Icon from a picrew by grgikau. Call me Tir or Julian. 37. He/They. Queer. Twitter: @tirlaeyn. ao3: tirlaeyn. 18+ Only. Star Trek. Sandman. IwtV. OMFD. Definitionless in this Strict Atmosphere.
Another reason I love Tolkien is what he does with character death
When characters die (or are perceived as having died) the others characters grieve their loss
When Gandalf falls in Moria once the rest of the fellowship is safe in Lothlorien they take time to mourn and grieve and remember
When Boromir dies Aragon, Gimli, and Legolas stop to give him as good a funeral as they can before going after Pippin and Merry and even that’s not the end of his effect on the narrative.
Denethor allows his grief to destroy him (and nearly allows it to kill his other son) Faramir fights with his grief and his guilt for not going to Rivendell instead
And Frodo, who was betrayed by Boromir, is heart broken to hear of his death
The story of the Eo family is one of a family touched deeply by grief and that’s why Eowyn and Faramir bonding in the houses of healing is so important
Because they do heal, by sharing their individual grief and carrying that combined pain between them
Because when death happens in LOTR it is always with intent, with purpose, and it allows for mourning. And while grief can be destructive mostly it’s not, because it’s shared.
(and I know there are a lot more examples these are just the first that came to mind)
Too many times I have read fantasy novels that don’t let characters support each other when a character dies. And often if a character dies it’s sad in the moment and then the narrative just stops caring
Tolkien’s work is a story about grief and healing from it. People are changed by grief but it doesn’t have to be a bad thing, it’s just something that happens and that love and mutual support can carry you through
“I will not say, do not weep, for not all tears are an evil.”
Ds9 really said, twice, one metaphorical and one literal, that grief ties you to a specific place and time and disrupts the usual linear pattern of the universe. And that when you are grieving you are revolving your life around that one specific spot, and it is so very difficult to escape but you can make a life for yourself despite it. And it makes me fucking cry every time
Clementine Von Radics, from In A Dream You Saw A Way To Survive; “You are on the floor crying”
[Text ID: “And you have been / on the floor crying / for days. / And that is you / being brave. / That is you getting through it / as best you know how. / No one else can decide / What your tough looks like.”]
I want to say this bc it does not get said enough: most grief you experience in your life will have NOTHING to do with death.
This is not talked about enough and as a result ppl struggle to process grief bc the world is telling them that grief is something else.
Grief is about loss, and IF you’d like to define it as a loss of life it is not restricted to loss of life via death. Even then I’d implore you to not view grief as about death or life but again, just loss.
Grief is also about having a shitty childhood that nothing can fix even if you have healed from it as an adult; your childhood was shitty and there’s nothing retroactively you can do about it. You grieve the loss of thriving your past self was denied.
Grief is about friendships that ended abruptly, confusingly and again, there’s nothing you can do to change that. You just have to sit with it. This is the only way grief can ultimately be processed and all it wants by the way: to be accepted and sat with. That’s it.
Grief is about opportunities that have passed, experiences you can’t have because of the way situations have ended up, and having to accept that while you do have your whole future ahead of you, there were some things you wanted to be a certain way then and they weren’t, aren’t and will never be.
Grief is being estranged from your family and missing family closeness even though you do not want to be closer to your parents, because you’re grieving the fact that there is a healthy part of human life you will not experience through them.
Grief can be the job you lost, the plans that fell through, the events that spiraled out of your control
If grief is strictly about life and death, understand that it includes grieving the life you never had and the death of who you used to be, too.
But moreover, grief is about loss.
—–
If my writing helps you consider > donating here,< as FOSTA/SESTA has taken most of my income and I need support as I finish school so I can establish my work.
my dreams, my works, must wait til after hell by Gwendolyn Brooks
I hold my honey and I store my bread In little jars and cabinets of my will. I label clearly, and each latch and lid I bid, Be firm til I return from hell. I am very hungry. I am incomplete. And none can tell when I may dine again. No man can give me any word but Wait, The puny light. I keep eyes pointed in; Hoping that, when the devil days of my hurt Drag out to their last dregs and I resume On such legs as are left me, in such heart As I can manage, remember to go home, My taste will not have turned insensitive To honey and bread old purity could love.
