Episode 5: Grief - A Personal Yet Universal Journey

Transcript

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Hello, and welcome to Beyond Our Surface. This is a podcast where we dive deep into what it means to be human. In this episode, we're talking about grief. It's something everyone goes through, but it feels so personal. Whether you're dealing with a recent loss or helping a friend through theirs, getting a handle on grease, messy, beautiful, and sometimes overwhelming nature can really help you find the strength to keep going. Grief is, in a sense, chaotic beauty. It's a tough road for sure, but it can actually make you stronger than you ever thought. As a father who deals with grief every day, I feel it's really important to be clear about what I'm doing and why. I'm definitely not a licensed therapist, a clinical psychologist, or any kind of trained mental health professional. My own experience with loss has taught me a lot. My main reason for openly sharing the very personal and often raw details of my own grief journey is pretty simple to offer a hand and build a sense of community among others who are going through similar, profound losses. I wanna create a place where people can feel understood less alone in their pain, and maybe even find a little bit of hope or connection by seeing someone else navigate the tough road of sorrow. I am hoping that by showing my own vulnerabilities and struggles, I can help us all better understand and validate the grieving process, ultimately helping others feel seen and supported in their own unique paths. Today's episode, I don't have a guest. It's a personal essay of sorts as a solo journey, a deeply personal one. As I share my own relationship with grief, my hope is that by opening up my own heart, we can begin to unpack this universal emotion and pave the way for future conversations. In the coming weeks, I'll be joined by three incredible guests who will share their own unique relationships with grief and their connection with my son Brody. My son Brody, was just beginning his teenage years. A time of self-discovery marked by a blend of confidence and insecurity. His future was full of promise, backpacking, mountain biking, climbing, living, and loving. Then suddenly he was plagued with severe headaches and vomiting An MRI revealed a devastating diagnosis, an emergency. He underwent immediate surgery in a biopsy which confirmed the earth shattering worst case scenario. Diffuse midline glioma, a devastating brain tumor that was inoperable and no known cure. Six months to a year he was given despite immediate radiation treatment and desperate search for a second, third, and fourth. Opinions all yielding the same Heartbreaking conclusion. We pursued every avenue from Western to Eastern medicine to a clinical trial at Seattle Children's. Nothing could save him. I couldn't save my boy. Our world didn't just stop, but it imploded. Eight months after the initial diagnosis of his illness and roughly four months following his 14th birthday, Brody's life came to an end. He died at our home in our arms with his brother steadfastly at his side, enveloped by the profound love of his family. And the comforting familiarity of his surroundings. His final moments were a testament to the quiet strength and enduring spirit he displayed throughout his journey, leaving behind a legacy of cherished memories for those who held him. Dear Brody and his brother weren't just siblings. They were best friends. Inseparable. Brody was amazing and artistic, athletic and profoundly kind, loving soul. The community sod appreciated it and adored it. He was a gentle and kind soul beyond his years. Often handpicked by his teachers to help others in need. He embodied patience and dignity. Valuing effort in all things good. His dedicated yoga practice guided him through his early adolescence with a clear compass shaping him into a compassionate young man devoted to making this world a better place. The world truly lost a beautiful person the day we lost him. And this severe lost has, as you can imagine, forever changed the landscape of our hearts. The initial shock was so profound. It was almost a form of denial. My mind just couldn't process it. It felt like a cruel, elaborate joke. Then came the anger. Anger at the unfairness at the universe. Had anyone who hadn't expressed such pain, how could the world just keep spinning when mine had stopped so violently? I remember the resentment. A burning sensation that the sun dared to shine. The birds dared to sing that other families were simply living their lives while ours was permanently broken for a long time. I wrestled with the feeling that happiness was over. And if it ever did sneak in, it was awkward, even guilty. How could I feel joy when Brody was gone? It's a strange, isolating feeling knowing that your son has died yet life demands you keep moving. Grief isn't in a linear path. Anyone who tells you it is hasn't truly walked through this fire. It's not a checklist where you move from one stage to the next and then you're done. Elizabeth Kler Ross gave us the five stages, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. And while those frameworks can be helpful in moving through grief, they're more like currents in a vast, unpredictable