When Grief Is Relief
The Truth We're Afraid To Admit
When I was young, I thought grief was just sadness due to the death of a loved one or a pet. Now I know otherwise. You can grieve many things. Grief holds a multitude of emotions, including relief.
When I was in my 30s, the wife of a colleague of mine died after a four-year-long battle with cancer. Another co-worker remarked, “Oh, it must be such a relief for him! It’s finally over.” I blanched. How could she say that? It sounded heartless and cruel.
Over twenty years later, I understood exactly what she meant. The relief. I now get that while my colleague deeply loved his wife, he must have been relieved that her suffering was over, and he no longer had to perform the exhausting work of caregiving.
In 2023, my brother Mike died. His death was a complicated mercy. He lived a life narrowed by a severe traumatic brain injury that he suffered due to an auto accident at age 28.
For the next 38 years he was held hostage by the fact that he couldn’t walk, talk, or even perform simple tasks that many of us take for granted: hold a cup, open an envelope, or write with a pen. He was totally reliant on others for his basic needs.
His days were often defined by a crushing isolation and loneliness. When he died, I mourned him deeply, but I was also greatly relieved that his struggle was finally, permanently over. He was free from a body that didn’t work for him.
When my mom died, after more than five years of struggle with Lewy Body Dementia, I exhaled. My first thought was “Finally! It’s over,” uttering the same sentiment that I felt was so heartless two decades before. I was grateful she was free from the confusion of her own mind. I was also relieved to be done with the constant gnawing anxiety of visiting the nursing home (which was in a bad neighborhood) and of bracing myself for the phone call from my sister telling me that she had passed. The struggle – hers and ours – was finally over.
When my friend Paul (not his real name) died suddenly, I was shocked. He was young, so his death took everyone by surprise. Once the shock dissipated, a quiet thought came to me, “Good, now he can’t hurt me anymore.” Relationships are complicated, and this one was no different.
One day, without warning, he hurled an insult so sharp and personal that it didn’t just sting, it altered the DNA of our relationship. I never looked at him the same again. From that point forward, I was always waiting for the next strike.
While his death meant we could never repair the tear his insult created, it also meant he could never hurt me again. I was safe from further harm. There was a quiet relief in knowing he could no longer hurt me.
I once thought grief encompassed only sorrow. Now I know it can include relief. Relief that your loved one’s suffering has ended. And relief that your own suffering has ended. Both can be true at the same time.
Maybe you’ve felt it, too.
Also, not all endings break us.
Some, like the ending with my friend, release us.
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Grief is a complicated thing, you can be both sad and relived. You can be tired and excited for the future. Perspective and time changes.
Loss never eases, we just learn to carry it.
It's the perspective that changes after certain life events or experiences. Wisdom can come at any age.