7 Ways to Keep Grief From Consuming You After 50

Nobody really warns you about this part of getting older.

They warn us about menopause, wrinkles, gray hair, weight gain, belly fat, empty nests and our knees suddenly popping when we stand up. But nobody really sits you down at 50 and says, “Hey, just so you know, you’re probably going to start losing a lot of people you love.”

Because you do. And that sucks.

If we’re lucky enough to live a long life, loss eventually becomes part of it. Parents and grandparents reach the end of long lives. Friends get sick. People we’ve known forever suddenly aren’t here anymore. We say goodbye to beloved pets who have loved us unconditionally for years, and who we have loved right back.

Every one of those losses hurts like hell. Even when we know they’re coming and understand that death is an inevitable part of living, it still hurts.

But then there are the losses that aren’t supposed to happen, the ones you never saw coming. Someone is taken way too young.

A young woman. A child. Our grandson.

Our family has experienced a lot of loss over the past twenty years, but watching our precious young grandson go through two years of hell before God finally called him home…well, that’s a different kind of grief.

You can’t make sense of it. It just fucking sucks.

I have faith. I believe in God. I believe there is more after this life, and I believe I will see the people I love again. I can believe every single one of those things and still say, I don’t understand.

I don’t understand why a child has to suffer or why some people get 95 years while others barely get started. And I don’t think having faith means I’m required to pretend I understand it.

Some things just fucking hurt.

The Boulder in Your Pocket

One of my best friends, Jen, has a nephew who was in a play in New York. She told me about a line from the play that has stayed with me ever since.

The idea was that grief is like picking up a giant boulder and putting it in your pocket. At first, the weight completely throws you off balance. Everything feels wrong and unstable. But with time, you learn how to carry the weight and eventually there are moments when you almost forget it’s there.

Life starts happening again. You go back to work. You make dinner. You see friends. You celebrate birthdays, take trips and laugh. You have entire days when you don’t think about that boulder at all.

Then one day, you put your hand in your pocket.

Shit. There it is.

Maybe a song comes on or Facebook decides to show you a memory from eight years ago. Maybe it’s a birthday, Christmas or some completely ordinary Tuesday when you suddenly think, They should be here.

And for a minute, the boulder feels enormous again.

I think that’s one of the best descriptions of grief I’ve ever heard because I don’t think we really “get over” loss. We get better at carrying it.

So maybe the question isn’t, How do I get over this? Maybe it’s, How do I carry this without letting it consume the life I still have?

I’m certainly not a grief counselor, but I’ve carried a few boulders. Here are some things I’ve learned along the way.

1. Let Yourself Feel It—Pissed Off, Sad, Confused or Whatever You Are

I think as women, we’re very good at trying to keep everything together. We love telling the world we’re “fine.” Something terrible happens and somehow we’re still thinking about whether everyone ate, who needs a phone call, what arrangements need to be made and whether everybody else is okay.

Meanwhile, we’re falling apart inside. It’s okay not to be okay.

I’ve learned to let myself feel whatever I’m feeling. Sometimes that’s sadness or gratitude. Sometimes it’s laughing hysterically at a memory and crying five minutes later. Sometimes it’s just being pissed off at God.

I think He can handle it.

Grief is messy. There isn’t a correct way to do it, and there certainly isn’t a prize for being the person who appears to be handling it best.

2. Talk About Them

I don’t want to stop saying someone’s name just because they died, and I definitely don’t want every story about them to suddenly become sad. Some of our best memories are the funny, ridiculous and imperfect little moments that still make us laugh years later.

Keep telling those stories. All of them.

Talk about the vacation where everything went wrong, the habit that drove you completely nuts or the thing they always said that you can still hear in your head. Pull out the pictures. Tell the embarrassing stories. Let people hear what made them funny, frustrating, generous, weird, loving or completely unforgettable.

And I don’t just talk about them. I talk to them. Yes, I still talk to my dead grandmother every day. She even helps me find parking spaces. Don’t you, Gram?

Sometimes those conversations bring tears, but just as often they bring laughter. Grief is there because love was there first, and talking about the people we’ve lost helps us hold on to that part too.

3. Don’t Let Grief Convince You to Disappear

There are times when grief makes being around other people exhausting. You don’t want to make small talk, sit through another meeting or answer, “How are you doing?” Sometimes you just want to stay home, pull the covers over your head and shut out the world.

Do it. Sometimes that’s exactly what you need.

But I’ve also learned that, for me, there comes a point when being alone with my grief just makes everything heavier and more consuming. That’s when I answer the friend’s text, have coffee, take the walk, go to dinner, sit on someone’s patio, go to church or simply get around people who love me.

Be with the people who make your burdens feel lighter. They can’t remove the boulder from your pocket, but they can walk beside you while you’re carrying it.

