4 | DECEMBER 21 • 2023 J
N
guest column
Grieving: Is It OK
To Not Be OK?
I
was 11 years old when my
grandmother passed away
suddenly at age 77. I vividly
remember her elderly friends
coming up to me
at the shivah and
saying they’re
sorry and at least
she didn’t suffer.
At 11 years old,
I just nodded
my head and
thanked them
and pretended I knew what they
meant. However, I really had
no idea.
Eventually, through my adult
years, I lost my other three
grandparents. Two of them
minimally suffered and lived
long, healthy lives, and my other
grandmother ended up passing
away from Parkinson’s disease.
It was sad to see this matriarch
of the family turn into a frail,
weak shell of herself.
However, I didn’t fully
understand death until my
husband of 19 years passed
away on Nov. 20, 2022, at the
age of 48. He fought a three-
and-half-year battle with stage
4 brain cancer. A full year later,
the term “suffer” gives me a
whole new meaning.
I’ve had an intense year
of grieving, reflecting and
growing, and I continue to do
so every day. Nothing prepared
me for the overwhelming
feelings of grief, the constant
waves that would sneak up on
me and leave me gasping for
air. My goal is to stay afloat and
ride the waves. I focused on
doing everything in my power
to tread water and not let my
family or myself drown. I often
think to myself, “Will there
ever be a time I’ll be able to
swim again?” “Will the constant
waves come to a rest?” This goal
seems simply unattainable, and
I’m often left wondering, “How
is this my life, and what am I
going to do now?”
My husband, Jamie, was
doing amazingly well over
the years since his diagnosis
in 2019. He was working full
time at a job he loved, we were
traveling and he celebrated three
of his daughters’ bat mitzvahs.
We were creating wonderful
new memories as a family!
However, in his last few
months, we sadly knew he was
going to pass away. Yet, I didn’t
allow myself to imagine life
without him as my husband or
the father to our daughters. I
didn’t want to put that energy
out there. I simply lived “one
day at a time.”
I felt as though maybe
I would feel a sense of
peace in the end because
he courageously fought this
relentless battle of cancer. I
didn’t want to see someone I
love suffer and have his body,
mind and spirit surrender in
a war he fought so hard to
win. That’s when I realized
that the suffering I watched
him endure in the end leaves
lasting effects of suffering on
the living.
DEALING WITH OUR LOSS
Our family is left with thoughts
of why did this happen? What
will become of our lives? When
are we going to feel “normal”
again. How do we get ourselves
to feel happy? Who is going
to help us get there? And
where will this lesson on death
lead us? We are left trying to
reconnect the five pieces of our
family puzzle together from its
original six.
My husband has missed so
much in our lives in only one
short year. He missed his eldest
daughter graduate from high
school and become a freshman
at the University of Michigan.
He missed his daughter turn
“sweet” 16 and get her driver’s
license, and he missed his
youngest twin daughters
graduate middle school and
start high school. Those are just
a few of the major moments in
our lives.
We have coped with his loss
in various stages and styles of
grief. Yet, what comes up the
most in our home is it “OK to
not be OK?”
When people ask how I am
doing, my normal response is
generally “good” with a nod and
a smile. Many times, my girls
also would reply to this question
as they’re good. I would ask,
“Well are you good?” To which
they would respond, “Of course
not, but what am I going to say?
I’m bad? I’m sad, I’m angry and
I miss my Dad every day?”
It took me some time to say,
“Tell them the truth.
” Don’t
say what people want to hear
because then you’re not being
honest with yourself or others.
Sadly, people want to hear you
say, “good,
” better” or “fine.
” It
makes people uncomfortable to
hear the truth and leaves them
generally with an awkward
response. People eventually stop
asking and often times avoid the
subject.
People think that as time
moves on you are indeed
better and the grief wears off.
However, there’s no timeline
for grief. It will come when you
least expect it: at a grocery store
aisle passing his favorite food
item, at a mall watching a dad
shop with his daughter, seeing
an elderly couple walking on
the sidewalk together, and still
getting mail addressed to him.
His phone sits on his dresser
as a daily reminder of what we
can’t share anymore on group
texts. We miss his hugs, pep
talks and laugh.
The list never ends, and yet
we need to continue to be “OK.
”
We need to, “stay strong” and
“cherish the memories.
” But the
waves keep crashing, and all my
girls and I want to do is float.
One day, we know that we
will swim, and we know we can
answer we’re “good.
” We will be
able to find moments of pure
happiness and not feel guilty for
making new memories without
him.
One day we will realize that
the suffering has made us
stronger. But until then, we will
continue to say, “We’re OK”
because that’s all we can be at
this very moment in time.
Staci Wittenberg is a former teacher and
has four teen daughters. She currently
works in the policy department for the
executive office of the governor.
Staci
Wittenberg
PURELY COMMENTARY
KATE SALER
The Wittenberg family