This is the big, scary truth about trauma: there is no such thing as
“getting over it.” The five stages of grief model marks universal stages
in learning to accept loss, but the reality is in fact much bigger: a
major life disruption leaves a new normal in its wake. There is no “back
to the old me.” You are different now, full stop.
This is not a wholly negative thing. Healing from trauma can also
mean finding new strength and joy. The goal of healing is not a
papering-over of changes in an effort to preserve or present things as
normal. It is to acknowledge and wear your new life — warts, wisdom, and
all — with courage.
2. Presence is always better than distance.
There is a curious illusion that in times of crisis people “need
space.” I don’t know where this assumption originated, but in my
experience it is almost always false. Trauma is a disfiguring, lonely
time even when surrounded in love; to suffer through trauma alone is
unbearable. Do not assume others are reaching out, showing up, or
covering all the bases.
It is a much lighter burden to say, “Thanks for your love, but please
go away,” than to say, “I was hurting and no one cared for me.” If
someone says they need space, respect that. Otherwise, err on the side
of presence.
3. Healing is seasonal, not linear.
It is true that healing happens with time. But in the recovery
wilderness, emotional healing looks less like a line and more like a
wobbly figure-8. It’s perfectly common to get stuck in one stage for
months, only to jump to another end entirely … only to find yourself
back in the same old mud again next year.
Recovery lasts a long, long time. Expect seasons.
4. Surviving trauma takes “firefighters” and “builders.” Very few people are both.
This is a tough one. In times of crisis, we want our family, partner,
or dearest friends to be everything for us. But surviving trauma
requires at least two types of people: the crisis team — those friends
who can drop everything and jump into the fray by your side, and the
reconstruction crew — those whose calm, steady care will help nudge you
out the door into regaining your footing in the world. In my experience,
it is extremely rare for any individual to be both a firefighter and a
builder. This is one reason why trauma is a lonely experience. Even if
you share suffering with others, no one else will be able to fully walk
the road with you the whole way.
A hard lesson of trauma is learning to forgive and love your partner,
best friend, or family even when they fail at one of these roles.
Conversely, one of the deepest joys is finding both kinds of companions
beside you on the journey.
5. Grieving is social, and so is healing.
For as private a pain as trauma is, for all the healing that time and
self-work will bring, we are wired for contact. Just as relationships
can hurt us most deeply, it is only through relationship that we can be
most fully healed.
It’s not easy to know what this looks like — can I trust casual
acquaintances with my hurt? If my family is the source of trauma, can
they also be the source of healing? How long until this friend walks
away? Does communal prayer help or trivialize?
Seeking out shelter in one another requires tremendous courage, but
it is a matter of life or paralysis. One way to start is to practice
giving shelter to others.
6. Do not offer platitudes or comparisons. Do not, do not, do not.
“I’m so sorry you lost your son, we lost our dog last year … ” “At
least it’s not as bad as … ” “You’ll be stronger when this is over.”
“God works in all things for good!”
When a loved one is suffering, we want to comfort them. We offer
assurances like the ones above when we don’t know what else to say. But
from the inside, these often sting as clueless, careless, or just plain
false.
Trauma is terrible. What we need in the aftermath is a friend who can
swallow her own discomfort and fear, sit beside us, and just let it be
terrible for a while.
7. Allow those suffering to tell their own stories.
Of course, someone who has suffered trauma may say, “This made me
stronger,” or “I’m lucky it’s only (x) and not (z).” That is their
prerogative. There is an enormous gulf between having someone else
thrust his unsolicited or misapplied silver linings onto you, and
discovering hope for one’s self. The story may ultimately sound very
much like “God works in all things for good,” but there will be a galaxy
of disfigurement and longing and disorientation in that confession.
Give the person struggling through trauma the dignity of discovering and
owning for himself where, and if, hope endures.
8. Love shows up in unexpected ways.
This is a mystifying pattern after trauma, particularly for those in
broad community: some near-strangers reach out, some close friends
fumble to express care. It’s natural for us to weight expressions of
love differently: a Hallmark card, while unsatisfying if received from a
dear friend, can be deeply touching coming from an old acquaintance.
