No one can tell you how to grieve

From a Slate advice column for parents:

Four and a half years ago, I birthed beautiful, perfect twins. One ended up very sick with an untreatable genetic condition. She functioned as a newborn until she died before her third birthday. All of it was soul-crushing. I considered killing myself, but I didn’t, and I survived. Not only have I survived, but I am happy. Yes, at times, I am sad and miss my daughter, but I love my life and I am blessed and I’m pretty much OK 95 percent of the time. So what’s the problem? I want to move on. I could never forget my daughter, but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life always taking a moment to remember the daughter I lost. I lost myself when my daughter was diagnosed and we were fighting to save her. I lost myself when she died. I am finally me again, and I want to be able to just live my life without judgment that I don’t miss her enough. For example, for our second Christmas without her, our family scheduled a holiday photo shoot with our remaining children. Some people commented that they wish I had done something in that photo shoot to include her. Am I wrong? Should I live my life under an inescapable cloud? If I’m not wrong, do you have any advice on what I could say to these people? I understand they miss her. I miss her too. But I shouldn’t have to miss her for every single second of the rest of my life, should I?

From the answer:

It is understandable that people close to you might want to manage the way you express your grief, but I am here to tell you that you have every right to say to yourself, quietly but with certainty, fuck that. No one can tell you how to grieve. They can offer support and love, but you needn’t take their advice seriously.

The guilt we feel about happiness when circumstances tell us we should be suffering is a kind of second arrow, unnecessarily extending the pain of the initial wound.