But I have learned how to cope with the unimaginable, an event I thought I could not survive. I still have good days and bad days. The grief never ends. But I have learned how to smile again, and even laugh. The knowledge that I could learn to live again, after my daughter’s death, is no small thing. It is powerful. Because of this, I wanted to share what I’ve learned with people currently living with an unimaginable event that has affected the entire country — loss of loved ones, loss of life as we know it, loss of income — because of COVID-19.
Take time to process. I used to stare out the window for hours, remembering the gift of my precious child. Nothing made sense at the time of her death. But I also knew there were two outcomes: I could rise up, or I could stay down. By taking this time to just be with my loss, I learned how to face my emotions head-on and acknowledge my grief. Many people have ideas about how long it should take to process trauma. There’s no stopwatch. Processing, on my own timeline, was so important.
It’s okay not to work yourself to death. I took stock of my own mental health. I was so busy, busy, busy with my career. It was my norm to be running at the speed of light. I realized my energy was sapped, and that I needed to make room for personal growth. Sometimes it’s important to take a giant step back, set up some boundaries, and re-prioritize your life in general.
There’s an alternative to panic. I seek out the calm where I can find it. I stop and smell the flowers, watch birds, enjoy nature. Once I began to work with my own internal resources — and understood how critical it was to find my balance and be present in my life — I was able to thrive again.
Staying close to your tribe helps. I belong to a group of “sister mamas” who have all lost a child to suicide. We know life is precious, and we turn to each other to make sure we are aren’t collectively going out of our own minds. We grieve together, lean on each other, and share joy with one another.
Perspective is everything. After my daughter died, nothing felt certain, nothing felt real. Everything felt out of order. It took me a while to recognize that there were still good things in life. Once that happened, and I was able to see something positive around me, I started to be able to engage with life again. Some people might call this practicing gratitude. For me, the word “perspective” feels more apt.
Hopelessness is dangerous. It’s okay to grieve for life as we knew it only weeks ago. But don’t emotionally deplete yourself. Find meaning in your life, right now, and try to practice self-care, whatever that means for you. Seek out the calm. My daughter continues to teach me so many valuable lessons. She is still my beacon of light, and I hope that we can all be a beacon of light for each other right now. There is hope. We are all human, and humans are resilient. I am. So are you. Gillian Anderson is an advocate for young-adult mental health and suicide prevention. Her nonprofit organization, My Friend Abby, was created in the spirit of her 15-year-old daughter, Abby Anderson, who had clinical depression and died by suicide. Gillian’s heartbreak and loss have driven her to make a difference. The organization’s mission is to empower young adults to actively create peer-to-peer connections through grants that improve mental and emotional health.
