Embracing my grief triggers and joy triggers ... because they are the same

Grief is sneaky. Grief is rude. Just when I think I know my grief triggers, know how to watch for them, handle them — bam! — here’s a new one. Bam! Here’s one when you weren’t expecting it. Bam! Nah, you haven’t really mastered this…

I’ve learned that when one of my triggers is activated, I need to be kind to myself, give myself space for the grief to release and exhale. I know to take all the time I need. Sometimes I do this successfully and sometimes not, but usually I can course correct if needed. Usually.

I don’t avoid my triggers. I mean, I don’t run to embrace them but I don’t avoid them. Avoiding them only delays them and I’ll eventually have to be soaked by the waves of grief. 

I have a few triggers that are guaranteed to bring on the sad. The grave of My Favourite Husband (MFH) is one of them. Cemetery visits for anyone I love has always been hard. Visiting a grave brings back all elements of a death. In the case of MFH, it brings back the phone call, sitting with his body in the ER and the funeral preparations. It momentarily negates all my years of happy memories and focuses only on the beginning of the end of our chapter. Because it does not bring my heart comfort and because I know his earthly remains are there but his spirit is not, I don’t visit his grave regularly. The crash from the visit is dark and heavy; the recovery time from the dark too long.

Another trigger is when I have to make major — and I do mean major — decisions. Things we would’ve decided together but now I  have to decide alone. Sometimes I ask him for help — just a sign I’m doing the right thing. The only time I’ve had a sign is the one time I was debating over the restoration of a car project he was working on. Everything else has been silence. The frustration over making the right decision, with the onus being solely on me, is a grief trigger as well. I will make the decision and then descend into sadness that I had to make it alone. I tend to recover more quickly from this trigger because making decisions are a necessary part of moving forward and tend to be practical with emotional elements attached. Some of them have felt like a Band-Aid has been ripped off — sharply, painfully. But once the initial sting of the decision has been made, I heal a lot more quickly.

The last major trigger is one that is more of a hit or miss: the memory reminders. Pictures of our vacations that are all around my home. Music that he loved that comes on the radio or in one of my playlists. Wearing one of his racing T-shirts (left) as a nightgown. All of these things are grief triggers — but they can also catapult me into a happy place. These are my toughest triggers to deal with, mostly because there are so many other things that can take these triggers and twist them into a mood I’m not prepared for. My recovery time from the sadness usually is quick because the same trigger that brought me sadness, because MFH isn’t here to reminisce with me, can bring me joy with happy moments that were captured in the photos and the artwork and the music. 

My grief triggers can also be triggers of joy; happiness by me connecting physically with something tangible that was MFH. I wear his wristwatch when I go out. I drive his pride and joy — an old, restored half-ton truck — in the summer. I curl up in a blanket that he used. I carry around a photo of him on my flight attendant lanyard. Because grief and love exist together, I believe sadness and happiness co-exist as well. So some of these triggers are a gentle, comforting way to connect with things he loved by me loving them. The joy I get from using the same things he did makes it easier for him to be a constant reminder of rich my life was with him in it.

As I continue to move forward in my journey, I’m grateful for everything that makes me feel all of my range of emotions because to feel is to live.

❤️