After my coffee shop venture this morning I swing by wild mind meditation shop to see if they had anything available I could use to connect with my grief… Found out about this amazing meditation app that you can use and see who’s meditating anywhere in the world – beautiful. Still, I didn’t get what I was after…
i knew I wanted to grieve, but I know I didn’t want to be home… For whatever reason it just didn’t feel safe enough; most likely anxiety triggers in the home, or too many things to distract myself with, I don’t know. I was so ready for tears this morning but then I tried my best and couldn’t do it. I went to a cemetery in town where the river runs right up against it.. It was stunning, and the concept of mirroring came into play for just a while.
I sat by the water and cracked open the book I immediately felt drawn too from the library called “Healing Through the Shadow of Loss.” It was perfect because it was a general sense of the ways we grieve and the the wisdom contained therein, versus the “someone has just died” grieving; I so needed this. I needed to read this book. It’s small enough that I finished it in one day, but sooooo many pieces of my life I was able to connect with towards my journey of growth and healing.
We grieve only that which we have loved, and the transient nature of life makes love and loss intimate companions.
This.. This made me connect to myself in a way I hadn’t done in years… The logic follows that if I need to grieve on behalf of so much pain and loss I’ve endured, then I must have loved myself at some point in time… Which means I’m worth the struggle. That’s a huge breakthrough for me.. It brings me closer to the edge of tears, but not enough to throw myself from the edge of the precipice towards the ocean below… But at least I’m more prepared.
When we have other losses in our life that we haven’t addressed, our grieving process can be contaminated; become an observer of your experiences without judgement – this is known as witnessing your state of concsiousness
I always referred to it as being a 3rd party observer, but it’s something I’ve been in touch with lately. This clarifies so much in terms of how I’m supposed to grieve with boundaries for myself to protect myself from falling too far down the rabbit hole.
When we are overwhelmed, it is difficult to think clearly or hear what is being said to us. We are lost and at the mercy of our environment. Healing asks us to be present, concsious, and aware. By paying attention to the little losses inherent in each day, we come to be more in tune with our responses to life’s bigger losses. As Gloria Vanderbilt said – each loss somehow echoes that first loss, the one we know so well. Something falls into place, so familiar it’s almost a relief.
When I read this I came to understand my panic attacks that surround change; when change arises I’m unable initially to handle it because I don’t know how to handle grief… I’ve been severed from it. Looking back I remember people telling me “just get over it” and “stop feeling sorry for yourself.” I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself, I was a child in mourning who didn’t know how to handle the complexity of emotions I was facing – thrust from the innocence of childhood into the world of adulthood with no guide to show me how, and only the rouse of religion to create a false anchor of stability within me. It was another moment where a piece of the puzzle in my life fell into place – something I’d never connected with before. I’m proud of my insight.
Healing is spiritual, curing is medical. Healing is an active process; we must participate in our own healing process. Healing is a gift we give ourselves in the moment we decide to stay open to that which has broken us. “To heal” comes from the words “to be whole”, a etymological root derived from the belief that when we become sick, we loose our wholeness; healing includes integrating the brokenness back into ourselves to be whole.
Gried has become something so beautiful to me… We are born with grief from birth the moment we leave the safety of our mothers womb, a place what was nothing but safe and secure, and we were thrust out of it. Children it seems cry when they are born because the first thing they come to experience is loss… No wonder the first thing we do is hold them and nurture them. We are promoting healing as the first step towards our journey in life…
This too makes me sad. My mother would tell me how she felt robbed with me when I was born because she wasn’t properly medicated and felt the blade of the c-section as I was born, and fainted from the pain, losing the first few hours I was born.
Speaking of my mother, I sat with the concept of “ghosting” – when you block off all communication with someone and walk away… It’s amazing how I never feel grief in those situations… Except for when I was the victim of it; don’t get me wrong, my dad was known to pull the silent treatment when I was a child (which I now know is a wall that’s used as a defense mechanism and not a healthy coping skill), but the silent treatment and ghosting aren’t exactly the same… No, there’s only 1 man that ever left me so devastated with that move, and I learned it from him. We use it as a way of separating ourselves from an emotion we find painful and threatening – remove the person and you cut off the danger from the emotions that are trying to surface. I never grieve when I cut someone out and it feels like I should… That’s basically my moms family right there. I don’t know how to even approach it because my fear is that I’ll want to run back to them but I can’t… I just can’t do that anymore. I can’t change them, and I’m not strong enough to deal with their dysfunction, nor do I want my son exposed to it; hell, she’s such a bitch she wants to change my son by “curing his Autisim” through bullshit homeopathic remedies like swallowing ocean water (which will kill you) and tons of pills to “remove the toxic metals from his brain that the vaccinations caused.” She is by no means a safe person to be near my son, and I’m glad she can’t call herself “grandma” – on her end it shows she’s not identified herself as a grandmother, and on my end it means there’s no real connection to feel guilty over severing. What kind of grandmother seeks to change her grandson to feel better about herself? More importantly, in what ways did my mother change me to do the same… Shit. I never even thought to ask myself that question till just now. This makes me sad… But sadness is good. This means I’m taking another step forward in the right direction.
I was drawn to think of grief in the context of culture, and as pro-Christian-male-dominate-white-America, we have no culture of grieving. We don’t honor the dead by welcoming the pain as part of our lives and working through it – we cast it aside and tell people after 2 weeks to go back to work and get over it. Being the creative type that I am, I want to make an urn.. A grieving urn, and every time I grieve I write about it, and keep it in the urn until I’m able to burn the pages through my own ritual that I create… And I want the urn to have holes in the side that represent how we can’t keep it all perfectly jarred up; tears, like water, needs to flow from a vessel. If grief is the container, then that container holds loss and all its experiences. If only we weren’t conditioned to shame grief as a bad thing…
The sufi poet Rumi said: Be the thirst searching for water. What would it take to be loss searching for grief
I left the cemetery after connecting with the tombs that bare my last name, and noticed how they had become lost and forgotten to time… No one leaves them offerings every year. I fear that’ll be me someday… A tombstone that says Simpson with no one to care about me enough to pay their respects.
I went home and tried again to cry… Read some more, put on the moving art series from Netflix, and tried to connect within myself… Whenever I tell myself “it’s okay. I need to grieve. I want to grieve.” I get so close to the edge of tears but don’t make the leap… I need to though. In the end I trust the process I’m on, and know I’m doing what’s best for me. I’m getting there. I’m growing. I’m learning to love… I have faith it’s going to be okay.