“It’s one thing to learn that a loved one has died, but it’s a completely different experience to hear it while it’s happening.”

I like to write about spooky stuff, including *EEK* politics.

And I don't mean that in a bad way. I've blossomed into a wayyyy more emotionally mature, optimistic, and vulnerable person. I know some people see vulnerability as a weakness, but in my opinion, it's a great strength that allows me to be extremely genuine with the people in my life. 

When I moved for college, he supported me through the whole process. And when I ultimately transferred schools to be closer to home, he welcomed me back with open arms and home-cooked meals for my roommates and me every week. 

On this call, he suffered from a horrific, freak accident that put me into a state of shock. It's one thing to learn that a loved one has died, but it's a completely different experience to hear it while it's happening. Once he got medical attention and his family was by his side, his inevitable death was confirmed.

I had no clue what to do at first. One second, you have a rough outline of what your future will look like. Then POOF! Everything is different, and you lose a part of yourself with them. 

Whether you have lost someone or not, I hope you can relate to some of the things discussed here. Everyone's experience is different, so even if this advice doesn't feel like a good fit for your grief journey, that is totally valid. There is no perfect solution to tragedy. As much as that sucks, we can at least share our stories, relate somewhat, and try to comfort one another. 

Around a week after Eddie died, we released paper lanterns at our old middle school. Even though tears were shed, there were so many laughs when our lighters failed and lanterns haphazardly caught flame. But it made the cheers that much more fulfilling when we got them in the air. After about a month, we held a celebration of life at a local park. We painted rocks, ate delicious food, listened to music, and had a few teary-eyed speeches. As much as these events were still heartbreaking, it felt like we were embracing his life rather than harping on the one moment that ended his life.

Unfortunately, I know for many of you, it's too late for that advice. But I do recommend it for any traumatic event or loss you experience. I think of it like how they recommend playing Tetris after you've witnessed something traumatic. It's almost like a brain cleanser. For me personally, having something somewhat positive stem from his death made the trauma from it easier to deal with.

For the longest time, I never felt like I could say I have trauma. I've been through multiple things in life that one could label as "traumatizing," but because I've always been high-functioning, I thought my trauma wasn't valid. Once Eddie died and I got into therapy, I realized that having trauma doesn't always mean that you are easily triggered by things and constantly reliving the event. For me, it's a lot of avoidance, numbness, and irritability, but everyone's experience with trauma is different. 

Personally, I don't like using the term "passed away" most of the time. What happened to him was unbelievably awful, so I like to be as blunt as possible with my terminology. He died. It wasn't peaceful, it wasn't calm. He died. But I totally understand that this isn't the case for everyone. Sometimes, it feels better and/or more accurate to be gentler when speaking about death. The way you talk about a lost loved one should never be dictated by other people's comfort, but rather your own. 

Of course, I cried a lotttt when Eddie died. However, there were many times where people were crying about his passing, and I just...couldn't. After letting out so many sobs on my own terms, I had no tears left at times when I was in a room full of people mourning. I think the way I personally process trauma is a large reason why I don't cry at times, but that doesn't negate the fact that I shouldn't have to cry just because everyone else is. And you shouldn't have to, either.

After someone dies, it suddenly seems like everyone and their mom knew them personally. Eddie was loved by so many that it was hard to keep track of who they were and how they knew him. What I did keep track of, though, was the people that he didn't like that were now mourning him as though they were best friends. I hated that they were included in the collective grief we were all experiencing because I knew he would be rolling his eyes if he could see it. However, it's for the best. Even though they seemed hypocritical at the time, I realized that they were probably going through a difficult internal battle about the situation that I would have no way of understanding. I inevitably let go of any "beef" or hard feelings that I felt like certain people perpetuated because, at this point, none of that meant shit anymore, and I think they realized that, too. I know the truth about how Eddie feels, and that's enough.

Do you know that look people give you? The one filled with pity? That's the one. Still to this day, many people approach me with that look and talk about Eddie like they have to walk on eggshells. This is very hard for me when I'm doing okay, because it either A. makes me feel guilty for feeling okay or B. makes me start to feel not okay. 

I like talking about him positively. I like smiling when I think about him. And it's hard to do that when, as soon as you start, people get that look in their eyes. The way people treat you shouldn't dictate how you feel about your grief, because no one understands what you're going through but you.  

I always hear it. Even if I trauma dump on a random person I just met at the bar, they tell me, "You're so strong." It's weird because I feel like I don't really have any other choice. If I weren't what they considered to be "strong," then I'd be dead. A lot of times, I'm just going through the motions, so to me, "strong" doesn't really hold the weight that they think it does. 

For some people, being told that they are "strong" makes them feel like they have to hide their struggles and grief. People often don't know what to say, or they want to say something that they think will "uplift" you. Just remember that it is always intended as a compliment, as they most likely cannot imagine how hard it would be to be in your shoes. Therefore, don't let it make you feel like you have to put on a front just to fit into a mold of what you think people expect from you.