Ultimately every gesture of love, regardless of the sender, becomes a
step along the way to healing. If there are beatitudes for trauma, I’d
say the first is, “Blessed are those who give love to anyone in times of
hurt, regardless of how recently they’ve talked or awkwardly
reconnected or visited cross-country or ignored each other on the
metro.” It may not look like what you’d request or expect, but there
will be days when surprise love will be the sweetest.
9. Whatever doesn’t kill you …
In 2011, after a publically humiliating year, comedian Conan O’Brien gave students at Dartmouth College the following warning:
“Nietzsche famously said, ‘Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you
stronger.’ … What he failed to stress is that it almost kills you.”
Odd things show up after a serious loss and creep into every corner of
life: insatiable anxiety in places that used to bring you joy,
detachment or frustration towards your closest companions, a deep
distrust of love or presence or vulnerability.
There will be days when you feel like a quivering, cowardly shell of
yourself, when despair yawns as a terrible chasm, when fear paralyzes
any chance for pleasure. This is just a fight that has to be won, over
and over and over again.
10. … Doesn’t kill you.
Living through trauma may teach you resilience. It may help sustain
you and others in times of crisis down the road. It may prompt humility.
It may make for deeper seasons of joy. It may even make you stronger.
It also may not.
In the end, the hope of life after trauma is simply that you have
life after trauma. The days, in their weird and varied richness, go on.
So will you.
i can’t even begin to imagine what’s like losing your mother and grandmother, your sister and mother within 48 hours… i’ll keep billie and todd fisher on my thoughts tonight. this is truly heartbreaking.
My grandmother died today. It wasn’t sudden. She’s been getting frailer and frailer for years. Saturday, my uncle called to tell me that my grandma was in the hospital probably for the last time. My husband offered to drive me the three hours south to see her for the last time. I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to see her like that, all wasted away and suffering connected to machines. That shit can stay in the movies. I want to remember her as a strong vibrant person who bristled at any physical restriction. A woman who still made every meal from scratch from ‘recipes’ which lived only in her head. She made the best cabbage rolls and pasties and this ham and potato casserole that I just loved. She could make soup from nothing. I swear. And it was always delicious.
She was a great artist too. She could whip out a painting of a great lakes freighter steaming through Lake Huron right before your eyes. And she would paint anything that stayed still long enough: driftwood, rocks, my grandpa’s wood carvings. She even had a little shop for quite a number of years, and sold plenty of art. I like the idea that little parts of her live in houses all over the country.
She loved reading and writing. She read murder mysteries, and wrote sermons, sunday school lessons, and Christmas newspaper articles to remind everyone of the ‘reason for the season’. She sure loved god. She would always make me promise to ‘talk to god’, and it got harder and harder to lie to her. I hated that part. Because I just couldn’t tell her that I didn’t believe. You know? I mean, she would have been so hurt, and worried about me. I never wanted to lie, but I couldn’t tell the truth. Of course she wouldn’t let up about it. It would have gone against everything she believed in. I guess I don’t have to lie to her anymore.
I lived with my grandparents for all four years of high school from August 1999 until August 2003 when I went away to college. I only returned a few times after that. It’s quite a drive up there, and I guess I always thought I’d have a chance. My grandpa died in 2010. After that, the house fell into disrepair. My grandma just couldn’t keep it up, even with my uncle’s help. Finally, my grandma moved down to Indiana to be near her daughter. The house was so bad, that it had to be torn down. It’s so sad because I would have loved to take my son up there, but the land is being sold. I don’t blame my grandmother for selling it. She didn’t need it anymore and the taxes were horrendous. But it’s sad. It’s like my whole life in high school is gone.
Death is such a strange thing. One moment someone is taking up space, occupying a niche that only they can, and the next they’re just gone. No one will ever be able to say the things she would have said or do what she would have done. She’s been living all this long time and now she’s just gone. I hate how final it is. It just seems wrong. A person shouldn’t be able to end. People should be infinite.
