10 Tools I Developed To Help Me Grieve

Everyone has different tools for coping with grief—the trick is figuring out what works for you.

When we lost our son, my husband said something that stayed with me. After 25 years in law enforcement, he had seen so many couples struggle through grief, and he knew he didn’t want that to be our story. He said, “Let’s do some research. Let’s think about this and see what we can come up with—together.”

So I searched the internet. Some of it was helpful, but nothing really hit the spot for us.

What we did find—what we created—was a simple system to let each other know where we were emotionally. We called it our grief temperature.

Zero meant the deepest sorrow.
Ten meant overjoyed, heart-bursting moments of light.

In group settings, he would quietly hold up his hand to show me his number, and I would show him mine. Sometimes we’d simply ask, “What’s your number?” Other times, if we were apart, we’d text it to each other.

It became a beautiful tool for us—especially during those first months, and even that first year.

If he was at a two, I would drop what I was doing and sit with him in his grief. And when I was low, he did the same for me. It gave us a way to meet each other exactly where we were—without explanation, without pressure, and with so much love.

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10 Tools I Developed to Help My Grieving Process

If I were to list the tools that helped me through grief, these would be them.

1. Being gentle with myself.
   I stopped putting pressure on what I should be doing or how I should be feeling. I gave myself grace—again and again.

2. Knowing my limitations.
   During that time, there were many things I simply could not do. Everyone’s experience is different, but for me, I needed a lot of alone time and downtime. I became easily overstimulated, so I limited my social interactions.
   I had what I called a laundry list: no sad stories, music was difficult, certain foods were hard, and other things that might seem strange from the outside. It wasn’t about avoidance—it was about awareness. I was learning to be mindful of my limits.

3. Understanding that you cannot do this alone.
   I confided in my husband and my sister. They were my team. They came to me every time and allowed me to be irrational, angry, or whatever I was feeling—without judgment.
   I also worked with a meditation coach and a spiritual advisor. Again, no judgment. Just support.

4. Acceptance was essential.
   I had to stop wishing things were different. It hurt too much. Even thoughts like “If I could just have one more hug or conversation” were unbearable. I learned to gently stop myself, because losing him again—over and over—was too painful.

5. Listening to my body.
   My entire body hurt for at least a year. I either couldn’t sleep or slept deeply only to wake up exhausted. I got sick often. Grief and the body don’t move on the same schedule. You simply can’t live a “normal” life until your grief and your body catch up to each other. My husband went back to work, but he needed his days off just to rest and recover. That year we had stomach flu, colds, and even pink eye from our grandson. It was a rough year all around. If I had to do it over again, I would have rested more.

6. Having things to look forward to.
   I needed something ahead of me—daily, weekly, monthly, mid-year, and yearly. Small anchors of hope mattered.

7. Feeling both grief and gratitude.
   They can exist at the same time. One does not cancel out the other.

8. Releasing unhelpful emotions.
   For me, anger, resentment, and guilt made grieving harder. I couldn’t fully grieve while holding onto those emotions. When they came up, I would say out loud, “This is not helpful.”
   With practice, those feelings softened. I didn’t shame them—I just didn’t invite them to stay.

9. Leaning into my belief system.
   Whatever that looks like for you. For me, it was essential to remember that I was not in control.

10. Celebrating their life whenever possible.
    Say their name. Keep their pictures visible. Eat their favorite foods. Listen to their music. Do this even when it hurts.
    In the beginning, I could only do this in small increments—until one day, it didn’t hurt quite as much.

11. Journaling, if you can.
    Writing releases energy from the body. I journaled a lot because I didn’t want to unload my feelings onto others. I poured them into my journal instead.