The older I get, the more I see that everyone has their own sad story. Whether it be the death of a loved one, divorce, abuse, alcoholism, neglect, trauma… Somewhere along the line, we have all experienced some form of grief. For me it goes like this: My father died of cancer when I was seven (he was 39). And then my brother was killed in a car accident when he was 19 and I was 15. I kind of think I’ve had my fair share of grief, and have therefore formed a few thoughts on the topic.
Grief is like a big, thick, ugly scar. It may be hidden from view due to the clothes you wear, but it’s still there. You may have done lots of work on it - to reduce it’s size and severity, and that work may have improved it greatly, but it’s still there. You may be so used to seeing it on your body that you hardly even notice it any more. Until you do, and see that it’s still there. You may have seen lots of other people’s scars, and felt a little better that you were not the only one carrying around this ugly mark. But at the end of the day - it’s still there.
For the longest time I had been under the impression that grief was a totally private matter. Not something I wanted to air out. Not something I wanted to look at very often. In fact, most of the time, it felt terrible to talk about it; it made other people uncomfortable and awkward, or it made one of us cry. While it may have temporarily helped me to release a little of this emotion - in the end it went right back to its normal hiding place. It was still there.
Lately, my feelings about my grief have been changing. I think I am finally starting to accept it. To say it’s okay to have this scar. To air it out. To allow it to move and change and breath. It’s not that I want to dwell on past feelings. In so many ways I have really worked on healing and moving through them. I am discovering that this grief will be with me always. I am consistently noticing with every new phase of my life, my grief does a little readjustment. As if it needs to reconfigure itself to this new space. Slowly I am getting used to the idea that it keeps popping up. Even when I think I’m done with it, I’m not. I never will be.
Just this year, I learned the best way to fight the build up of scar tissue is to really massage and manipulate that scar. To touch it, handle it, deal with it. And I don’t mean to gently and lovingly caress it - I mean to really apply pressure and break up that tissue underneath, before it solidifies into something permanent. Isn’t that so appropriately metaphorical?
I recently went to a very sad and painful funeral. I felt like my scars were ripped wide open. Again. But I’m okay. I’m still here - as is my scar.
I just heard from a long lost friend of my brother’s - 27 years later. She told me she named her son after my brother, because he was such a good friend to her. I am definitely revisiting the grief. But it’s okay. This is part of the process.
Every holiday when I am wishing that my dad were here, or my brother and his wife and kids (who he never had the chance to have) - I sit with my grief again. Sometimes it’s easier to do than other times.
My point is - it’s there. So let’s stop hiding it. Let’s welcome it back, even if it’s not our own.
Some people don’t like to cry. I can understand that. Sometimes when I cry - I have a hard time stopping. Not that I am unhappy - on the contrary; I feel extremely happy, fortunate and blessed. I am thankful of my family, of my life, of my friends and loved ones. Life is very good. But as a friend of mine said, “Life is messy. Messiness happens.” I think it would help if we all allowed the messiness to have it’s place at the table, instead of hiding it in the back room. Let’s welcome it. Honor it, even. It takes so much to survive grief. We should be celebrating the fact that we have lived through it. Rather than stuffing it away in a closet, let’s say, “Ah, there you are. Come on, let’s eat!”
It reminds me of the line from a Simon and Garfunkel song, “Hello darkness, my old friend. I’ve come to talk with you again.” Except that I don’t want to think of grief as dark anymore. I want to think of it as light. I want to think of grief as good.
