I was absolutely unprepared for my mother to die. I felt like I had sprinted toward a wall, made impact at top speed, and crumpled to the ground. Losing a parent can change everything in your world. You pass through a grief membrane and exist in a different space than others who are not grieving. It’s so important to keep going, to take care of yourself even when it feels like just don’t have the bandwidth for anything. Let’s talk about seven helpful ways to survive early grief when your parent dies.

Breathe.

It sounds so simple. Breathe. And yet when we lose a mother or a father, the world feels wrong. Surreal. The air around us changes when we pass through the grief membrane. You may not notice this, but you might be taking only shallow breaths up in your chest.

Place your hands on your waist and then move them up higher, so you are feeling your abdomen and your lower ribs. Inhale. Practice slowly inhaling deeply into your belly. If you have been stress breathing, this might make you yawn or feel dizzy. Relax your jaw. Let your shoulders come down away from your ears. Breathe slowly and fully, filling your belly and lower rib cage first.

Place a post-it note somewhere you will see it regularly to remind yourself to try these calming, full breaths.

Shower.

When my mother died I didn’t want to move. I curled up in the dark for hours, trying to block out all sensations in my body. Hunger. Thirst. Tense, stiff muscles from not moving. I didn’t care. I cried until I fell asleep, then woke up and cried more.

In this post we talked about the power of water and how it helped ease some of my grief. In those very early days after my mom died, eventually I got up in that dark room and stumbled into the shower. With the water on as hot as I could stand, I let it pour down on me. I didn’t wash my hair or do anything. I just stood there, letting it rain on me. I could cry and breathe under the water in a way I couldn’t in the rest of the world, where the air was wrong because my mother was gone.

If you are grieving, get yourself in the shower. Close your eyes. Hold onto the wall if you need support. Let the water have your grief, even just for a few minutes.

Drink.

I know you might not feel like it. It might not even occur to you. But you need to keep drinking water when you are grieving. Endless crying gave me headaches, and I was soon dehydrated.

If you have a reliable friend or family member nearby, ask them to always keep your water bottle filled and place it next to you, without you needing to ask. Ask them to place it in your hand and remind you to take a sip every so often.

When my mom died and the world felt tilted and wrong, someone handed me a bottle of vitamin water, and it helped. Crying requires electrolyte replacement. I needed to take care of my mom and plan her funeral, and I decided vitamin water would be my fuel. Two or three bottles per day.

I couldn’t put food together. That was too much. But I could open a bottle and pour it over ice in a large glass with a straw. I asked a family member to go out and buy me a dozen or so bottles. I put them at eye level in the refrigerator so that I could keep myself going with little to no thought required.

Keep It Simple.

I was on vacation when I found out my mother died. I’d traveled to Florida with only a backpack. I was experimenting with the concept of minimalist travel, and so I had only the bare minimum of toiletries, no shoes except flip flops, one skirt, one pair of shorts, two tops, and a hoodie.

I didn’t know I would have to leave Florida and detour to New York to bury my mother. I drove from the airport to a grocery store, where I pushed a cart around aimlessly and thought clearly that if I never left the store I wouldn’t have to confront her funeral or her death. I thought clearly that I could stay in there forever, endlessly circling the aisles. The fluorescent lights would stay on above me always. The peppy store music tracks would never end. I had to make myself leave. I bought vitamin water and prepackaged foods that required no thought. Salad kits and frozen meals.

I went to one more store and bought a pair of comfortable flats, hair conditioner, and a purse, because I’d left mine at home. I wandered around looking at all the items and was overwhelmed by the idea of people shopping and living when my mom was dead. I sat down on the floor and cried until I could get up, pay for my items, and leave.

I spent the next two weeks staying at a friend’s home, since she had graciously offered her house to my brother and I while she and her family were gone on vacation. I planned my mother’s funeral and sorted through her belongings with only the bare minimum of clothing, food, and personal care items for myself. It made things easier not to have to think about piles of laundry, what to wear, or what to eat. I couldn’t function unless my routine was as simple as possible.

It might help you to simplify your clothes, food, or other needs when you’re at the beginning of raw grief. Focus on just a few basics, and leave all the rest for another time.

Allow Help.

At first I pushed everyone away, even my children. I couldn’t bear to be around anyone once I heard my mother died. I wanted to be in the dark. I didn’t want anyone to touch me. I couldn’t breathe, eat, drink, or sleep. I was in shock. Floating in pain.

Eventually I started tolerating other people. I didn’t talk much when they were around, but I was somewhat okay with others being there. I asked them to keep my water bottle filled if they could.

Friends and family wanted to help. They wanted to say the right things. A lot of the time their words grated on my ears and my heart. I could hold my kids and hug them, but I found it so hard to speak without crying.

When you’re able to let your people in, let them help. Give them tasks they can just do without needing to ask for instructions. Let your people help you and work in the background to keep the world turning while you are grieving.

Write It Down.

I had so many feelings spilling out right after my mother died and I didn’t know what to do with them. I felt like screaming. I wanted someone to hear me and answer, but there was no answer. She was gone.

I asked a family member to get me a blank notebook at the drugstore and I used it to dump random thoughts, scrawl out memories, make notes for my eulogy, and list things I needed to do for the funeral. I used the Google Keep app on my phone in bed in the dark to type out more or record using the speech-to-text option on my phone’s keyboard.

Writing and recording my thoughts and feelings felt better, more concrete than simply thinking them over and over. When I had a sentence down and named my pain, described it and wrote it out, it seemed more real. Documented. Keeping feelings just in my head wasn’t working, but getting them out helped.

However you can do it–journaling in a notebook, speech-to-text in an app, drawing, doodling–getting your distress out and documented can help to ease your grief, or at least make you feel like you aren’t spinning and repeating the same unheard feelings.

Lift Yourself Up.

When the flight attendant announced that the plane was about to land in New York, the place where I would have to confront my mother’s death and plan her burial, I panicked. I couldn’t breathe, started crying hard, and needed help. I needed a distraction, something to take me out of the panic cycle.

I searched for music on my phone, since I thought maybe a familiar, soothing album or some meditation type music on repeat in my headphones would help me breathe. Unfortunately my phone was in airplane mode, and literally the only album I had downloaded and available was the original motion picture soundtrack of My Little Pony: The Movie, which I’d purchased for my pony obsessed daughter.

And so that’s how I found myself listening to “Time To Be Awesome”, sung by exuberant ponies, as the plane descended and landed in New York:

I know the world can get you down
Things don’t work out quite the way that you thought
Feeling like all your best days are done
Your fears and doubts are all you’ve got

But there’s a light, shining deep inside
Beneath those fears and doubts so just squash ’em
And let it shine for all the world to see
That it is time, yeah, time to be awesome

I listened to that same song so many times. I kept it on repeat. It felt ridiculous, but I didn’t care. It connected me to my daughter, and I knew I needed to keep myself going for her and for my little son. I needed to be awesome. My mom had just died. I needed to keep going. I did feel a light inside, and I did keep going. I think the light was my mother, and I held onto her tightly. I talked to her out loud as if she could hear me, as if she was with me every step of the way.

Find some little thing that lifts you up. A song. A physical object you can hold. Maybe a poem or a quote you can write down or print out and look at often. Try to find one small thing to help you remember that tiny light inside of you.

You can do this.

Breathe, dear friend, and remember you are not alone.