Today I found myself understanding complex grief through the lens of the story, My Friends, by Fredrick Backman. It’s an endearing story of lifelong friendship—woven through poverty, high ACE scores (Adverse Childhood Experiences), and deep losses. The story portrays a kind of hard-earned wisdom that reveals what being present to the Now makes life worth living, past, present, and future.
One moment stopped me in my tracks: the young loss of a beloved, though complicated, father of one of the main characters.
At the funeral, the pastor kept his words brief: “Grief is a luxury for those living an easy life.”
Later, Ted’s friends gathered around him: “They had no words, so they let him cry, only not alone.”
When I was younger, I learned idyllic beliefs about how grief should look—polite silence, sitting reverently in the sanctuary, forcing my restless parts to behave. Or, we would circle around the flagpole in prayer to take a stand: peacefully, calmly, connected students. But this ideology was deceptive. It led me to omit a fuller grief. One that includes emotions like anger and rage. Aging and suffering have shown me how differently grief appears depending on circumstance—who has space and grace for it, and who doesn’t.
My youthful idealism hasn’t disappeared in me—I still seek peace, calmness and connection—but it has softened. And, broadened in perspective.
Through retreats with grief teachers and Francis Weller’s The Wild Edge of Sorrow, I’ve learned that quiet respect alone doesn’t always do grief justice. For some, the oppression and pain are so overwhelming that those who “sit respectfully” miss grief’s wild edge entirely.
Backman’s characters don’t miss it. They embody it. And that’s become my new wish—to have a tribe like that around me when I grieve: wordless and fully present.
Could there be a sanctuary with stained glass, soaring notes, and sacredly high ceilings? I’m down. But grief doesn’t always arrive in those spaces.
As a trauma and grief counselor, I believe what matters most is respecting grief’s muddy presentation. It is complex, especially for those who do not have the “luxury of an easy life.” Grief, trauma, and loss show up differently for everyone. Sometimes it looks quiet, sometimes wild. My work is about holding space for all of it—with compassion, curiosity, and presence.
If you’re navigating grief, loss, trauma, or life transitions, know you don’t have to do it alone. Counseling can offer a safe space to process, heal, and reconnect with what makes life worth living.
Are you wondering if you would benefit from Grief Therapy?
If so, I invite you to contact me for a free consultation to help you decide. Email counseling@susansmithlpc.com, or call Susan at 720-432-1403.
