Fear is a very intense feeling. It’s something that I don’t really feel can be accurately described if you haven’t truly experienced it. And there are varying degrees of fear. There’s “oh, no…my keys aren’t in my pocket; where did I leave them?” fear. There is “my child let go of my hand and almost darted into traffic” fear. There’s Halloween Horror Nights fear. There’s also BOO! Hannibal Lechter scary movie fear. And there’s “I’m lowering the bucket; she puts on the lotion” kind of fear. You get me? (If you don’t, go Google the “Silence of the Lambs” movie. It’ll start making sense.)

And then there is 𝘍𝘌𝘈𝘙. Italicized, capital letters fear. A guy just dragged me into the woods to rape me fear. My child has gone missing and there’s an Amber Alert fear. You hear a gunshot from another part of your house fear. These are the 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘓 𝘒𝘐𝘕𝘋 𝘖𝘍 𝘍𝘌𝘈𝘙.

And grief feels a lot like that, in its own way. Fear cripples your muscles so you may fall to your knees, unwittingly even, and think later “how and when did I get down here?” It squeezes your stomach…not just squeezes but twists it like wringing out a wet washrag. It literally feels like it stops your heart but also like a homemade bomb filled with nails just exploded and every single piece of metal hit the center of your chest.

I’ve been afraid since I lost my husband, yes. But that’s not what I’m talking about. Not talking about the fear of living without him here. Not talking about the fear of not being protected by him, or of facing a disaster without him.

I’m talking about the way capital, italicized 𝘎𝘙𝘐𝘌𝘍 feels. Underlined even.

Even grief has levels of devastation. Someone you know: that’s so sad. A close friend: this is awful; why her/him? A parent: I’ve never lived without him/her before; I’m an orphan now.

And then there is losing a soulmate spouse (because I realize not all spouses are the same) or a child. That’s on a whole ‘nother level.

Yes, when I read the picture I’m posting with this, it hit me that some grief feels a LOT alike bone-chilling fear. It stops you in your tracks. It paralyzes you. It makes you lose consciousness for weeks – everyone else thinks you’re wide awake but you’re really not. It makes everything going on in the world around you n͛o͛t͛ m͛a͛k͛e͛ s͛e͛n͛s͛e͛. And it’s timeless; you don’t know if you’ve been terrified for a minute or an hour or for days.

I’ve found it difficult to explain, to paint a picture of, to validate what this grief feels like. But if you have ever truly been afraid, and I mean TRULY afraid, then just imagine that feeling, the way your body feels and your mind cannot think, continuing for months on end and then think of never being able to determine when there may be a point at which you do not feel that feeling hundreds of times a day. That gut-wrenching feeling of fear is very similar to the agonizing, heartrending, tragic, harrowing feeling of deep grief. Especially if it comes out of nowhere. At least in a suspenseful movie there is music that lets you know “look out….something bad is coming…something scary…” Sometimes with great grief, there is no warning. No cautionary tunes. No “Hey you! Look out!” No. Just an MMA style kick to the gut when you weren’t looking. BAM! And there it is.

Yes. Grief feels a lot like fear…in case you didn’t know.