Everyone has to deal with grief at some point and everyone does so in their own way.

I’ve had to deal with it at various points in my life and, like some, I’ve had to deal with probably one of the worst sorts. I say that not to draw attention to myself but because the type of grief I dealt with at one point is considered by many to be in that category. The worst. Such grief is shared by many though. When I did I was forced, finally, to seek counseling for it because I had no other way to deal with it. And, as I just said, I was forced.
At a certain point during that counseling, my therapist, who was not by the way a grief counselor but a regular psychiatrist, gave me a piece of advice in two words, which I will get to in a moment. It is an important bit of advice, one I have shared with others over the years but not here and I will and must explain why before I do share here.
And please recall that, in general, he was not entirely incompetent. This was good advice.
This is a piece of advice you would want only to share with someone you know personally and in private. Not the sort of thing you would want to share over social media with someone you only know peripherally. You should never share certain types of advice with people online because you never truly know anyone online the way you know people in person. And, again, this particular piece of advice is very direct and personal, one that requires genuine knowledge of a person and a person’s state of mind.
And, allow me to emphasize: unlike some who splatter their credentials all over, I do have plenty. But I am not a medical practitioner and I am not offering this as medical advice even though, in effect, I received it as such.
You never know a person, truly, on line. Nor in a book. (Although, of course, if you’ve been reading through, you damned well should know me by now.) You might believe you do, even after spending years “communicating with them” in groups or singularly. You really do not know them. You develop the feeling you do, but you don’t. Often in real life you develop the feeling you do and you don’t. Should I mention Ted Bundy? Jeffrey Dahmer? Hannibal Lecter? There is actually a name for this and the experts say this is rather normal. It's called a "parasocial relationship" and a lot of people have them. You become entwined with TV characters, for example, or your favorite band members...unless you become obsessed with the person you have this feeling about. So don’t obsess.
But you certainly never do obsess online. You should never share advice like this with someone that you think you know online.
However, if you know someone truly well in real life and you find them in such a circumstance you might consider sharing this advice with them. It was shared with me, by a professional, and it did me a great deal of good. I’ve shared it with others and with similar results. On the other hand…
If you violate this principle, and commit what folks in Jewish culture call a Shanda, fall outside the community standards and become an outcast (although in this instance I think I may be overstating the case a bit; something of a life-long habit, I admit, but that in itself may be a Shanda; however I believe I’d be forgiven more than if I committed the other Shanda…still, where was I? I need to stay focused, don’t I, because this is a far more serious subject, isn’t it? More on that in a few moments…).
Anyway… As I said, people deal with their grief in different ways. Some would rather withdraw in their moments of grief or do so for a period of time. Others either immediately or after that period of time would prefer to go public and discuss that grief and, of course, when they do, nice people show their sympathy unless they are total assholes. This is a good thing, as Martha says.
There’s an old saying, however: How much of a good thing can you take? My therapist suggested that too much of a good thing was too much and the two words of advice he gave me were “Shut Up.”
I was creating an echo chamber. I was bringing my grief up in public too much, too often. People were feeling compelled to respond with “I’m sorry” and go on in that fashion on and on forever. It was like creating a non-combustible theater of grief with daily and nightly shows, free of charge with everyone invited to attend. Some in the audience had also experienced grief, naturally, and were more than willing to share their own theatrics. So now it became a veritable cavalcade of grief.
This was unhealthy, becoming ever more so. So he told me, ultimately, “Shut UP,” and make it stop. And he understood that only this theater would stop. The grief itself? That was never going to stop. It hasn’t. The grief itself does not stop. It shouldn’t.
Some make what they presume is some kind of “career” out of putting their grief on display by writing it down in broken lines so they can call it “poetry” and having everyone tell them how fascinated they are by it. Several times a week. Week after week. Year after year.
I am not a religious person. I am a spiritual person as they say. Most religions, however, have regular rituals, holidays, for the public expression of grief, which allow everyone their “day” of grief. One day and then this grief is yours again. Yours alone. Everyone knows that one day especially in those places where religion is something of a “national thing.” You know, like Día de los Muertos or Halloween before we started burning witches.
The remainder of the year you get to keep it to yourself, yourself and your family in many cases. Because grief is solely between you and the memory of the person you’ve lost; a private and very final memory; possibly not a happy memory, but still a memory between you and that person alone. Not a bunch of other people, not a bunch of friends and certainly not a bunch of strangers. Just you and that person.
Sometimes you and yourself.
Grief is not a thing for public display and certainly not beyond a certain limited amount of time. Perhaps one day a year and nothing more.
So, have your day. And what religion do we have in the secular West for such a thing?
I don’t know, but if I had to guess—if I had a personal choice?—I’d say it was comedy.
Because, you see, we don’t have a one-off religion in the secular West (other than politics, of course, and that’s no fun). We have television (and that’s no fun because it’s too…too…what’s the word I’m looking for? There are so many… I don’t know…).
We have sports, only that creates more arguments than politics. So, what’s left?
Personally, I’ve turned to comedy most of my life. It has been the best religion I’ve located. Humor seems to be the best general practice and direction towards all things not of this world. I wouldn’t go any further in that regard, here, now, especially not in the matter of grief because it isn’t my place.
For myself, in private, I practice that particular religion quite more than once a year, and not only in terms of grief. I like to laugh in the face of all the gods who think they can take things away from me.
And I really don’t need anyone’s approval when I do so. Not even yours.