By noon, the island had gone down in the horizon;
and all before us was the wide Pacific.
---Herman Mlwille: Omoo
For all that has been: Thanks!
For all that will be: Yes!
---Dag Hammarskjold
Grief can engulf us within a spiral of emotional chaos that tosses us around and around until there is no possible way to know which way is up. We seem to get our bearings from what appears to be down, but we cannot be certain of anything. It feels like we are spinning in a vast, dark void.
Grief befalls my world when it has been overturned by loss of some kind. It will never be the same and there is nothing in my control that can change that. In my loss, I feel lost. All my points of reference have been altered and I find myself in an unknown place where I am alone. The silence and emptiness can be unbearable.
I have had many different kinds of losses just in the last few months. As I write about them I realize that I have stayed outside and aloof. I have not taken advantage of the opportunities grief has offered me.
Perhaps this is why I have lost my bearings. Hopefully, if I share some of my experiences I can move through the throws of grief and find myself again.
While on a road trip, I received a call from the dog- sitter that one of the dogs in the kennel had been bitten by a rattlesnake and had died. This was a shocking loss; an accident where there was no forewarning. There was nothing I could do.
I have been in close contact with one of my friend’s husband who is dealing with chronic pain. He is one of those people who has never been aware of his body. Now he is struggling with the loss of control that his pain dominates and is regularly having panic attacks. He also lost more money on the stock market last week than he had made working the year before. Work and immortality have been his identity. The loss of himself, which he is encountering, is challenging his entire being.
My position as part of his support system has been difficult for me because I feel so powerless when he talks about wanting to commit suicide. I can understand the confusion that arises in his mind and the strong desire to stop the suffering. His attempt at taking back control in what seems like an uncontrollable situation makes sense, but it seems to me the urge is more symbolic than literal. Does the desire arise from the hatred of life and wanting to stop the suffering, or a yearning for things to be different? One thing is certain; the dilemma is an unsettling battle in his mind.
I was honored to support a good friend of mine on his journey with his wife dying with cancer. The illness brought them so much closer than they had been before the illness took over. They moved through the untimely process with such love and grace that every time we spoke it was an inspiration.
Shortly after her death, my 92-year-old Aunt, who had filled a space left in my life when my mother died 30 years ago, passed away. She had been ailing for a number of years and I had taken the opportunity to see her as often as possible. We had reached a peaceful place of acceptance and completion in our relationship. I felt deep sadness when she passed, but it was not unexpected and I felt relieved that she was no longer suffering. She had been set free.
The greater loss during this experience was much more disconcerting and upsetting. My cousin (my Aunt’s daughter) had asked my sister and me to stay with her and help her through her mother’s funeral. Out of the blue in the middle of our stay, she verbally blasted us with a wall of hatred that completely bowled us over. Her rage, disrespect, and out-of-control behavior were totally shocking and unacceptable. It is hard to explain how difficult and painful it was to set the necessary boundary. Tough love in the face of abuse creates a myriad of emotions. We left without saying goodbye, knowing we would most likely never talk again. This was a wrenching loss. She made the entire celebration of my Aunt’s life and death a total loss.
Lily was the next to go. She was the old American Bobtail cat that ruled the place where I am living. She had such a strong presence I never even considered what it would be like if she wasn’t here. Sure enough though, she disappeared. I still expect her to be by the back door when I go out or come sauntering around the house for a good head scratch.
Recently I received a frantic call from a college roommate. Her 90-year-old mother was very ill. I have done my best to support her long distance. When I was back East a few weeks ago I spent time with them in the hospital. What was difficult for me was watching my roomie desperately trying to keep her mother alive. I don’t know when her mother’s time of passing will be, but I am certain it will be a devastating event for my roommate.
These are just some of the experiences recently that have brought up grief for me. They have given me pause for some thoughtful musing about loss. Surprisingly, loss gives me something when it takes something away. I think it is loss that makes me stop and appreciate the preciousness of life and every thing in it. Loss brings me up close to what is truly important. It gives me the gift of really knowing the value of living and shows me how to love with an open heart. It reveals to me just how deeply I can love.
