“We don’t want grief to harden or solidify ... we’re not going to try to fix a damn thing because nothing is broken ...” ~Francis Weller
Grieving and living
Life's Paradoxes
Well, except maybe my heart. My heart feels broken, yet I love the idea that it doesn’t need to be fixed. My life is always so paradoxical. How can something be broken yet not need to be fixed? How can I be whole and broken simultaneously? This paradox ties back to my belief that we live in an “and” world, not an “either/or” world. (See the “What Is New Mourning?” section for more on “ands.”)
I am whole and broken. I love my mom and she died in 2021. I laugh and I cry. I love living alone and I love hanging out with people. I grieve and I live.
So, while I am grieving innumerable people and things, I also continue to expand my love as much as I can. I don’t always tell everyone “I love you,” but if you don’t hear me say it, please know that I’ve said it silently to you. In an attempt to not freak anyone out, more often than not, the love is not outwardly stated.
Sitting at the table
Grief's Answers
I do my best to allow grief to sit at the table with joy, to allow anger to sit next to ease of being, to allow depression to sit with happiness. All of these and too many more to name here are parts of me that need to be acknowledged, seen and heard. As parts of me, they do not need to be fixed or eliminated. They make me who I am.
If I destroy grief, how much can I then love? If I do not move grief through dance, art, music, compassion or empathy ... if I let it solidify or harden, as Weller indicates, I become a statue and waste all the rest of my breath.
I don’t push my grief away. I don’t send it to sit in the corner so I can safely watch it from a distance. I don’t judge it by other people’s standards and say “you’ve been here too long. I should be over you by now.”
Instead, I ask my grief, “What do you need from me today?” Its replies vary depending on the context of the day, the week, or the month. Sometimes, it wants to remember things by looking at photos from a by-gone era. Sometimes, it wants to sit on the couch and cry. Sometimes, it wants to be comforted with macaroni and tomato juice. Sometimes, it wants to go out with Mom’s heart-shaped glasses and take photos.
Ignoring grief
Parts' Needs
I expect what your grief wants is totally different from what my grief wants. That’s perfectly fine. Grief, and all our other parts, show up differently for each one of us; the most important thing we can do for one another is recognize that our grief needs to have a seat at the table so that we can be whole in our brokenness.
I promise to hold space for you and all your parts – take as long as you need and want. I promise to be here when you want to talk, when you want to do something, and when you want to sit in silence. I respect that you might ask for one thing and suddenly realize that that isn’t what you want after all.
I also recognize that as all of our parts get attention and receive what they need, we will change fundamentally who we are. We have subtly changed all of our lives either by opening and growing or by closing off parts of us we’ve banished from the table and stagnating.
What is different about grief for many of us, though, is its ability to demand loudly and vociferously our attention. It doesn’t usually give us the choice to ignore it. One way or another it lets you know it is present. We ignore it at the cost of our very own lives.
Letting go
Our Remembering
When we tap into other parts of us – our comforting and loving parts – we can offer grief the space it needs to move rather than harden wherever it is in our bodies.
April is ma mere's birthday month. Her death more than three years ago served as a catalyst for my ever-evolving human-ness. I recently heard Mara Branscombe say, “We are stronger in our letting go than in our holding on.”
It does take a lot of strength to let go because we are letting go of the known for the unknown. Most of us are beings who will hold on for dear life to what we know because we don’t like the uncertainty of what we don’t know. Opening our tightly held fists does not mean we forget those we have loved and grieved; letting go allows us to live our lives fully and open-heartedly with their love showing us the way.
Grieving and living with you,
Angela Jane