The first year I was totally numb from the shock of what happened.  The second year I found much more painful, much more ‘real’ as the shock softened.  Then, the magic of disbelief set in. You will be told that time will soften your grief and that with time you will be able to accept things and learn to live with your new normal.  Broken but put back together in some emotional way to be a different person who is still capable of living life to its fullest.  And although I do believe there is truth to this, I find that this advice makes us hurry, makes us judge how well we are healing.  It makes us feel guilty that we are not moving fast enough.  And it brings on feelings of fear; we don’t want to move away from our loved ones. It brings on guilt, how can I be happy without my loved one? It brings on a new pain, realizing the eternal impact that this death has in our life.

This is why disbelief feels therapeutic. When our hearts cannot face the reality for one more second, disbelief can set in to comfort us.  How many have said, “I am waiting for him to come home” or “I believe I will see her on some busy street. “ Our brain knows better. But our heart beats with this incredibly strong hope that this is not the plan for us.  At one time, our heart believed in Santa and the Easter Bunny.  Our heart believes in love, in a higher power.  Our hearts believe in what we cannot see or explain so why can’t my heart believe that my loved one is not truly gone from this life?

Disbelief lives within our hearts as a sort of morphine that flows through us when the memory becomes unbearable. We use it to keep from screaming out in pain.  We use it to feel only what we can bear to feel for that moment. Disbelief can support our grief by reminding us that we don’t have to fully accept our grief today.  We can take our time.  We can go at a pace that is slow.

It is obvious that disbelief does not change how things are.  Because we live with BIG grief, we can learn to use our emotions as tools to help us cope and disbelief works a bit like Advil. It can bring temporary relief.  And like any other ‘medication’, it should not be overused.  Disbelief is a coping tool, not a solution.

I use disbelief on days that I am exhausted or that my grief has crippled me and taken my strength away.  I say out loud, “he’ll be back”.  Or I look into the mirror and whisper, “don’t go there today…”  And then I plod on, numbed by the disbelief that I am living the unimaginable and with that, I get through another day.