Adrift
It is a cold and rainy spring here which is unusual, like so much else that’s happening in the world now. I’m told that this weather has nothing to do with the virus or the wild moon we just experienced, but I’m not as inclined to dismiss the questions that arise for me as I once was. Grief changes us, and not all of those changes are bad.
I like that I trust myself more. Maybe you will too once you see that it’s possible to survive what feels like the un-survivable. I’m not as quick to take someone else’s word as wiser just because it’s not my word. After all, you see how much people don’t know about the process of grieving, the depth of pain, the surprise of continuing to live with so much loss. You learn to trust yourself first, then consider the opinions of others in light of your own intellect.
It’s almost insulting how life ticks on when your loved one is gone. In one of my early journals during that time, I wrote:
“There is such a shocking contrast between the spiritual side of life—the eventuality of our death, the awareness of a deceased’s absence—and the ordinariness of everyday activities. Our daily chores and problems feel so certain, like life is solid and important. It’s a welcome relief from the large, dark, and surreal quality an awareness of the spirit world brings.”
In grief, we need both the routine certainty of everyday life, and reprieves from it into the mysterious other world filled with so much unknown. Back and forth you dip from real to surreal, like a tiny boat tossed about in a whirling sea. Hang on even when there’s not much to grip. Lean back into the dark starry sky when you’re tired of holding on. See-saw your way back to the ordinary, even with so much change. There’s no need to try. It just happens.
More:
Letters to your Deceased Loved One
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