Grief: Unsolicited Advice for the Grieving Parent (You’re Doing So Much Right)

By Miranda Merrell on 10/28/2024

Miranda, founded a music and performance business as an adolescent. Now, despite a late diagnosis of ADHD, PTSD, and giftedness, she thrives as she advocates for the gifted community globally, spreading joy and compassion authentically. Miranda's journey showcases the transformative power of perseverance and her commitment to inclusivity.

Grief: Unsolicited Advice for the Grieving Parent (You’re Doing So Much Right)

Grief isn’t just “missing” someone. It’s not a single feeling you can process and put away. It finds its way into every corner of your mind, body, and soul, twisting you up when you least expect it. Grief is more than sadness. It’s a weight in your chest, an ache in your bones, a fog in your head that makes everyday life feel almost impossible. So if you’re wondering how to keep going, let me tell you this: however you’re getting through it, that’s perfect. There isn’t a proper way to handle these things. It’s hard. Painful. And there’s nothing wrong with how heavy it feels, or with the fact that some days, you’re barely holding it together.

The Many Faces of Grief

 

Grief has layers. It isn’t just the loss of people; it’s the loss of futures, plans, the life you’d envisioned. It’s the loss of parts of yourself too, as you learn to live with what’s been taken away. With every person I’ve lost—friends, grandparents, mentors, my mother, my husband—I’ve lost a version of life that included them. And sometimes, the relationship was complicated. But even the hardest relationships held some kind of hope that things might change, that healing or understanding could happen. With their passing, that hope died, too.

If you’re feeling like grief touches every part of you, there’s a reason. Science shows that grief triggers the stress response: cortisol levels spike, heart rate increases, and immune function dips. Grief isn’t just a feeling. It impacts your body on a cellular level. If it feels like it’s in every fiber of your being, it’s because it is. You’re not “overreacting.” You’re responding to a profound, life-altering experience. And if you’re gifted or 2E—this might be even more heightened (for more about this, check out Intersection of Intensity: Exploring Giftedness and Trauma by Patricia Gently, MSMHC, PhD).

Going “As Low As You Can Go” and Adjusting Expectations

Some days, grief leaves you with barely enough energy to handle the basics. And that’s normal. You’re carrying an invisible weight that affects every single thing you do. My daily priorities have narrowed down to this:

• Make sure my kids feel safe and connected to me.

• Meet their basic needs (food, shelter, hygiene, entertainment).

• Meet my own basic needs, and I mean basic (I’m not worrying about polishing the floors or perfectly balanced meals right now).

Grief forces you to let go of a lot. If you’re only managing the bare minimum, you’re doing it. This is all that truly needs to be done right now.

And there’s a real reason behind that exhaustion: grief drains energy stores, impacts immune function, and can even mess with metabolism. Things like brushing your teeth or making a meal feel monumental because, on a cellular level, your body is maxed out. If you’re only hitting the essentials, you might be doing literally the most that you can. And with this can come another kind of grief… “the best I can” has changed—diminished. This realization can be devastating in itself… and however much or little you’re able to accomplish in your current state of grief won’t be permanent, or probably predictable.

Asking for Help—Without the Pain of Rejection

One thing I’ve learned: when people say, “Let me know if you need anything,” they often mean well, but their idea of “anything” might not match what is actually helpful. And if you work up the courage to ask for help, only to receive refusal, it hurts even more. Now, I say something like, “Thank you with all my heart. I’m not clear on what I need right now—what kinds of things are you able to offer?” It allows them to share what they’re comfortable doing, and it protects me from the sting of unmet expectations.

Being Misunderstood—and Barely Managing It

Grief is invisible, so misunderstandings are constant. You get comments like “You’re just being dramatic,” “If you really loved him, you wouldn’t be dating again,” or “If I were in your shoes, I’d have killed myself by now.” In those moments, I usually just smile, say thanks, and walk away. Later, I’ll share what I would’ve loved to say with a trusted friend. Grief is hard enough without explaining it to people who don’t get it. You don’t owe anyone an explanation, and it can be helpful to vent it out in a safe space.

Talking to Your Kids About Grief

Kids see more than we realize, and they notice when we’re hurting. My children are young, just 2 and 5, and they’ve seen me go through a lot of loss. I try to keep a brave face, but if they notice something’s wrong, I let them know it’s not because of them. When they ask, I keep it simple: “I just found out my grandpa died, and I feel sad because I’m going to miss him.” I’ll ask if they’re curious to know more and answer their questions if so—or just offer a hug and leave it at that.

I want them to see it’s okay to feel things deeply. And at the same time, I save my breakdowns for private moments so they don’t feel responsible for my sadness.

Recognizing When You’ve Hit Your Limit

Grief shows up in the body. I can tell I’m reaching my limit when I feel knots in my shoulders and neck, or when small things that wouldn’t normally bother me fill me with rage. Sometimes I can’t remember what I was just doing. These are all signs that my body and mind are saying, “Enough.” It’s okay to listen, to let some things go, and to step back.

Over time, grief builds up what scientists call “allostatic load,” which is just a fancy term for accumulated wear and tear. If you’re snapping over small things, or can’t focus, that’s normal. It’s a real sign that your body is maxed out, and listening to it is a way to protect your future self.

Staying Grounded, Knowing This Isn’t Forever

I don’t feel a spiritual connection with the people I’ve lost, but I know I’m shaped by every relationship I’ve had. I’m not the same person I was before these people or these losses. My late friend Lexi wrote a poem for her tombstone: “I am of my family, my best friend Mandy, and my favorite doctors and nurses.” I get that now. I am who I am because of all the people I’ve loved, and that means they’re a part of me in every decision, every kindness, every strength I have today.

Some days, it’ll feel like grief is the heaviest thing in the world, and other days, it’s just a soft reminder. The weight shifts over time, sometimes in unexpected ways. And healing comes, not all at once, and never linearly like I’d prefer it to be. On hard days, I look at my life and see the evidence of love around me: my relationships, accomplishments, glimpses of everyday magic I’ve captured in photos and art. It’s proof that we’re making it—doing life and finding ways to enjoy it against all odds.

Final Thoughts: However You’re Making It Through, It’s Enough

Grief changes as you change. If you’re in the thick of it, know that you’re doing enough, even when it doesn’t feel like it. Just by being here, by showing up however you can, however it looks, you’re doing something remarkable. You’re healing, even when it feels painful and stagnant, or unfinished. And wherever you are in this process, pre-grief—grief grief—post-grief… whether it’s for a person, or a relationship, or a circumstance, or health deteriorating… it’s okay to let yourself be not okay. Big hugs to you, if you’re a hug person.