You should get a cat.
You should move.
You shouldn't do anything drastic.
You should be strong.
You should wear colors, they look better on you.
You should stop wearing black
You should find god.
You should believe in the after life.
You should believe in magic.
You should believe he’s still here.
You should talk to him. He can hear you.
You should get any kind of job to distract yourself. Bookstore. Wait tables.
You should believe things you don't.
You should be happy.
You should live your life. Like you used to. Before.
You should move on.
You should date.
You should have sex. Just have a lot of sex. Get it out of your system.
You should go to a shrink.
You should take antidepressants.
You shouldn’t take antidepressants. Feel your feelings.
You should go to groups.
You should get help. Are you getting help?
You should go to therapy.
Are you getting help?
You should be happy. He would want you to be happy.
You should be happy for him.
You should do what he would want you to do.
You should be grateful.
You should travel.
You should get a change of scenery.
You should exercise.
You should walk every day.
You should meditate.
You should eat better.
You should take a class.
You should get a hobby.
You should take more walks. Long ones.
You should set aside a time to cry. Schedule it and keep it confined to that window of time.
You should put everything about him in a box, his clothes, his cologne, put it in the back of your closet. Never think about it.
You should burn everything.
You should erase his Facebook photos from your page.
You should forget.
You should never think about it or talk about it or mention it.
You shouldn't be sad anymore.
You should be the person I knew before.
You should. You should. You should.
They know what to do, they do! They tell you some stuff, most of it is pure trash. Some of it is useful, but not the right time to implement. Some things are perfectly reasonable, but because your world has turned sideways and scrambling an egg is about the most you can do right now, you will not be doing mindfulness apps today, or even leaving the house. Bathing is optional. So is brushing your hair.
Everyone thinks they’d do better under the circumstances. Of course they do. Because they’ve had people die in their life before (usually not a lover or spouse, but a friend whom they knew from high school who they were still close to, talked to them once or twice a month. Yes, it’s the same).
The first rule of grief group is Not to Give Advice. In this weird little world we are in, one that is part of the greater universe, but hidden from view, we all understand. The advice we get is corny, conflicting, confusing, maddening, well-intentioned.
We understand that people want to help. They really do. They just want to fix your pain. Because it pains them to see you in pain, and pain is uncomfortable for everyone to experience. But especially for them because they feel helpless.
But there is no fix for this sort of pain.
Just time. Even time doesn’t take it completely away. You’re always going to miss your person. You’ll miss texting them, miss laughing with them, miss cooking for them. You’re just going to miss them. And missing them is pain.
I’ve gotten so much advice. I’m grateful that people care enough to give advice, but sometimes it feels like when your parents see your new hairdo, the one you are insecure about because it’s so new and say, “You should really wear it straight,” what they are doing is criticizing you and telling you that you don’t look the way they want you to look. When people give advice to grieving people, what they are saying be the person I want you to be, not the one you are right now.
The most useful advice I’ve gotten is: don’t canonize. Remember the person for who they are, faults and all. The painful parts are as important as the great parts, because the person was a human and we are all a big, giant mess.
So I try to remember my boyfriend who died in a motorcycle accident as many different ways that I can. I try to remember him coming home after work to see me on Friday nights, so happy to see me, picking me up and spinning me around, relieved to be there, happy that the work week was over. I try to remember him when he was leaving on Monday morning, after having breakfast, me sitting at the computer, me standing up to give him a great big hug, and feeling sad that he was leaving, but knowing I’d hear from him just a few minutes later via text.
I try to remember him even when I was mad at him, because he was a complete person with flaws, and those flaws sometimes drove me crazy. I remember how he could be mean, and tell you he didn’t care about what you were talking about to end the discussion, how he could be intentionally hurtful, or passive aggressive.
I try to remember him in all the different ways: when he was mean, when he was kind, when he was sweet, when he was rude, when he was a jerk, when he was funny, when he was charming. When he was. Just when he was.