Grief Comes in Layers 

The layers of my grief look like a couple of things I’ve come across in life.

Over the years I’ve attempted to make a few things that seem to make me shake my head and stand back. 

Recently, I made a pie and that’s where the similarity stood out. 

Grief is like layers of a pie.

Grief is like layers of a pie. The bottom or beginning of grief is new and it seems ok.  

Then there is the middle with all the emotions that can pile up like ingredients. This is where it can feel mixed up, as if life will never be the same again. 

Finally, there is the top which can be disguised with a light crunch or sugar topping and then it is finally discovered that grief here is bumpy and ever changing!

As I watched the pie being made I found that while I thought I knew what I was doing it was surprising to find that a little adjustment was needed throughout the process. 

This pie is in the middle with the ingredients piled high. 

There are dots of butter to add more flavor, and that edge of the first layer can still be seen. 

Seems to be okay from this view, doesn’t it? 

This is where we can stand back and start to see more, my friends. 

The grief that comes in layers made me pause.

The grief that comes in layers made me pause as I made this pie. 

What if the ingredients inside were to change as another person wanted smooth chocolate filling instead of apples? 

How would those changes be seen by others in grief? Could they be adapted to be like a chameleon? 

Or is there only one way to make a pie and to grieve? 

Here is what I explored the day I rolled out the bottom layer that looks like it fits in the pie plate. 

I thought about how I didn’t know what I was doing at all in the first years after our son died, when I showed up for work and hoped to remember my password or where a file was on my computer. 

What I also hoped for was that others around me were kind and would help me seem ok. 

That world of seeming ok with all of it rolling forward did happen for me.

I sat with the messy middle of grief.

So, I sat with that for a time and then went into the messy middle of grief. 

Have you felt the messy middle while others were with you? 

The pile up of emotions ranged from chunks of disbelief that Dallin, our son, was no longer in our home, to gratitude for a life with our son. 

Then to sudden memories of who we were with him slipping down my cheeks as the tears would jump forward. 

Mounds of emotions needed to be felt and seen even when it seemed like life would never be the same again.

Truth came with this, as life never was the same again as part of the messy part, the piles of feeling continued and I felt them all. 

I began to be interested in this part of grief that I didn’t need to understand it all. I only experienced life and grief and wonder here and now.  

For me, there are many ways to make a pie and to experience grief. Being present with it was part of feeling and being then. 

The top is where I am now at times. 

I sit with the thought of ever being complete with grief, as I have found that it is truly ever changing.

For me, grief means I have loved and I will love our son forever. 

So, I will grieve and remember forever.

Loving and living with a bumpy ever-changing life is how to roll out the top of the pie.

Loving and living with a bumpy ever-changing life is how to roll out the top of a pie. 

Will it sometimes cover a delicious layer of ingredients piled high and dotted with more flavor? 

Yes, most likely. 

I will also most likely continue to have a pile of emotions with the grief that comes in layers. 

For me that means that joy, resilience, confusion, wonder, and sadness all create this life that can bring experience. 

Some days are smooth like that bottom layer or like different filling. 

Other days are bumpy like a top layer of pie that is part of grief and love, life and sorrow. 

What are your layers of grief bringing you? 

Let’s discover them here together.