Dancing Star International

I woke up this morning from a dream calling out for my mom, in tears from missing her. Is it because I had a conversation at a party last night with two other women whose mothers are now going through what mine went through with dementia, specifically Alzheimers? Or because the second anniversary of her death passed this past week and I didn’t even notice (or so I thought)?

Whatever the reason, I wanted to share some things I’ve been learning about grief, because it happens to all of us, throughout our lives, losses that we have no choice but to move on from. And yet some days it feels like there must be another option, even if it’s to leave the planet so as to never have to feel that much pain again (and there are many ways we humans try to avoid pain, among them self-medicating with work, alcohol, sex, food, other people’s problems, TV, the internet, shopping…).

What I’ve learned about grief, first of all, is to notice and acknowledge the feelings. Simple as it sounds, this can be the hardest part. Personally, I am wired to bury my feelings almost before I feel them - often I only notice them when I find myself doing something inexplicable, like putting my water bottle down and walking away without it, eating food I know isn’t good for me, or snapping at people for no reason. I suspect I’m not alone in doing this. The good news is that I have been able to train myself to notice sooner. And once I notice, I have learned to stop and let those feelings come. Sit and have a good cry. Call a friend who’s also grieving so we can share each other’s burden just a bit, or someone who will just comfort me when I call. Write about it, as I’m doing now.

I’ve also learned to learn about the process. Elizabeth Kubler-Ross did some pioneering work in this field, largely by articulating and making available to a wider audience what humans in all cultures have learned over millenia. There are many others who have written or who teach about grief.

Mostly I’ve learned not to isolate, and to take time to grieve. Many of us – particularly busy business people who have lives and businesses to take care of, responsibilities to fulfill, people depending on us, families to care for – feel we simply don’t have time, try to push our grief aside and “just get on with it”. Unfortunately, I’m here to tell you, it doesn’t work that way (and trust me, I tried, for many years). Sure, you can bury your grief for a while, but it won’t stay buried forever. It will come out some other way - in an illness, or an inability to focus, or in making mistakes you know better than to make but that inexplicably, you make. And these will probably take more time (and potentially cost more) than just grieving in the first place.

My reaction to used to be to get mad at myself when my grief surfaced. I have learned that what I need is to be gentle with myself, take time to notice what’s going on with me, focus on and deal with it, even if it’s go outside for a walk with a wad of tissues in my pocket, or take the afternoon off and go do something completely different, perhaps something that honors or reconnects me with the one I lost.

Over time the pain does ease. In the beginning, we are numb of course, the walking wounded – nothing much makes sense – and we question everything (and often everyone) around us. That numbness protects us from the depth of our pain. And it may take a year or two (or more) to really start to notice strength returning, a feeling of getting back on our feet, literally.

Oh, the loss never goes away completely, nor would we want it to - those loved ones were a part of our lives, and we honor them with our tears and our remembrances. And with a primary loss come all the secondary ones and the ones we thought we buried, back again for another round - the family who never understood, the exes who hurt us, the hopes and dreams that have been destroyed because of someone’s stupidity or inability to face reality, the choices we’ve made that hurt us and others around us.

But slowly, from out of the depths, comes an easing, a lightening, a way forward that starts to make sense. With persistence, patience, and a lot of self-love, we do heal, and become stronger, and find a reason to keep on going. It may not be in our time, or in the time the world around us seems to expect, but it does come, and we will (it is true what “they” say), have grown stronger for it. I have experienced that, too.

I’ll finish with something I found in my sister’s journal after she died, something that has helped me immensely over the many years she’s been gone. Perhaps it will help you, too:

Her Dream began with winter darkness. Out of this darkness came a great hand - fisted. It was a man’s hand, powerful and hallowed by shadows in the wells between bones and tendons.

The fist opened, and in the long plain of the palm lay three small pieces of coal.

Slowly the hand closed, causing within the fist a great pressure.

The pressure began to generate a white heat, and still it increased.

There was a sense of weighing, crushing time. She seemed to feel the suffering of the coal with her own body - almost beyond the point of being borne.

At last she cried out to the hand, “Stop it! Will you never end it! Even a stone cannot bear to this limit…even a stone.”

After what seemed like too long a time for anything molecular to endure, the torments in the fist relaxed.

The fist turned slowly, and very slowly opened.

Diamonds, three of them.

Three clear and brilliant diamonds, shot with light, lay in the good palm. A deep voice called to her, “Deborah!” And then gently, “Deborah, this will be you.