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I certainly did, especially after my fathers health began to decline last summer.
Marie Bertrand/Getty Images
I was left shaking and sputtering, casting about foranythingto hold onto to find my footing again.
The worse the tragedy the author experienced, the more I was drawn to their story.
Theres, alas, no one-size-fits-all model.
There are about as many ways to grieve as there are ways to lose loved ones.
I had to get creative with my coping strategies.
I had sessions with a traditional therapist, a shaman, and a witch who focused on flower-essence therapies.
Every time I sat down to work on my next novel, I was frozen and anxious.
Thats when I turned tohypnosis, which was surprisingly helpful.
Shed record our conversations and I would listen to them every night as I went to sleep.
Death helped me see that our loved ones are never gone.
The week I settled into my first new place after she passed, I spotted two ladybugs.
My mom loved cardinals.
Naysayers will argue these are all coincidences.
I choose to live in a world where no one ever truly leaves us.
So I move forward happily anticipating when and how my mom will say hello next.
I had to accept that grief is complicatedand so was my dad.
Realizing hed kept this from me opened an entirely new chasm of grief.
The reality is that my dad was not easy to grow up with; his death doesnt change that.
But there is so much I miss about him too.
Theres a comfort in understanding theres no contradiction in that.
Marsea N.
Losing a parent helped me find myself.
Im the youngest daughter of a Black man born in 1940s America.
And then my father died within six weeks of my learning of hiscancer diagnosis.
It stayed in my drafts folder for another three years.
It took that long to release the expectations my parents implicitly and overtly communicated.
As a daddys girl, without my father walking the earth, it all began to seem pointless.
Ironically, by letting it all go, I gained…everything.
And I now know I didnt let it all go.
I kept the memories, my fathers unwavering support, and, most of all, his love.
Im still a daddys girlbut now Im also my own woman.
Shaunna E.
Hearing stories about my father has kept him alive.
I believe he held on until he felt like I was truly settled.
All of them had a funny anecdote about my dad that I never would have heard.
Jo P.
The hole is always there, but I got better at climbing out.
I put sad in a box and most days that worked for me.
But missing someone is much harder to compartmentalize.
You wake up and remember your loved one is gone, and you tumble right into the hole.
Then the next day you do it again, and again, and again.
Over time, you learn to crawl out faster or to sidestep it altogether.
But the hole never goes away.
And some days, no matter how much time has passed, you will still fall in.
I found peace between serves.
When I found out that my dad died suddenly, I was just coming home from a tennis match.
For me, the strongest feature of grief was this sort of paralysis.
I discovered new and profound peace in the seconds between serving the ball and my opponents return.
Theres also the camaraderie.
Its a key ingredient in both the sport and managing loss.
She has been an invaluable source of support, wisdom, and empathy.
She also happens to be my tennis partner.
We both look for our loved ones everywherein our dreams, in signs, and on the court.
And then it dropped into our opponents service box, winning us the point.
I turned around to see my friend smiling as she mouthed, Thanks, Mom.
Clare Ansel
I took pride in my grief.
It was important for me to recognize how my grief was going to show up when my mom died.
Was I going to cry?
(I did.)
Was I going to wallow?
(I did not.)
Was I going to be paralyzed into inaction?
I gave myself permission to experiencewhatever emotion bubbled up: Sadness that she was gone.
Sorrow that I wish wed been closer at the end.
Relief that she was no longer suffering.
That was a big one.
All of this was healing in a way I didnt expect.
Ive held onto that feeling and it has sustained me in her absence.
I had to believe I would come out of it.
My former therapist was perplexed when I didnt call her after my mother died.
I realized therapy was the obvious choice, but I also knew my healing would require more.
prayer), workouts, and weeping.
I also saw an energy healer named Terry.
I ate my fair share of ice cream.
Above all else, I waskind to myselfand took it all slowly.
And, seven years later, that proved to be true.
There will always be a stream of sorrow flowing under my feet.
There will be times when my toes dip in, and Im taken back to relive the pain.
Holly C.
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