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