‘Brieving’: for when you can’t seem to find the time to grieve

I find it hard to connect with this emotion we call “grief”; the label we have chosen for the feeling we get when we lose somebody we love. We grieve, apparently. But the word means little to me personally. It’s not something I can easily identify with, even though I know I somehow fall into that bracket. I lost my mother seven years ago this summer and yet I’m not convinced I ever actually grieved.

For me the word invokes over-the-top images of Kleenex and black veils. Of wailing women in the west of Ireland rocking backwards and forwards over a coffin long ago. Or Third World mothers far away, doubled over with pain, lamenting the loss of a child. That, to me, is grief. It’s such a heavy-sounding, dramatic word. It is never one I would use in relation to myself.

To acknowledge that I may be grieving would sound borderline ridiculous to me. It would feel like I was somehow allowing myself ideas above my station.

Grieving is what widows do when they have lost the partner of a lifetime. Not what 37 year olds with young kids who just happen to have lost a parent (or two) do. We just get on with it. Imagine if I were to ring in sick and say, “Sorry, I can’t come to work today. I’m grieving.” They’d think I’d gone loop the loop.

But I do still feel something in relation to the death of my mum. And I’m not sure what I’m supposed to call it. Or do with it, for that matter. I can’t pretend it didn’t happen. I can’t pretend she didn’t die. But equally I can’t afford to go into mourning for however long it would take to heal the wound her disappearance has left.

So I have invented a new word for myself to summarise all that I can manage at present.

It’s called “brieving”. It’s like grieving, only it takes less time. Brief (but regular doses of) grieving. It is less final, and won’t guarantee your future mental health is wiped clean of all the baggage a death inevitably entails. But it’s definitely better than nothing.

I’m not exactly sure yet what “brieving” entails. I just know that there’s a definite need out there for it. It’s a bit like the healthy middle ground between complete avoidance and out-and-out wallowing. For fear that I would allow myself stray into the latter territory, I personally tend towards the former, which I think is what most people do.

It’s like an inbuilt, survival mechanism to stop you going under. But, unfortunately, complete avoidance, although the norm, doesn’t do us much good in the long run. “Delayed grief”, or whatever other fancy term you wish to put upon it, has a habit of jumping up and biting you when you least expect it; generally at the worst possible time.

Befriending grief

So, how do you “brieve”? How do you grieve in solid, manageable, bite-sized chunks that don’t risk choking you altogether? How do you befriend grief, instead of burying it?

1 Think of the person little, and often. Sometimes happy. Sometimes sad. Sometimes with a lump in your throat. Sometimes not. But it's always worthwhile to let them live on in your head, if only for a minute or two.

2 Don't feel awkward, guilty, weak or ridiculous mentioning their name. Remember when you feel that, it's generally other people's reactions that make you feel like that. And that's not your fault. They died. They didn't cease to ever exist.

3 Buy yourself a present on their birthday and on their anniversary because it's you who's missing out. Oh, and make it a big one.

4 Try, occasionally, to visualise a picture of them in your head. If they are always available to you in your head, you'll never be truly alone.

5 And don't get freaked out if you can't manage tip number 4. Most of the time I can't. I just draw a blank. But the odd time I can manage it, it always makes me smile, albeit bitter-sweetly.

6 Keep a "them" box. Small, but significant, containing something that smells of them. A photo. Something handwritten of theirs (there is something indelible about seeing their script that always takes you back). And maybe something you used to watch together, if that's relevant. I have a Fawlty Towers DVD that reminds me of curling up on the couch together circa 1985 in a safe and happy place.

Allow yourself into the box every once in a while. Not a licence to wallow. But a short spell of good old-fashioned nostalgia. Have a good blub. Or not. And then move on to mundane matters such as washing spuds.

Resist the urge to dispense with their belongings with ruthless efficiency after their death. Allow yourself the possibility of sentimentality in the future, even if you can’t cope with it at the time. I couldn’t go near the box for years after she died without feeling nauseous. Now, years later, I often wish I’d kept more.

7 Wear a piece of their jewellery when you're facing a tough day. I've two sets of earrings which, thank the Lord, I haven't yet managed to lose. When I'm unsettled by something or someone, I pop them on and, hey presto, I have this juvenile sense that she's there, almost holding my hand.

8 If you have children, talk to them about the person you've lost. Not obsessively so, but regularly. So they remain a part of your family as it grows and moves on without them. So you don't feel they have been entirely left behind. I even briefly considered creating a small "Granny Mary Corner" where I'd put a photo of my mum surrounded by photos of all the kiddy milestones she has missed. But I thought better of it.

9 Resist the urge to compare yourself to others in a "similar" boat, who appear to have passed Go a multitude of times, while you seem perpetually stranded at Busáras. People handle the death of someone close in different ways. And some never really handle it at all. It doesn't mean the hurt's not in there somewhere.

10Forget about timelines. Whether it is two days, two years or two decades since they died, you'll always be allowed to miss them. The outside world just won't notice or care to listen as much as time moves on. Yesterday's news, and all that. Harsh but true.

So you need to look out for yourself. And “brieve”. Or, better still, grieve, if you can ever manage to find the time to do it.