Most nurses know the stages of grief by heart: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. We know the stages do not occur in an orderly, linear fashion. People flow in and out of each stage, circling back around to earlier stages as needed.

But I’m not aware of anyone discussing the invisible, insulating environment grief surrounds its survivors within. An acquaintance described it like this:

“We had just taken our son off of life-support, and sat with him as he passed. Our entire family had gathered to say goodbye. After leaving the hospital, we went to eat. I sat in the café, marveling at the world outside, that people were going about their daily lives, and I had just lost my son.”

When grieving periods were the norm.

collage by julianna paradisi/2018

A cultural understanding of this phenomena developed during the Victorian era, and still exists in period romance novels: People of means, after suffering the loss of a loved one or recovering from traumatic illness or injury, were sent to live with relatives in the country or at the seaside. There, they had no household responsibilities beyond taking long walks through the forest or along the shore, keeping journals, or sketching. In romance novels, the grieving heroine gets the added bonus of discovering a Fabio-like love to heal her heart, and lives happily ever after.

This restorative cure was not without drawbacks, however. At some point, grieving became a mandatory expectation. Etiquette was created prescribing what colors the grieving could wear, when they could resume attending social events, begin dating, remarry, and for how long they must publicly grieve (6–12 months was not uncommon). A remnant of these societal expectations of the grieving can be glimpsed in the film It’s a Wonderful Life, during the scene George Bailey attends the board meeting of the Bailey Building and Loan company, wearing a black mourning armband after the sudden death of his father.

Problems developed when people in mourning were ready to resume their lives before the prescribed grieving period was completed. Newly widowed Scarlett O’Hara scandalized Atlanta society by wearing black mourning garb to a charity ball and dancing with Rhett Butler in Gone With the Wind. To this day, people comment negatively if they feel the widowed date or remarry before an “acceptable” length of time.

Grief, stripped of outward signifiers.

Personally, I like the idea of a mourning armband, with the option of its removal at the discretion of the wearer. I’ve discussed this with other cancer survivors while sharing the difficulties we meet when resuming our lives and careers after the life-changing experience of a cancer diagnosis. I wish I’d had an armband to wear during my emotional recovery from cancer, alerting colleagues and friends that although I’d completed treatment and my hair was growing back, I was still a bit fragile.

Recently, my stepfather passed away. The prefix “step-” belies our relationship. Although he did not raise me, he and my mother were married over 25 years. He was a part of our family, and I loved him. I took bereavement leave from work, and my husband I and assisted my mother with the immediate tasks following his passing.

The world doesn’t wait on grief.

I became aware of the invisible, insulating environment of my grief during a morning run along a mixed-use pedestrian/bicycle path lined with cherry trees in full bloom. The palest of pink petals floating in the river breeze added to a surreal feeling of running within the bubble of a spring season snow globe.

I was startled from this daydream by a bicyclist passing on my left, as I initiated a left-hand turn onto a bridge. “Left!” she yelled as she passed, and then, turning her head over her shoulder, and the yoga mat strapped to her back, “Whatever, lady!”

Normally, I’d have blown it off, but in my grieving state, her aggression and angry tone brought tears to my eyes. The only reply that came to mind was, “Namaste,” which is as good as any, I suppose. Perhaps she is grieving someone too.

Would her behavior have been different if I’d been wearing an outward symbol of grief and mourning, instead of looking like a healthy runner she perceived as being in her way?

A modest suggestion.

Not every scar is visible. Not all wounds leave a mark. Is it the responsibility of the grieving to tell others of their loss, and request compassion?

Or could we all be a little bit kinder?