No one asks to be part of the reason that there is a day dedicated to grief awareness, especially widowhood. You won’t see “Black Friday”-like lines ensuing chaos to be the first ones to claim the deal of “widow riddled with grief.” Yet here we are. Marching on every single day without the one we love. It’s not easy and it is nearly impossible to pretend that it is. Grief is an inevitable part of life; we cannot outlive everyone we know and love. Grief is also incredibly misunderstood because of how it affects each person differently. Educated psychologists, sociologists, and even philosophers have mulled through the concept for centuries. The scholars could continue to ponder grief, but its ability for vague application is consistently changing. So, maybe it is worthwhile to have a day dedicated to grief. A day where each person’s individual toils can be respected. Where grief-stricken beings can see they are not alone. That they even have a community waiting on them with open arms.
My grief journey is exactly that, a journey. The thing about journeys is that
they aren’t smooth. They aren’t without curves, hills, or valleys. I am still under the year mark but somedays seem like five years squeezed into a 24-hour period. When I close my eyes and try to imagine my grief, I see a storage shelf loaded with different boxes each having their own labels in black sharpie. Such labels as: “Beach Vacations,” “Hobbies,” “High School Years,” and “Grief.” The boxes are different sizes and weights, some taped tightly closed and others oddly shaped. That shelf is equipped with everything that makes me, well, me. My grief box seems to change day by day, but imagining this box seems to help. Sometimes the box is feather-light and fits perfectly into its designated slot. Sometimes that box falls off the shelf, pours all its contents out, and swarms my mind. It is overwhelming. It is deafening. It is soul crushing. I find myself drowning from the weight. It affects me emotionally, mentally, and even physically. These days are grueling, but then I imagine the box. I imagine myself picking up the box and dusting it off. I start picking up the bits and pieces, putting them back inside the box. Then, I slide that box right back on its assigned shelf. The grief isn’t going to go away. The grief has a permanent spot on the shelf. The grief, though, will not overtake my life.
Coming to terms with grief being a perpetual fixture on your mental storage shelf can ease that expectation you put on yourself to achieve the milestone of “healed.” Having the unrealistic belief that you are broken and need healing can be incapacitating. On the other hand, having the realistic acceptance that grief is an inevitable addition to your identity allows for peace. While we need to come to that realization on our own, the people around us also need to understand this construct as well. Our family and dear friends want nothing more than to see us back to “normal.” So, they will say and do things that, to us, are incredibly insensitive or off-putting. Attempts to provide a helpful tip or life-changing advice. When all we really want is a listening ear and a warm body present to not feel so alone. The thing is that our surviving loved ones don’t know this unless we tell them. They are just trying to do the only things they know with the best intentions at heart. If you want these individuals to better support and understand you in your times of deep grief, then speak up. Just simply speaking up, and not assuming others will come with the textbook on your needs and wants. This day is about awareness, so let’s make others aware of how they can help us or others in their lives. By letting them know we are all different, yet also we are all so deserving of consideration in a personalized manner.
About Shanna Puckett-Anguiano
Shanna Puckett-Anguiano lost her husband after just four short months of marriage on October 1st, 2024. Shanna and Paco Anguiano were in a long-distance relationship for nearly four years prior to their marriage, as Paco was from Chiapas, Mexico. Shanna and Paco did not let the stigmas and hardships of the K1 visa come between their strong bonds. Anyone who truly knew this couple would quickly correct anyone’s doubt, with even Shanna’s father expressing his thoughts at Paco’s funeral saying, “every father’s wish is for their daughter is to find a man who loves them unconditionally, and that is exactly the man Paco was.” Paco was diagnosed with synovial sarcoma on September 20th, 2024, which coincidentally was also Shanna’s 30th birthday. Paco lost his life unexpectedly to that cancer 11 days later, a week before treatment was scheduled to begin.
Shanna continues to reside in her small hometown, located in the upstate of South Carolina. She is accompanied at home by her two dogs (Indi & Suki) and two cats (Es & Sister). Shanna has been a court reporter for the past 5 years and serves as chairperson of children’s ministry at her home church. She is currently in the process of obtaining additional certifications to continue moving up in her career. Shanna has developed a donation drive in her husband’s name in celebration of his birthday in the month of July called Paco’s Smile. This drive collects material and monetary donations for her local county cancer association. Shanna is an advocate for mental health, cancer awareness, and over all kindness being spread throughout the world. She prays to carry on the legacy of her husband, Jose Francisco Ovando Anguiano, by showing grace, gratitude, and a toothy grin just as he did every day.