December 21, 2014 marked three years since Cliff's death. For the past six months I've been cycling, kayaking, and climbing, feeling strong. This year I made plans to go snowshoeing with one friend on the 21st and have dinner with another. I thought I would try being social on the anniversary of his death instead of isolating as I have done. But those plans fell through a few days before. Even an outing the previous day was aborted when our car hit black ice and spun into the ditch, leaving us stranded for a couple hours until a tow truck came to rescue us.
So events conspired to ground me. I'm never sure what to expect on these anniversaries. I think I'm doing well. I felt pretty normal as the day approached, other than noticing a decline in my physical stamina. That seems to be the most predictable sign of on-coming grief. Then I find myself feeling easily irritated and running into obstacles (like the car going into the ditch, things just not working out). Until I simply accept that grief is here and I might as well hole up for a while and ride it out, not try to make things any different than they are.
I get frustrated with that, too, that grief lasts longer than a day or two, that I'm not being as active as usual and I'm eating more, that I cry at unpredictable and often inconvenient times, that I know I seem rude or awkward at work when everyone else is excited about Christmas, that I'm not able to just put all this aside and be "normal". I guess this is a skill like any other -- learning how to be compassionate with myself through this and eventually, I hope, as a result being kinder and less irritable with others who are having a very different experience at this time of year.
Grief is another side of love, a different facet of the same diamond. I don't understand it, I don't yet have the wisdom to handle it skillfully, I don't know what to do with it. I love you, Cliff. I miss you. I wish more than anything that you were happy and healthy and here.
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Thursday, December 25, 2014
Monday, February 11, 2013
Living with the Full Catastrophe
Dear friends -
In a recent phone conversation, a well-intentioned friend, after inquiring how Christopher, Ileah and I were doing, responded very cheerfully that time heals all wounds. I felt stunned by her comment, unsure how to respond. Does she really believe this? Because I work in an organization that serves many people whose wounds don't get all better, and from some wounds people actually die. One's definition of "healing" has to be pretty broad to include all that.
Cliff's death ripped a hole in the world where he used to be. After the shock of that, I found a part of me had died, too. While some things heal, that part hasn't grown back. It may not be evident to others that anything is missing, but it's very evident to me. It's as if I'm living in a different body, experiencing the world through a different set of senses, having had to re-familiarize myself with everything from a changed perspective.
As well as they are functioning and re-engaging with the world, Christopher and Ileah are also experiencing an irreparable loss. As someone whose own father died at 46 of cancer, I know what a hole that left in my life, particularly during my 20s and 30s. Christopher and Ileah had unique relationships with their very unique Papa. This, their ages and maturity, and the sudden and traumatic circumstances of his death have shaped and will continue to shape their own experiences.
I don't want people to feel sorry for any of us. We are each taking care of ourselves, taking the next steps in our lives. We are each in our own ways very capable people. We have amazing circles of family and friends, and we have the love and support of each other, all of which has been tested and deepened.
Yes, there is healing that happens. Yes, there can be creative, generative, adaptive responses to this kind of loss. Christopher and Ileah, two of the most creative and intelligent people I know, have already demonstrated this. And there are also some wounds that can never completely heal, some parts of us that can't grow back. We live with all of this -- as Jon Kabat Zinn says, the full catastrophe.
In a recent phone conversation, a well-intentioned friend, after inquiring how Christopher, Ileah and I were doing, responded very cheerfully that time heals all wounds. I felt stunned by her comment, unsure how to respond. Does she really believe this? Because I work in an organization that serves many people whose wounds don't get all better, and from some wounds people actually die. One's definition of "healing" has to be pretty broad to include all that.
Cliff's death ripped a hole in the world where he used to be. After the shock of that, I found a part of me had died, too. While some things heal, that part hasn't grown back. It may not be evident to others that anything is missing, but it's very evident to me. It's as if I'm living in a different body, experiencing the world through a different set of senses, having had to re-familiarize myself with everything from a changed perspective.
As well as they are functioning and re-engaging with the world, Christopher and Ileah are also experiencing an irreparable loss. As someone whose own father died at 46 of cancer, I know what a hole that left in my life, particularly during my 20s and 30s. Christopher and Ileah had unique relationships with their very unique Papa. This, their ages and maturity, and the sudden and traumatic circumstances of his death have shaped and will continue to shape their own experiences.
I don't want people to feel sorry for any of us. We are each taking care of ourselves, taking the next steps in our lives. We are each in our own ways very capable people. We have amazing circles of family and friends, and we have the love and support of each other, all of which has been tested and deepened.
Yes, there is healing that happens. Yes, there can be creative, generative, adaptive responses to this kind of loss. Christopher and Ileah, two of the most creative and intelligent people I know, have already demonstrated this. And there are also some wounds that can never completely heal, some parts of us that can't grow back. We live with all of this -- as Jon Kabat Zinn says, the full catastrophe.
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