Grief Bursts

Our senses are remarkably wonderful, and immensely powerful. It is fascinating how a sensory experience can liven parts of our brain making distinct connections to past experiences. Anytime I smell a specific scent of Herbal Essence Shampoo I am transported back to being a 21-year-old youth leader from Idaho leading a mission trip in New York City. (That is a story for another day). The taste of tapioca pudding takes me back to childhood family gatherings on my dad’s side of the family… my grandma made the best tapioca pudding. The coolness of the air in between damp, clean sheets drying on the clothesline carries me to the hot, dry summers of my childhood on the farm. Our senses are powerful.

Encounters with past happenings are a normal part of life and a normal part of grief. After a loss, such meetings of memory can bring about grief bursts. These are unexpected moments, seemingly emerging from out of nowhere, carrying strong grief emotions. Grief bursts can happen anywhere… the grocery store, the car, the bathroom, the park, church, you name it. Because our lives are filled with sensory experiences, these grief bursts that are activated by our senses can happen at any time and in any place. In our culture, grief bursts often feel uncomfortable. America is a grief avoidant culture where grief almost always feels awkward, like it should be avoided. We often apologize for such expressions of grief, like they are shameful. In fact, they are not.

Grief bursts have purpose. In an earlier post, I mentioned the difference between grief and mourning. Grief is all the internal emotions and thoughts we carry and experience. Mourning is the outward expression of those thoughts and emotions. Grief bursts present an unplanned opportunity to engage in mourning and process grief emotions we carry. Grief has a way of making itself known in unexpected ways, giving us opportunity to mourn. We can plan mourning opportunities as well. Both are OK.

One of my biggest grief bursts came on an early spring day. I was driving down the road and rolled down my window. It was a good day to have the windows down. The sunshine warmed my face as the cool breeze simultaneously cooled it. I was instantaneously back on my deck, just days before Aaron died. I felt myself standing next to my husband sitting on the seat of his walker, as he soaked in the elements of warm sun and cool breeze for what would be the last time. He looked at me with a tear trickling down his face and said, “Time is short.” I replied through my tears, “I know.” He died just days later.

Feeling the sensation of sunshine warmth and coolness of the breeze activated that memory and I was overcome. I mourned that moment in that moment. I still am sometimes activated by this sensation, now it is a softer response. These bursts hit hard at first and soften as we gift ourselves the opportunity to mourn. The hard work of mourning is the conduit for integrating grief into continued living. Yes, it is hard… and it is needed.