ocean. You can be in acceptance one moment, and then a rogue wave of anger or profound sadness hits you without warning, pulling you back into seemingly familiar, yet always new depths of emotion. Losing your breath, suffocating, drowning, fighting for air without a sense of purpose other than the primal instinct to breathe. I can be perfectly happy. One moment. Maybe laughing with my family and then out of nowhere, a vivid vision of Brody's last days, or even the moment he slipped away, overwhelms me. It is like a tsunami of PTSD hitting with such force that I can feel it physically. My heart aches, a burning acute grief that just takes my breath away. Such a cliche to have a broken heart, but it's true. At any moment, I felt like my world would simply stop working in those moments. I've learned not to fight it. Fighting just prolongs the agony, a futile struggle against an unstoppable current. Instead, I try to surrender. I just stay afloat, allowing the wave to pass over me rather than crashing against it. Brody deserves for me to remember those moments as painful as they are. Those memories, even the agonizing ones, are a part of him and I honor them as sacred pieces of our shared history. And then there's sleep or lack thereof, the fear of going to sleep, knowing that when I wake up the nightmare will still be real every morning for so long. And still on occasion I would wake up with that fleeting second of relief. That glorious, deceptive thought that it was just a dream, just a nightmare. And then the crushing reality sets in a physical weight on my chest and the same cycle of heartache begins again. That acute burning grief, the knowledge that it wasn't a nightmare, it was our life. The exhaustion from disturbed sleep only amplifies the emotional pain creating a relentless cycle. earlier, I used the term chaotic beauty to describe my relationship with grief. Such a twisted description, why chaotic and why beauty. Let's talk about the chaotic beauty of grief. What does that even mean? Well, grief is definitely chaotic. It's not a straight line. It's unpredictable with intense emotional swings and real sense of disarray. You might feel deep sadness one moment, then anger, then confusion, and sometimes even a brief moment of peace all jumbled together. It completely disrupts your normal life. But there's also a surprising beauty in this chaos. It can lead to profound growth. As painful as it is, grief opt-in forces us to face our deepest fears, reevaluate what's truly important, and discover an inner strength we never knew we had. This can lead to incredible personal development and a deeper understanding of life itself. Grief can also deepen our connection with others. We lean on our support systems, share our vulnerabilities, and connect on really profound emotional level with those who understand our pain. And here's another aspect. Experiencing loss can heighten our appreciation for life that makes us realize how precious life is, how important our relationships are, and we start to truly value the simple joys we might have taken for granted before. Grief also offers new perspectives. It gives us a unique lens through which to view the world leading to a more compassionate, empathetic, and nuanced understanding of the human experience. And finally, the very act of grieving in its raw and unedited form is a powerful way to honor the person we lost. It's a deeply personal and meaningful way to keep their memory alive, no matter how painful. So Chaotic Beauty acknowledges that while grief is undoubtedly a tumultuous and disoriented experience, it can also lead to unexpected moments of profound insight, personal growth, and a deeper, richer appreciation for life and connection. It's a complex journey, but one that can ultimately shape us in a profound way. So how do you cope with this relentless ever present companion? It's a daily practice of patience and self-compassion, a deliberate choice to be kind to yourself in the face of immense suffering. For me, the most crucial step has been to allow myself to feel, to cry, to be vulnerable. Suppressing grief doesn't make it disappear. It just makes it fester like a wound that won't heal growing deeper and more insidious in the shadows. My tears are a release, a natural way for my body and mind to process this immense pain, like a cleansing rain after a long drought. They're not a sign of weakness, but a testament to the depth of my love. And the intensity of my sorrow for my son Brody. I also found that creating a routine, even a loose one, provided some semblance of normalcy in the chaos. A gentle anchor in the storm. It wasn't about rigid adherence, but about establishing small, predictable rhythms that offered a sense of control when everything else felt out of control and expressing myself, whether through writing or just talking openly with those I trust has been vital. It's hard to carry such a heavy burden alone sharing it. Even in fragments lessons, it's crushing weight. Finding your voice, whether in a journal or with a trusted friend, allows the unspoken pain to find a path out. I'm not a journaler, so I found a way to express this through writing songs, doing things of common interest or passions of Brody, such as playing music, making music, mountain