Grief Triggers

Anything can trigger your feelings of loss. A photograph, the lyrics of a song, a certain smell, a date on the calendar, seeing a product on a shelf. It can make a very private thing turn into a public spectacle.

Heading into the first Christmas season after Colton died, I was on the job as Assistant Store Manager in a brand new grocery store in Calgary, Alberta Canada. During this time of the year, the store is inundated with countless pallets of merchandise that come on little cardboard display stands known as shippers. The goal is to build and put these out in strategic locations as quickly as possible to capture sales as customers are shopping spontaneously for the Christmas season. Most of them are chocolate. Some of them only come in at Christmas time, and shoppers rush to get their families’ favorites before they sell out.

Colton had a favorite too, the Terry’s Chocolate Oranges. Every single year, without fail, I would buy one for his stocking. So, there I was on my hands and knees building a Christmas display when I got to the shipper of his favorites. In a split second I froze. The familiar lump formed in my throat, and my breathing felt constricted. The tears burned and began to roll down my face. The now-familiar pain racked my body and I started to panic. I remember almost stepping back from myself, and thinking “Whoa, get it together girl, its just a shipper of chocolate”, but it was far too late for that. So, I loaded a deck with cardboard and made a hasty exit into the warehouse where I only had one or two team members to deal with rather than a hoard of Christmas shoppers. I remember the sad looks, the kind words of compassion from those that understood grief. I remember calling Randy to tell him what happened and hearing his encouraging words. Finally, after a few minutes I was able to acknowledge the intensity of the trigger and move on with my work day.

It strikes me as hard today as it did back then to relive that moment. To relive any moment that drives home the fact that Colton will not be here to enjoy it again.

Then, just the other day I was looking through the weekly flyer bundle that comes in the paper. On the front page I saw that lemon meringue pie was on sale this week. A simple thing. But, once again, it was Colton’s favorite pie. Again, the familiar lump in the throat, the shortness of breath, the tears. It’s years later, but the reaction is the same. So I got to thinking, “Is this the case for all of the bereaved mothers out there?” I am on a Facebook group of mothers who have lost their sons, so I posted it as a question to the group. I could not believe the response! My messages were flooded by over a hundred mothers who happened to see my experience and feel it as their own. Comments came from all over the world about how they haven’t been able to set foot in a grocery store since their son died for fear of seeing his favorite cereal, his favorite frozen pizza….whatever it was. I spent the next couple of days responding to these mothers, if only to let them know that they are not alone, they are not crazy, they are grieving. When I can, I try to lift their spirits a little, in hopes of lifting my own. I had a brief but funny comment or two with a mom whos son worked in a grocery store and had wanted to teach her turkey bowling…! She thanked me for her chance to smile at the memory. To me, that’s such a valuable thing now.

Many days come and go and I can look at his pictures and smile, and the memories warm my heart, even if they are accompanied by sadness and grief. Still, there are days when I avoid looking because I am too close to the edge of my grief. I am pretty sure that this feeling is universal in the world of the bereaved mother, but even if it isn’t, it’s mine to deal with.

When I am overcome with emotion, I write about it. Yes it’s painful, and yes, I cry a LOT when I do it (as I am now). Still, there is more room out than in, and at least for me, I feel better when it’s out. Sometimes I feel like I’m just making room for more grief but that’s ok too. This is not going away and will continue until my last grateful breath. And, if someone who is grieving reads this and feels a connection to it, a camaraderie if you will, then it’s worth it to me. On one hand, I write this blog to leave a lasting account of this grief journey and to immortalize my memories of Colton, the ways my life has changed since his passing, and as a way of dealing with feelings that are sometimes too big and too difficult to share on any given day. It helps me keep him present. But also, I do it so that there’s a chance that I’ll reach someone who’s hurting the same way that I am, and that by reading it they gain a better understanding that what they are going through can be managed, can be nurtured, can be cathartic.

There will be triggers. They are everywhere. The time of day, a photo, the season, a birthday, the date of your loved ones passing. Images, sounds and smells that bring us to a long lost moment in time. They can’t be avoided, but perhaps recognized, acknowledged, held for a moment in remembrance, then let go….

Like their favorite Christmas chocolate or a piece of pie.