I still have one of Eddie's hoodies folded up in a box somewhere because he folded it that way. I still sometimes hesitate to wear the necklaces he gifted me because it doesn't feel like the "right" occasion. There is no right or wrong time to unfold his hoodie or put on a necklace. I may never end up wearing that hoodie. I'd like to one day, but for now, it's waiting for me the way he left it. And if I do wear it, I'm not erasing the life he lived in it. "Preserving" someone's things after they pass can provide comfort, but even if you wash it, rip it, burn it, or anything in between, it will never change the fact that it was once theirs. You don't need to hold onto things the way they were before you lost your loved one, because their memory lives on through you, regardless of material things. 

There was a period of time when I was sick of seeing Eddie's photos around my house. I honestly wanted to avoid almost any physical reminder of him, as they forced me to think about him when I didn't want to. It's not that I was necessarily trying to "move on," but I wanted to erase any guilt I felt or sadness that I didn't want to feel. It felt like I was being watched and judged for how much I was grieving. The physical reminders may sting you at times, but in the grand scheme of things, they really don't mean anything. Having them or not having them doesn't change your emotional bond with them, as that is something no material thing could compare to. 

As time passes, the birthdays and anniversaries hurt less and less. If anything, I'm actually more positive during these times, as I see it as a day to remember the good memories and treat myself with care. However, something small can move me in unexpected ways. Whether it's seeing something that reminds me of him or a minor inconvenience that forces out all of my built-up emotions, I'm hit with grief randomly. 

These unpredictable breakdowns happen less and less now, but I've gone through periods where they affect me wayyyy more frequently and intensely. It comes in waves, as they say. Your grief becomes a part of you, and the way you process things in your life, even if they seem completely unrelated to your trauma, will always be affected by it. But that isn't necessarily a bad thing. Let your grief help you care for others more deeply and appreciate all the little things in life. 

Sometimes, I have dreams where Eddie faked his death, and he comes back to me for forgiveness. Sometimes, I have dreams where he hates me. Other times, though, I have dreams where he just so happens to be in them, like he's watching my life from the sidelines in approval. Even the positive dreams hurt a lot. It feels so surreal to see him as if he is still here. 

It's important to remember that these dreams reflect your subconscious feelings about their death. Don't let what your brain shows you affect how you view yourself or how you think your loved one views you, as it is often just a manifestation of your own anxieties. On the other hand, if the dreams provide comfort, let them act as a reminder of how much love they will always have for you. 

I am not a religious person by any means. I also never took spirituality too seriously. Yet when Eddie died, I became wayyyy more open-minded about fate, the universe, and spirituality. Right after his death, my friends and I kept seeing "444" everywhere, which I found out is the angel number for protection. Before, I would just chalk this up as a coincidence, but now I see it as a sign. 

It really hit me that my beliefs were evolving when an old friend from high school reached out to me less than a year ago. I hadn't spoken to her in years, and she was never close to Eddie. She told me that she had been in touch with spirits from the other side, and that Eddie was sending her a message for me. The timing of this felt serendipitous, as I was at such a low point that this was exactly what I needed to hear. She told me things that aligned with our relationship sooooo well that it didn't seem like a mere coincidence. Ever since, I have felt even more protected and cared for, and I believe the energy I put out into the universe has far more power than I ever thought possible before. 

Obviously, not everyone receives "signs" that smack them in the face so clearly like that, but take this story as a "sign" that you can find comfort in things you once didn't believe in. Find "answers" in whatever you want.

At the time of Eddie's death, he was my boyfriend. A while after his death, however, I viewed him as pretty much everything other than my boyfriend. He was a son, a brother, a childhood friend, a coworker, a caretaker, and so much more. Now, I rarely think of him as a romantic partner but rather the multifaceted person he was to all. At first, this felt strange and confusing because the romantic aspect suddenly became one of the least important things about our relationship. Now, it feels like the biggest gift. Hell, I've even talked to him about other romantic endeavors to seek advice from "Beyond." Therefore, don't let the relationship you once had limit you or how you view them; instead, take in the multifaceted person they are and let them be a guide for how you want to act in your life. 

I feel like I absorbed all the parts of Eddie that I love. It makes me 1000% prouder of who I am because I embody the traits I admire about him. He taught me what being in love truly felt like, and I will put that love back out into the universe. He can't get all the credit, though. It took a lot of tears, therapy, friendships, and so much more to get me to where I am today, but I put in the work to get here. Give yourself the most grace, love, and admiration because you deserve it. Do what makes you proud of yourself, and it will definitely make them proud, too. You're still here, so make the best of it because, as you know, life is fragile.

"Find a few people who understand your grief to connect with. It is helpful not to walk the path alone and find people who won't judge you. Find purpose through volunteering, art, a marathon, etc. We need self-motivation to make it out of bed.

Let the people around you know not to worry about doing things that will make you think of the person you lost, and that you still love to think and talk about them.

The journey is so personal. And it never gets better, just different. A lot of people think the first year is the worst. In a lot of ways, I think the second year is, because it makes you realize that it's real and going to keep continuing. The sadness comes in waves, so just try to stay afloat and give yourself grace."