Each grief is a separate weight. There is no comparing one to another. But after a new burden is loaded on to you, you feel a little more confident. When a new one is piled onto your back, you know that it is ok to stumble beneath it, that it is ok for it to take time to develop the muscles to carry the new burden. The confidence doesn't make the new burden lighter. The grief is not the less because of earlier griefs. But that confidence can make it a bit less utterly terrifying.

This. Oh G-d, this is so, so true.

Also, there is NO SHAME in saying "I can't cope right now". NONE. (Which, I admit, had to be pounded into my head by several people over the past few months.)

edit: And Jilli, my god, how? It hurts, so damn much.

I know, honey. I know. Just remember that there is no "wrong" or "right" reaction or how to handle things, and just do what YOU need to do.

And we will be here to help you however we can.

This. And sometimes you find comfort in unexpected places as well. When Alex died, and I felt like my sisters and parents were grieving so much, I couldn't really get comfort from them, my in-laws were such a great source of love and support, they gave me what I needed to be able to be a comfort to my other family.

Maria, everyone has such wise and true things to say (like Kate just now). I'm so sorry they didn't have better news about your uncle. And I hope you can let yourself just feel what you're feeling for a bit and don't beat yourself up about it. Take care of yourself.

Once again, I'm humbled and awed by the wisdom and love of this little world we've built.

To Maria, I wish I had something more specific to say than I love you and feel your heartbreak and loneliness and fear, and most of all, WHAT THEY SAID. And even without teh big wisdoms, I wanted to add my voice to those who are loving and supporting your family.

I'm scared that if I can't bear this pain now and it's just my uncle, what's going to happen when it's my father, or mother, or sister, or husband? I will break, and I won't be able to put myself together again.

You'll find yourself saying, "OK, not breaking just this instant, take another step. Breaking still not happening, OK, one more step. Breaking? Well, we'll pause for this next step, ok, move the foot. Still here." And eventually the clouds fade, and you're amazed at how far you've come. Then you collapse for a bit, let the tide of pain go out, get up, and do some more.

Welcome to humanity.

That is just beautiful Connie.

Thank you so much for... this. I don't even know what to call the last handful of posts, because they're not just encouragement, sympathy, hairpats, and understanding. It's more concrete, like something I can hold on to.

This means a thing. And it's hard to explain to people who have not experienced it. (Coming up with a way to tell the psychiatrist who got to decide when I could leave the hospital about the blinvisible people in the computer who form a great part of my network of resources? That was innnnnnnnnteresting.)

This means a thing. And it's hard to explain to people who have not experienced it.

This is why I wish I just had copies of Vampire People to hand out.

Thoughts for you and your family, Maria.

This means a thing. And it's hard to explain to people who have not experienced it.

Yes, every time I hear someone talk about how superficial and silly internet communities are I feel bad for them because they obviously don't have anything like the buffistas in their lives.