Wednesday, 19 September 2012

Grieving As Fast As I Can.

Halfway through share-crying in a meeting today, I realised that I am "in" grief. Like, grief is a state, a place to be. You don't walk around saying, "I'm in anger." Or, "I'm in happy."

Grief is more than a feeling. It's not even constructive. Just .... monstrous waves crashing on sharp rocks. My grief over the death of Jim feels like vultures in tattered coats, perched in my chest. I can't get them out. Sometimes I get a respite and it's ok, then it comes back again. Harder and more vicious than before. Grief is the price we pay for love. My sisters and I already had pre-existing dead dad issues. So, we could never get insurance against any future dead dads. We have a unique, painful journey here. And confusing.

Thank you, thank you for the comments here. And the good thoughts, the emails. I made myself accountable with that post ... kept myself honest. I keep waiting to "be over" this so then I can write all about it, tie it all with a neat bow. PHEW! Starting to realise that it's going to take a long time. Emily wrote in the comments: "Grief is a journey. A wise woman once said: "Nothing wrong with grieving, it does a body good. It's important, sacred, and healing. Take all the time you need to pass through that country, but don't build a home there."

Don't build a home there. 

I don't want to build a home in all the broken things. It's too dangerous and it never lasts.

This morning I supervised my boys brushing their teeth, and then clipped Roccos toenails. MY GOD his nails. I'll never get used to that part of parenting, being responsible for all of the bodily things.

Then I went into Leura to buy ingredients for BabyMacs Famous Chicken Soup. (KNOB of fresh ginger! HA!) I stood in line next to an old guy telling the cashier all about the cow his mother used to milk when he was young. And how that milk made the best cream. And the apricot jam she'd make, from their apricot tree. It was the best conversation snippet ever. Nourishing. And I didn't even feel angry or jealous of him, for being allowed to grow so old.

The spring blossoms still haven't bloomed. Not one teeny bit of popcorn can be seen. Come on! Hurry up!

But the seasons cannot be hurried.

These trees *probably* won't be stuck in a perpetual winter, even though it feels like it. Something's got to change, be renewed again. I'll still be "in grief" long after the bloom falls to the ground.

Last night I came across this article. Wise men and women were asked their thoughts on the meaning of life.

"We are here to notice each thing so each thing gets noticed. Together we notice not only each mountain shadow and each stone on the beach but, especially, we notice the beautiful faces and complex natures of each other. We are here to bring to consciousness the beauty and power that are around us and to praise the people who are here with us. We witness our generation and our times. We watch the weather. Otherwise, creation would be playing to an empty house." - Annie Dillard

"We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us." - Charles Bukowski

My favourite is from a barber, Frank Donofrio.

"I have been asking myself why I’m here most of my life. If there’s a purpose I don’t care anymore. I’m seventy-four. I’m on my way out. Let the young people learn the hard way, like I did. No one ever told me anything."

Tonight I'll find some meaning by cooking a nice meal. By looking at the faces of the people I love the most. Might even have a warm shower, read a book in bed. There's a lot to be said for honouring the simple things.

Yesterday was dreadful, today is better. I have no idea what tomorrow will look like. Maybe tomorrow will take care of itself. Like it always does.


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Write to be understood, speak to be heard. - Lawrence Powell

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