My Personal Grief Journey
Navigating and learning through emotion
Written by James Fox, Staff Writer
As my dad and I sat down in the private meeting room of the intensive care unit (ICU), I could see out of the glass windows toward the North Point Water Tower, watching Lake Drive wind toward Lake Michigan. The blue canvas of the lake spread just behind it, and the bright yellow Hoan Bridge was in the distance. On any other day, I would have loved the view. I’ve always had a passion for finding the best city scenery and landscapes, especially in Milwaukee, my hometown, where I thought I knew all the spots.
I quickly clicked back into the reality of where I was through that sterile smell of the ICU as two doctors sat down in front of us. We’d met them a day or two prior when my mother was first admitted to the unit. The news was something that a person simply can’t prepare for: after reviewing the results of my mom’s brain tests, they told us that there were no signs of significant brain functions. She would never be the same, and without a ventilator, would not be able to survive.
That moment was a complete knockout. Stronger than a Mike Tyson punch or the hardest hit I ever took playing football — stronger than anything. Their words were quite literally deafening, and all other sounds went silent. My mind had already run to a different place while my dad asked more questions.
Though a blur, I can still picture the scene perfectly through the tears that clouded my vision. The doctors left the room for my dad and me to have a moment of privacy. We never held each other so tightly. I felt the most loved during those days, and particularly the final moments at my mom’s bedside in the ICU, just the three of us together.
I began thinking about this article in terms of being knocked out by grief and also knocking out grief itself. But over the past six months, I have learned some things about grief that I didn’t know existed. Grief is one of the most powerful and uniquely personal experiences I’ve ever faced. Initially, I thought I could find a way to “get past” it and reach a place of “closure.” But I’ve come to realize that grief isn’t something you move beyond. The idea of “overcoming” grief does not reflect the reality of the human experience.
I also procrastinated writing this because I thought putting words to grief would mean that I was “over it.” But grief isn’t something to get past — it’s something to navigate and learn how to live with. Even as I’m struggling writing this now, I am also comforted in knowing this would have been impossible for me to have done a couple of months ago. So far, I’ve tried to find things to help with the burden of pain.
Exercise is a primary form of therapy for me. During the summer, I began running a lot, almost every day — so much so that I started to develop soreness in my iliotibial band from overuse, something I am still learning to treat. Despite occasional pain, running quickly became a part of my daily routine. It offered me a space to think, to use my mind and push my body to release all the emotions that were brewing.
Music has also played a profound role. Listening to music — often music that reminded me of my mom — became an essential part of my running routine. Weightlifting to music that reminds me of her – even sprinting or going for extra reps through tears – is very cathartic. While exercise has been an outlet, I found that it can’t be the solution to everything. So, I have explored using music as a therapeutic medium outside of exercising, too. Music has always been an important part of my life, but now I see it as integral to my character. My mom and I bonded through music as I got my true passion and keen interest in it from her.
Now, I listen to her favorite songs, keeping her playlist and all the songs she had downloaded saved on my phone. Pearl Jam, Bruce Springsteen and Prince were her go-to’s. In August, my dad and I had the privilege of celebrating her when we saw Pearl Jam perform at Wrigley Field, an incredible moment I will never forget. It was something my mom and I had planned on doing earlier in the year when the tour was announced, and I truly felt like she was there with us.
Over the summer, I read “The Grief Cure: Looking for the End of Loss” by Cody Delistraty, which I found to be truly helpful and special. The book is a personal story that dives into the different realms of grief and explores the ways people have tried to deal with it (Delistraty, 2024). After losing his mother, Delistraty writes a beautiful collection of personal stories navigating his grief, supplemented by critical perspectives and investigative research that are genuinely interesting to learn about.
One thing I’ve come to realize is that sitting with my emotions, really feeling them and experiencing them is so important. The feelings that ensue during grief often range from every possible emotion that exists. Suppressing or ignoring emotions is very unhealthy, and although it can be heavy, I believe it is best to sit with these emotions when they arise and feel them.
“Grief is like a heavy stone you carry with you. You never lose it, nor does it get lighter, but you learn how to carry it. Over time, it gets easier to carry as you grow and learn how to live with it.”
This anonymous quote has resonated with me during this challenging time of my life. It’s a reality that I previously did not know existed. Like many people, I believed that closure was something that could be attained — that grief was a process with a finish line. I’ve discovered, though, that these misconceptions are not true to the human experience.
I will admit that this first sounded very daunting and scared me. My reaction was essentially “How am I going to have to carry this for the rest of my life?” But over time, I’ve found myself closer to accepting it, which provides comfort in easing the burden of pressure.
Another idea that has echoed in my mind is that the depth of our grief reflects the depth of our love. This hopeful idea has brought me some comfort in understanding my grief for my mom, reminding me of the extraordinarily special and beautiful human being she was and the life she lived. It reminds me that it's okay to miss her and is healthy in fact.
I go back and forth between my progress. While I have learned some helpful tools regarding grief, I often feel like six months into it feels no less painful than day one. This is the realness of grief. While there are commonalities to it, everyone’s journey is deeply individual; my grief is different from yours. But, there’s comfort in knowing that so many other people are navigating their own forms of grief. It’s a reminder of our shared humanity.