The identity of grief
Over the last decade, as I’ve started to unpack my grief and the trauma of loss, I’ve realized that grief has been such a big part of my identity. I’m the “one who lost their dad in high school”, or “the one who had a mom with chronic MS.” Aside from the loss and struggles, who am I?
Grief has been my identity for as long as I can remember. I have only known caring for other people, starting from my grandparents when I was young. My mom played a big caretaker role in her parents’ lives and by extension, so did I. I learned to be attuned to their needs and showing up for them. Of course, their needs progressed and changed as they got older. Doctor appointments became more frequent as did stopping by their house to check in. Chores changed from mowing their lawn to getting them groceries and medications. My senior year, my other grandma had a quick and agressive cancer experience. I remember when she went to the hospital the first night, I stayed with her so she wasn’t alone. I just learned to go into “do” mode and show up for others in those really shitty moments. I can’t really explain it.
With my dad, it was more intensive. There were a few months when he first got sick in 2002 that we spent living in a hotel close to the hospital. When he finally got out of ICU and was able to come home, it looked very different. He was unable to move around as he did, he needed help with eating, and he needed dialysis three times each week. Over time, he gained some of his mobility back and was eventually able to drive and do some things on his own. Not only was it my own identity of caretaking, but to others at school or on my basketball team, I was “the kid with the sick dad”.
When my dad died in 2005, my mom’s health, both physical and mental, suffered. Understandably, she was so sad after losing my dad. Her leg drop from her MS turned into needing a cane, then crutches. Before I knew it she was applying for disability assistance because she could no longer work. When I left for college, I had enormous guilt for leaving her. My freshmen year, I literally called her every day to check in on her and say hi. I had this identity at home where everyone knew my dad died and my mom was sick, but people at college had no idea. On one hand I was able to step away from that identity, but on the other hand it made it so hard to relate to people.
Each time, with these different health situations, you treat it as if something is on fire. You drop the other things you are doing and you tend to the fire. It makes the rest of life a little, well, blury. It was my identity—the caretaking, the slow, painful grief of watching life wither away. In many ways, it’s all I’ve ever known. It has made me a more empathetic, intuitive person. It’s made me know what questions to ask at the doctor’s office. It’s made me angry. It’s made me really fucking tired.
One of the biggest shifts I’ve felt since losing my mom in January is just that—this identity change. Am I still a daughter? Am I still a caretaker? What do I do without the list of things for my mom? What do I do without the impending, in-your-face loss? Of course, loss is all around us and isn’t just with people. But for the better part of my life, it has been people and it has been loud, long, and painful. Without it, what? Is this what “normal” looks like?
I feel this conflict now between the death of my dad and the death of my mom. With my dad, I had gotten to a place where I could almost, well, somewhat appreciate what losing him had done to me. Again, it made me softer, more empathetic, more emotional. With my mom, it’s way too hard to even imagine feeling like that. Ever. I want her here. I miss her. But, I also know that her body was ready to move on, so there is a part of wanting her here that is more for me than it is for her. Some days, I feel my identity is moody-bitch-lacking-joy-needs-another-nap-still-pissed-the-world-wants-me-to-move-on.
I know this question of “who am I apart from my grief” will take time to navigate. Thank goodness for medication and therapy (shout out to my therapist). I’m curious if others out there have contemplated their identity with grief, around grief, or outside of grief. I’d love to hear from you.
