My eyes opened and were enveloped in what seemed to be total darkness. As I waited for them to adjust to the nighttime shadows, I desperately attempted to disentangle myself from the sheets. The luxurious fabric that I so enjoy had become something akin to a straight jacket. Each toss and turn had produced a new knot. Another restriction. An item of comfort had become a device of torture that had a stronghold on my body. Much like the vice-like grip of grief on my heart. I grumbled while forcing my arm through one of the looser knots and finally managed to get one arm free. It shot out in the general direction of my nightstand, and the palm of my hand met the smooth surface with a surprising slap. My fingers danced around like little spiders as they hunted for the familiar feel of my phone – a vehicle of connection in the lonely hours of the night. When they finally made contact, they tightened their grip, and brought the device toward my face. Instinctively, I squinted as bright light pierced the blackened environment. I sat for a moment as I pondered how to best distract myself. Social media? YouTube? A podcast? I settled on Google and began to type: “When will I feel better?”; “How long does grief last?”; “Will I ever feel like myself again?”
The practice of good sleep hygiene involves behaviors and choices that increase the likelihood of falling and staying asleep. Those that stimulate the mind and body are counterproductive to sleep. The blue light of technology falls squarely in that second group. I know that. I teach that. And yet, there I was seeking information from Google in the darkened room. I cringed knowing that I was doing the very thing I tell everyone else NOT to do. Unfortunately, we don’t always do what we know to be right. In the middle of the night, it felt better to seek connection – to seek comfort – than it did to be alone with such heavy emotion. As I considered the sheer numbers of articles, posts, and questions that were generated as I conducted my search, I knew I was not alone.
Grief is everywhere. It’s a natural consequence of loss. Everyone experiences it. The circumstances differ, and the magnitude varies, but the result is the same. We lose something meaningful – a loved one, a dream, a way of life – and we mourn that loss. We may be able to distract ourselves by focusing on other things. We may be able to repress the emotion – for a while. But there is really no way around it. Grief is tough. It’s uncomfortable. It’s painful. It’s messy. There is no quick fix, no single way to grieve, and no universal timeline. Even with Google.
I sighed heavily, lowered my arm, and decided to abort the quest. My eyes felt scratchy, dry, and fatigued. My mind, though weary, had not quieted. With the click of a button, the light vanished, and I was once again shrouded in darkness. I sluggishly reached for the nightstand, gently returned the phone to its previous place, and methodically adjusted the sheets. I rolled onto my back, breathed deeply, and closed my eyes. No matter how many times I asked the question or how the words were ordered, the answer remained the same. Every person is distinctive, every loss is unique, and the journey through grief takes as long as it takes.