With this recent loss of my cousin, Don, which my family and I are living into I’m right back into the bubbling and steaming hot cauldron of remembering. I must reflect and remember so that I can move forward into first imagining life without him. I believe our shared past is my steady and secure anchor place that I will return to often for comfort and reassurance as I peek around corners that no longer contain him as they once did.
Moving forward and moving on are two different entities for me. The first being what I have been learning how to embody as I’ve navigated loss and the latter being something that makes me want to scratch out the eyeballs of anyone who might infer it.
Moving on I have sadly come to understand is what another desires me to do when they are uncomfortable with my sorrow. A sense that if I would just get on with my life and never mention my beloved that I’d somehow feel better? This could not be further from the truth and is not what any bereaved person needs to sense around anyone much less be on the receiving end of. It only makes us feel as if we are failing in grieving and there is no such thing. This becomes our work and it’s hard, relentless, and we’re each having to learn how to carry and integrate into our lives now our person(s) who are no longer in their earth suits.
None of us can prepare for this no matter how we might believe we have. Even those who have companioned a terminally ill loved one often are in disbelief that when their death actually happens that they feel as they do. For whatever reason they felt as if they should have been better prepared. I’m not even sure I know what being prepared even means? Perhaps on a cognitive level of knowing who to call, what to organize, yet this is not how one’s heart or body responds to loss. Normalizing the spin cycle of emotions that are experienced and not instiling further fear that something is horribly wrong with the bereaved is paramount.
There still exists a universal time line that allows for some patience with us for maybe the first twelve months? After that it is assumed that one has navigated all the firsts and most certainly can now be checked off as okay. Actually for many the second year can be one that feels more tender as the fog and feeling suspended into some kind of alerted reality are slowly lifting. What emerges is raw, pink skin that is asking to be peeled back gently and poked around in. There were moments I thought I was ready and then quickly discovered that I was not. Needing to reassure myself that there would be another opportunity for excavating and that my timetable with this was the only one to heed.
Patience, wiggle room, grace, spaciousness to roam, ears to hear without advice unless asked for nor judgment are the ingredients of witnessing and being witnessed. No one can ever know what is best for another, we can only share what has been helpful for us and trust that just as we are finding our way our loves will too.
Try to remember that on the underbelly of grief, there’s an ecosystem of love. It’s what fuels this whole, messy, impossible business of being alive. Kate Mapother
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