“I thought I wouldn’t live through it. But you do.
You learn to love the place somebody leaves behind for
you.”
Barbara Kingsolver, Prodigal Summer
I read this quote at a time I was not really ready to hear it but I was hopeful I would eventually understand this to be true. At the time, my grief hadn't had a chance to rebuild the parts it took away and all I could see was sadness, but now I have come to think this is pretty spot on.
Today, April 2nd 2015, marks one entire year since my sweet friends passing. There have been celebrations, and sadness and laughter and tangible loneliness. And what I know a year in is this, grief is different for each one of us and eventually, no matter how painful it is, you need to make peace with it.
Today, April 2nd 2015, marks one entire year since my sweet friends passing. There have been celebrations, and sadness and laughter and tangible loneliness. And what I know a year in is this, grief is different for each one of us and eventually, no matter how painful it is, you need to make peace with it.
I used to think grief was an action or a place. “She is grieving her lost son.” “He is in grief since his wife passed away.” I struggled with this because I thought
grief was something to overcome or get out of.
I had heard of the five stages of grief and naively thought of it like a
12 step program. I thought I would knowingly
pass through these stages and suddenly feel better. And I
waited for them; anxious, unsettle and
depressed. When would it hit? Would it consume me? Would I be ok? How could I prep for this to unfold? How could I be ready? And most importantly, how long will it take
to feel normal again?
What I failed to realize is that by the time I started
looking for grief, it had already found me.
For me grief was not a place or an action or a set of stages to overcome. While I was searching high and low for grief I was completely unaware it was already here. Like an unwelcomed visitor grief had moved right into the place my friend once occupied and started its alterations.
The best way I can describe my grief is that it was like a part
of me was being remodeled. I look back
now and wonder about the pain I felt in her final days. What made no sense at the time seems to make
perfect sense now. In the few days before
she passed, I spent as much time as I could with her. I sat by her bedside desperate to capture the
last few memories and surrounding her with friendship and love. During this time there was also so much pain,
an aching and deep physical pain that bore into my heart and soul like a drill
boring into thick cement. It was
real. I was completely aware of its
presence at the time and I can still remember exactly what that felt like. It was heavy and hard and empty and it
physically ached in the center of my core.
I look back and know that was my grief.
Before she had even left this world grief was moving into the place she
once lived. Her life, our friendship, now
fleeting moments of time that would never be new again callously pushed aside
by grief. Deep, heavy, dark, palpable, empty
grief. Yes, I’m sure that is exactly what it was,
taking hold all set to re-decorate the place that she occupied for the past 17
years. With its moving van, tape measure,
new paint and sharp edges it settled in. Measuring the space and making sure to fill
every inch with itself. Grief took up residence with no sign of moving out. I
could feel it changing who I was and I had no control, no say and no
input. All of a sudden tight, dark,
suffocating feelings now existed in a place once filled with joy, happiness,
light, friendship and love. Joy and happiness and light never feel tight
when they grow, we always have more space for that. Funny how your body does that, makes so much
room for love to expand, but grief, grief is a whole other entity.
Grief has a job and a purpose and a lesson and it forces you
to notice its presence, to acknowledge its existence within you. And I believe grief lives in you forever, it
changes, over time but I think it stays.
I have come to think of grief as an “interior” decorator. In fact I think grief is an interior
decorator with a very important job. It’s
a job that will run into roadblocks and difficulties along the way. Things will seem like they are coming
together just fine and then for no apparent reason there are setbacks. And grief never tells you when the job will
be finished because time is non-existent in this remodel. I
believe grief takes hold in the shape of a black hole that is constantly
changing. And I believe it remains in a
state of disrepair until it’s time to rebuild.
It builds walls and knocks them down, it closes doors and opens others and
it boards up windows and adds in skylights.
I think it keeps changing until it gets it right. And eventually new rooms emerge in that vast
open dark space and it starts to seem less vast. And then grief repaints and hangs pictures of
your loved one. It plays cherished home
movies, movies you forgot were ever recorded.
And as it re-decorates each room it gilds your sweet memories preserving
them in this new beautiful space. And although grief rebuilds some pretty amazing
places, I believe it will always leave one room vacant, black and devoid of
light. This room can be scary at first
and you can try to avoid going in there but sometimes the door swings open
unintentionally and its dark emptiness can be all consuming. This room will never change. I used to be afraid of this room of these
feelings but sometimes I have needed this room.
I have needed to sit here and think and remember and mourn and I have
come to be grateful for this room to do just that. Grief for me was not something I was in, I needed to get over or something I did. It was something that was born inside me that I needed to learn to live with. And I needed to make peace with this grief. To allow it to exist, to know that it serves a purpose and to let it build a sacred place that gently holds my sweet friend and provides me a place to mourn.
So here I am an entire year in and I am grateful for sharing seventeen years of friendship with her. There are moments and days that are difficult and I accept those for what they are, real feelings. But I have come to love the place she left for me, a space filled with bright colors, a little leopard print and lots of gold.
