GRIEF 1, 2, 3
Here’s the funny thing about
grief (I never knew there was anything
funny about grief to be honest) it always surprises you. It is not (and I
repeat) NOT a one size fits all emotion. And anyone that tells you differently,
well, just turn and walk the other direction cause they don’t know what they’re
talking about.
At my age, I feel very confident that I know who I am, and more importantly,
how I will react to certain things that life throws in my path. I am practical, I love a good challenge.. and yet I tend to be
sensitive at times, (soft and gooey on the inside and all that). And of course when the situation demands it, I can be pretty tough and unrelenting. But when it comes to death, I won’t lie; I have always
been terrified of it. It’s finality, the unknowing, or lack of control over
one’s mortality. And I love control. Oh how I love it. I’m sure I’m not alone in this, hence the many things we cling
to in this life to somehow soften the blow of what's inevitable.
So in light of watching
death, actually watching someone dear to me take their last breath on earth, I have been
utterly mystified by my reaction to it. In the moment, like I had always
imagined, the grief was palpable, visceral even. I thought to myself, there is
no way my brain can digest what I’m seeing, feeling…it’s simply too much. And
yet, there was a stillness there and peace unlike anything I’ve ever seen or felt; in
simple terms, an organic surrender that even I couldn’t fight; and that was
this person’s unknowing gift to me. Watch this, see that I’m okay, and put the
fear aside (at least for now).
And perhaps in that moment,
that very monumental, surreal moment, my mind told me that it was enough to merely
witness it… and yet to feel it on that profound level was simply too much. So in
short, I have subconsciously (or very consciously) put it somewhere. I can see it, sitting up there on the shelf,
and I know in time, I will get it down and open it and feel what comes pouring
out, but for now, I will just let it inhabit that place, knowing it is somehow
keeping me company, but not overwhelming me.
The interesting part in all
of it is how people expect you to respond or more to the point, assume they would respond (and trust me, I’ve been guilty of
this myself, always assuming what the post loss response should be) and in
turn, you feel somehow defective for not responding in that precise way. Or in some cases,
proud you are somehow able to hold it together. ‘Yay, look at me go, I’ve
showered.’ What I do know is that grief has surprised me (and I don’t surprise
easily). It’s profound presence and yet lack of feeling has shocked me to my core; it’s quietness, it’s
patience, it’s ability to live inside you, and for the time being simply remain
silent until it feels like screaming from the rooftops like an unhinged lunatic.
The other revelation of this journey has been the amount of laughter one can find in the most sobering of
moments. I know, shocking, right? But in the pain, through the pain, there are
so many moments that one (depending on the person or group of people) can see
the humor in, or find things that simply are so poignant or revelatory, you
can’t help but fall on the floor in hysterics. In short, an outlet is an
outlet however it seeps out of you. I suppose it’s also the psyche’s way of
preventing you from coming apart at the seams.
So I suppose the reality is
that grief wears many masks: some loud and garish, some crippling and meek,
some furious and dripping with rage… and yes, even one lurking behind a quiet, thoughtful smile…
and I’m telling myself, at the moment, that it’s perfectly okay.