/10.1177/00302228221075276