Sometimes that’s enough.

4. Stop Feeling Guilty When You Catch Yourself Having Fun

Eventually, there will be a time when you’re laughing again, enjoying yourself and having a great time. Then, for just a second, you may feel guilty. How can I be having fun when someone I love is gone?

I’ve learned there’s room in our hearts for both grief and joy. They can live side by side.

If I died tomorrow, would I want my husband, daughters, family and friends moping around for the rest of their lives because I’m gone?

Hell no. In fact, that would piss me off.

I’d want them telling stories about me and laughing about my insanity. Remembering the time I got drunk at that party and embarrassed myself.

Travel to the places I wanted to see but never did. Eat great food, drink good wine and have ridiculous adventures. Remember me, miss me, and then go live the hell out of your life.

Because I couldn’t.

Why would the people we’ve lost want anything different for us?

5. Lean on Whatever Gives You Hope

For me, that’s my faith. I believe in God, I believe there is more after this life, and I believe that when I die, the people I love who went before me will be there to greet me.

Does that mean I don’t question why terrible things happen? Of course I do. There are losses our family has experienced that I will probably question for as long as I live.

I used to think having strong faith meant I wasn’t supposed to question God or be angry about things I don’t understand. Now I know I can trust God and still ask why. I can believe there may be a bigger plan while also believing that parts of that plan just plain suck. I will always be grateful for the time I had with my grandson and my grandmother while desperately wishing we’d been given more.

My faith doesn’t take away my grief, but it gives me someplace to put the anger, sadness, confusion and fear when they’re too much to carry alone. On some of my hardest days, I’ve prayed beautiful prayers. On others, all I’ve managed is, “Why, God?”

I’m pretty sure He hears both.

My faith gives me hope. Find what gives you hope and cling to it.

6. Let Loss Remind You That You Aren’t Getting Out of Here Alive Either

Here’s another thing grief has done to me that I don’t particularly like talking about: every time someone dies, I think a little more about my own mortality.

When you’re younger, death feels theoretical. Sure, you know you’re going to die someday, but “someday” feels like 400 years away. Then you get into your 50s and 60s and realize, none of us know how much time we have left.

Every funeral, every friend’s diagnosis, every story about someone my age or younger dying makes me think, Holy shit. This really does end.

And that realization is also part of why I started Comeback Over 50. I want whatever time I have left to be filled with love, laughter, adventure, joy and peace. I don’t want to take the life I still have for granted.

So take the trip. Call the friend. Have dinner with your besties and stay way too late. Tell people you love them. Wear the damn swimsuit. Try something you’re terrible at. Sing out loud even though you suck. Dance at the wedding and embarrass your kids.

And take care of yourself. Get stronger and healthier so you have the best chance of doing the things you love for as long as possible.

Maybe that’s one of the strange gifts grief gives us. It reminds us, in the most painful way possible, that life really is short.

7. When You Feel the Boulder Again, Let It Be There

Grief can show up when you least expect it, long after you’ve almost forgotten the boulder was there.

My grandson loved the movie Chappie. I sat through it once, twice…okay, probably twenty times. Jackie loved it. Every time I’d ask, “What should we watch, buddy?” he’d smile that little smile and say, “Let’s watch Chappie, Grandma Trishy,” because he knew exactly how I felt about watching it again. He would smile, knowing he was teasing me.

A couple of weeks ago, I was scrolling through movies and there it was.

Chappie.

I sat and cried.

It’s those little things.

Sometimes it’s a picture, a song or a memory that pops up on Facebook and suddenly the tears start flowing. Other days, that exact same memory brings joy. Again, the two can live together.

Grief isn’t something you complete. That’s why I think the boulder story gets it so right. We adjust to the weight, and carrying it becomes part of who we are. Every once in a while, we reach into our pocket and remember it’s still there.

When that happens, I don’t try to throw it away. I let myself feel the weight, remember the person who put it there, and when I’m ready, tuck it back into my pocket and keep walking.

That’s about as close to “getting over” grief as I ever want to get.

Grief Is Part of the Comeback

I made a video this week for Comeback Over 50 called The Hardest Part of Getting Older Nobody Talks About: Grief, because I think loss belongs in the conversation about what it really means to have a comeback.

Comeback Over 50 isn’t just about getting healthy, losing weight, finding a new career, traveling or reinventing yourself. Sometimes it’s about learning how to live again after life has knocked the wind out of you.

The losses I’ve experienced have changed me, but they’ve also made me much more aware of how precious the time I have left really is.

So no, I don’t think we ever get over grief. We learn to carry it. We keep the people we’ve lost close, we miss them, and we allow ourselves to keep living anyway.

The boulder stays in the pocket.

And we keep walking. Because we’re strong enough to carry it.