Friday, July 26, 2013

Grief: I've been so yours, here


Grief has its own rhythm, its own alchemy (defined as a process by which paradoxical results are achieved or incompatible elements combined with no obvious rational explanation).

At one day after the death of my Beloved, grief was numbing, depersonalized, ethereal, raw, formless.

At six months after the death of my Beloved, grief was searing, excruciating, bottomless, hollow, breathless.

At one year after the death of my Beloved, grief was concrete, raging, mad, confused, disorienting, sallow, paralyzing. Grief was my enemy.

At five years after the death of my Beloved, grief was the paradox: painful but grounded, breathtaking but life-giving, gentler and kinder, warmer and more inviting, less frightening and more familiar. I stopped fighting grief and realized he would not, despite how it felt, kill me. Grief was the fragile cord connecting me to my dark night of the soul, to her love, and grief became my friend, something I would n'er surrender.

At ten years after the death of my Beloved, grief raged again, debilitating grief, demanding my full attention, screaming in my face, "I'm still here, look at me!" And I looked, I gazed straight into grief's illimitable eyes, and I saw deeply into the well of grief. It held me tightly and then let me go...

At fifteen years after the death of my Beloved, grief took me into its arms and rocked me gently, as I did for her. We told each other of our love, as I did to her. Grief, my beloved grief.

I do not know what grief will bring tomorrow. But I do know this...

Grief is reborn daily. It will not be repeated, it's molecules are in constant flux.

Today, grief is reborn into the sadness of nearly two decades without my girl. Yesterday it was reborn into wishes that she could've sat at the kitchen counter with my other children eating wasabi seaweed and telling stories about silly games we played when they were little.

Tomorrow, grief will tunnel again through the darkness and into the light, like she did during her birth, and will emerge a different being, slightly changed some days, unnoticeably changed others.

Yes, grief is reborn daily, and so is my now abiding love and gratitude for it.

I've learned to hold and trust that grief knows well its own dutiful course in my life. So, I relinquish (the illusion of) control and trust that grief will, as it once promised, not kill me into non-existence. I didn't believe that at one time. But now, nearly two decades later, I know this as truth.

Grief will not kill me but it will transform me, willingly or not. My grief belongs to me, it has been mine all these years. It says to me, "I've been so yours, here."

So I walk hand in hand with grief, willingly, just as I would walk with her, hand in hand, today-

If only I could.







11 comments:

megan said...

thank you.

Thank you.

Carla Hoffmann said...

Always remembering, always honoring and always MISSing precious Chey with you...

You know I hold you close to my heart in prayers and love for gentle days.

Don Follis said...

Beautifully said... especially how any of us who has lost a would walk hand in hand with him (I lost a son at age 21) ... in the way we now walk hand in hand with grief, if only we could.

DWright said...

*tears*
"Grief will not kill me but it will transform me, willingly or not."
Yes, yes it has, does, and will continue to do. After almost 9 years, that is okay.

penelope joy said...

Your writing is always beautiful. Thank you for these words.

luminousblue5.com said...

This piece is so gorgeous - what amazing writing! I was moved and my heart opened, as always by your offerings. Thank you! blessings, Lucia

Dr. Joanne Cacciatore said...

Much love and gratitude for sharing with me. Thank you all. Wish you never knew this...

Anonymous said...

Thank you your message means a lot I lost my 18 year old son and 2 of his friends in a car accident last year we are about to put his headstone on his grave in 2 weeks still grieving trying to be strong for our other children very hard

Susan HeadInMyHands said...

My grief. People say "My cancer" when they talk about the mutant cells that are overtaking the healthy cells. My grief is evil and robs me of my life. I saw "your grief." Well done.

BeehiveInMyHeart said...

This is so beautiful. Thank you for sharing this glimpse inside your heart.

BeehiveInMyHeart said...

This is so beautiful. Thank you for sharing this glimpse inside your heart.

Becoming...

""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""
The soul still sings in the darkness telling of the beauty she found there; and daring us not to think that because she passed through such tortures of anguish, doubt, dread, and horror, as has been said, she ran any the more danger of being lost in the night. Nay, in the darkness did she, rather, find herself.

--St. John, Dark Night of the Soul


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