biking, trying to be a better person so he could be proud to emulate his essence. Self-care in whatever small ways you can manage it becomes essential. Prioritizing sleep even when it feels impossible. Eating nourishing foods and gentle movement. These aren't luxuries, but necessities for survival. Small acts of kindness towards yourself, like when arriving home, taking time for yourself before you engage with others or listening to calming music are not selfish. They are acts of preservation. This isn't about getting over grief, it's about learning to live with it, it to integrate it into your life without letting it consume you entirely. And that takes time. So much time. There's no timeline for healing. No finish line to cross. It's an ongoing process of adaptation and recalibration. And speaking of not being alone, community support has been a life saver. Reaching out whether to friends, family, or support groups and sharing these overwhelming feelings can genuinely lighten the burden. It's a reminder that while our grief is unique, we're not isolated in our pain. It helps to normalize what often feels abnormal to realize that the intense emotions you're experiencing are a shared human experience. Sometimes the greatest give you can give someone in mourning or receive from them is simply to listen without judgment, to hold space for their pain without trying to fix it. Grief strips us down to our most raw, authentic selves. It's okay to feel vulnerable, to feel utterly lost and hopeless. These feelings are not a sign of weakness. They're a sign that you loved deeply, profoundly, and irrevocably. And that's okay. When I feel this hopelessness, I try to remind myself that these feelings are temporary, like dark clouds that will eventually pass Hope like a stubborn weed can eventually push through even the smallest cracked pavement finding its way to the light. It's a flickering flame, but one that can grow with nurturing. brody, even in his final days, embodied this profound resilience. Never did he lash out in anger or despair. He remained optimistic, loving and gracious, a beacon of light in the face of unimaginable adversity. He even chose to donate his spine and his brain to science in hope that his generous contribution would help researchers find a cure for this tumor. He made that donation so that no other child or family would have to suffer through this. This is a testament to his extraordinary compassion aligned with Brody's Integrity, our family created the Brody Huber Foundation dedicated to helping see his vision through and continue his legacy of hope and healing. Please visit brody huber foundation.com for more information. His profound selflessness, his courage, his unwavering desire to make the world a better place. These are the things I hold onto. They are the seeds of hope, and they remind me that even in the deepest sorrow, purpose can be found a reason to keep moving forward. And sometimes seeking professional help, a therapist or a counselor trained in grief can provide the tools and safe space needed to process these incredibly complex emotions. It's not a sign of weakness, it's a courageous step towards finding your way forward towards developing coping mechanisms and understanding the intricate landscape of grief. Grief is a deeply personal journey with no right way to navigate it. Be gentle with yourself. It's okay to cry, to feel hopeless and seek support. You are not alone in this profound experience. Healing takes time and with compassion for yourself and for others, you can begin to find your way forward into integrating your loss without being defined by it. It's about carrying your grief, not letting it carry you. If this episode resonated with you, if these words touched your heart, please consider sharing it with someone who might need to hear these words to feel less alone in their own sorrow. Until then, take care of yourselves and each other. Summary Join me next time for an incredible and insightful episode as I continue to explore the complex and deeply personal landscape of grief. I'm so honored to have three amazing guests. They'll join me. As they share their unique and profound connection with grief and with my son Brody, they'll be sharing their personal journeys through loss, giving us different perspectives on how grief shows up and how connecting with others can be a powerful way to get through it. I really believe in the power of shared stories to build empathy and remind us that we're truly never alone. Just by sharing, you could offer a lifeline or hope and a sense of community to someone who really needs to hear these words. To dive even deeper into the podcast topics and become part of our growing community. Please head over to beyond our surface.com. There you can learn more about what this podcast is all about. Check out past episodes and sign up for notifications about new releases. My Weekly newsletter also brings you exclusive content with behind the scenes peaks and extra resources to help you on your journey. Your continued support helps me keep these important conversations going and reach more people who can benefit from our shared exploration of the human experience. Thanks so much for being a vital part of Beyond Our Surface. Thank you and take care.