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Collective grief is stimulated by large scale losses and tragedies, some impacting people and communities far from the initial ground zero of the event.

The world feels heavy right now. Between the ongoing wars, devastating hurricanes, and the divisive political climate, It's no surprise that many of us are experiencing a range of difficult emotions, anxiety, overwhelm, sadness, anger and even numbness.

Whenever I turn on the news, I'm overwhelmed by distress and suffering across the world. Despite taking breaks from the media, the sense of unease never fully fades.

Is it possible “to heal,” as in “done and dusted, I can officially move on from this experience of profound loss and grief, once and for all?” I am provoked. Which means… I’m ready to write.

My heart has yet to find the words to express this emotion. I’ve been captivated by the way plant kin choose their season to bloom and offer their medicine to the people. There is no randomness in how plants respond to the shifting winds and the flow of time.

Ambiguous Grief is one of the most difficult loss experiences to traverse. The person is still alive but the relationship you have with them must change. When that happens due to divorce, it leaves both parties, and their children and friends flailing about for clues on how to behave and how to treat one another.

Identity ignored = Isolating more / Loss leads to love realized in the maddening goodbye / It was held against me / They called it “hysteria” back the day, still some things haven’t changed / But this isn’t The Yellow Wallpaper / More grief like losing Old Yeller / But relief to lose the one who yells / Part heaven; part hell / Who am I now?

Immigrants know identity loss and ambiguous grief intimately well. There are the big losses like not getting to be there for graduations, weddings, births, and deaths. And then there are the small, daily griefs: the constant mispronunciation of our names, the blank stares when our homelands are mentioned, the craving for food that somehow only tastes right in our childhood homes, the way our tongues stumble with rust after not speaking our mother languages in days, months, years.

When the unimaginable happens, the world seems to move callously onward while a chasm opens within our very being. We feel an overwhelming urge to withdraw, to take refuge in that very silence that now mirrors the absence we feel.

A whisper, a weak shy friend, a wilderness within and a world that is unseen. That is what it is like to grieve someone. You can’t study grief; you can only feel it. It is a loss and a finding that what you most want was right behind you, but you can’t stop and turn to touch it again. It’s the end of a brilliant road for one not two, but it feels like they still belong to you.

Hundreds registered for the series, with additional views on Reimagine’s YouTube channel. Moving forward, Reimagine will continue to integrate caregiver stories into upcoming series on loneliness, friendship loss, identity loss, and anticipatory loss.

On this Lonely Mountain / I rise silently while not looking back / Uplifting others to remove lack / I feel the coldness of my climb / My body aches for familiarity, for warmth / But my heart wants to know humanity from a new sight