The Day Everything Changed: My First 24 Hours After Loss

"Please respect our space as we begin to grieve."

Those were the words I read on social media to find out my immediate family member had passed away. Within seconds, my whirlwind of grief emotions flooded my body. The first few minutes were filled with shock - I knew he was sick, but I heard he was getting better. While I knew that death was still a very real outcome that could come, I had hope and belief that he was, and would, get better. Those words on a social media post took the wind straight out of my sails, crumbling every ounce of reality I knew. Everything changed.

I was working when I read the news, throwing my head into a spiral of questions - what's next, where to go, how to be. I arrived at the hospital in the middle of the night for my final goodbyes, conversations and sitting around cold, generic hospital conference room tables. This wasn't a time for my to even begin processing, but rather just keep pushing through. I didn't have time to think "I've been up for 28+ hours, I just want to sleep." This was my time to show up for family, to say my final goodbyes, to keep myself together until it was time to fall apart.

Arriving home after 5:00am, I crawled into bed, fully exhausted like I'd never felt before. The quiet, dark room spun around me, as the thoughts jolted the sleep away from me every time it got close. Drifting closer and closer to sleep was merely a taunting game - with those social media announcements words flashing through my mind and running before my eyes every time I was falling asleep. In a time I was the most ready for sleep, my body and brain were not.

I pulled myself together, commuting an hour to work for a staff meeting, forcing myself into as much of my normal routine as I could. I couldn't remember the last time I ate, the last time I slept more than an hour or two, the last time I took a sip of water. Why? Because none of it seemed to matter. Nothing mattered, other than my best friend, my favorite person, would never walk on the same earth with me again. Everything changed.

As I drove my hour long commute home, the radio filled the air around me, but never hit my ears. The constant thoughts of overwhelming grief, loss, emptiness, numbness flooded my mind, leaving no room for anything else.

The seconds ticked by, minute by minute, the fog and darkness of grief making itself at home in my new reality. I choked down a few bites of dinner, eat bite harder and harder to swallow as I sat in my new shock of reality. Everything changed.

The only solace I found was in the reality that these are surely the worst days of my life. The heavy, crushing weight in my chest, the dry, lump in my throat, the stingy eyes with no tears left to cry - it was surely the worst it can ever get. Day by day, I knew I would be closer to healing, closer to seeing my favorite person again. Minute by minute, I was getting closer to bedtime, the only true time I felt safe from my thoughts and grief journey.

As I dragged myself to bed that night, I was blanketed by the overwhelming thoughts that flooded my mind, grief filling the room like a thick fog that refused to lift. So, I sat in it. I didn't have any other choice. If you are experiencing your first introduction to grief, sit tight. There will be better days, with silver linings to these dark, dark clouds. One day you see the light of hope. As you encounter this journey, know that your loved one, and your grief, are not forgotten.

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