Grief makes me examine my beliefs. When I have a particular belief about life and death, loss seems to weave its threads together around those beliefs. If no beliefs are in place, loss chews my grief process into tiny, unmanageable pieces. This is where Spirit comes into play. If I am looking at loss strictly from a third dimension perspective, nothing can sooth my grief.
Grief that I don’t deal with accumulates so the next loss and the one after that add up and become enormous. No matter how much my heart aches, dealing with the feelings of each loss makes the next one much more manageable. Otherwise, denial builds up an entire overwhelming mountain of grief that seems insurmountable.
Tonight I am waiting for a call from my sister to hear if her cat (that I love dearly) is able to come home from the animal hospital to spend the last couple weeks of his young life at home. He has congestive heart failure. When I asked my sister how she was feeling she said emphatically, “I’m pissed!”
I am angry, too, at all the losses. I don’t like it when I feel lost and disoriented, troubled and despairing. Grief snatches me in its grip and the only thing that brings any relief is opening my heart and letting the feelings come. The way I see it, I can gradually, over time, move through the grief or get caught in its insidious grasp and not take advantage of the opportunities being offered. Either way, loss hurts. Either way, grief offers the opportunity to be a patient and tender teacher.
Grief can teach me to be in the moment. It insists that I learn to let go. To go through the grief process I must search deeply within myself. This has the potential to show me many things about myself that I might not have known. It helps me grow and become more aware, more appreciative, and more open-hearted.
When I am going through grief, my feelings change rapidly. My knee-jerk reaction is to contract, pull in, close up, and shut down. When I have the courage to soften at these times, my feelings flow through me like messages and the pain softens. Gradually, my heart opens up again and I feel like a totally different person.
My mind wants me to avoid grief. It wants me to not acknowledge all these different experiences that individually, in my denial, seem somewhat distanced from me and not a big deal. I know though, life is full of loss. I have made a commitment to myself not to ignore it any more. I am going to look grief right in the eye and not turn away. It is challenging to feel all the feelings and move through the losses. Still, I don’t want to miss one moment of this amazing chance to learn and grow.
and all before us was the wide Pacific.
---Herman Mlwille: Omoo
For all that has been: Thanks!
For all that will be: Yes!
---Dag Hammarskjold
Grief can engulf us within a spiral of emotional chaos that tosses us around and around until there is no possible way to know which way is up. We seem to get our bearings from what appears to be down, but we cannot be certain of anything. It feels like we are spinning in a vast, dark void.
Grief befalls my world when it has been overturned by loss of some kind. It will never be the same and there is nothing in my control that can change that. In my loss, I feel lost. All my points of reference have been altered and I find myself in an unknown place where I am alone. The silence and emptiness can be unbearable.
I have had many different kinds of losses just in the last few months. As I write about them I realize that I have stayed outside and aloof. I have not taken advantage of the opportunities grief has offered me.
Perhaps this is why I have lost my bearings. Hopefully, if I share some of my experiences I can move through the throws of grief and find myself again.
While on a road trip, I received a call from the dog- sitter that one of the dogs in the kennel had been bitten by a rattlesnake and had died. This was a shocking loss; an accident where there was no forewarning. There was nothing I could do.
I have been in close contact with one of my friend’s husband who is dealing with chronic pain. He is one of those people who has never been aware of his body. Now he is struggling with the loss of control that his pain dominates and is regularly having panic attacks. He also lost more money on the stock market last week than he had made working the year before. Work and immortality have been his identity. The loss of himself, which he is encountering, is challenging his entire being.
My position as part of his support system has been difficult for me because I feel so powerless when he talks about wanting to commit suicide. I can understand the confusion that arises in his mind and the strong desire to stop the suffering. His attempt at taking back control in what seems like an uncontrollable situation makes sense, but it seems to me the urge is more symbolic than literal. Does the desire arise from the hatred of life and wanting to stop the suffering, or a yearning for things to be different? One thing is certain; the dilemma is an unsettling battle in his mind.
I was honored to support a good friend of mine on his journey with his wife dying with cancer. The illness brought them so much closer than they had been before the illness took over. They moved through the untimely process with such love and grace that every time we spoke it was an inspiration.
Shortly after her death, my 92-year-old Aunt, who had filled a space left in my life when my mother died 30 years ago, passed away. She had been ailing for a number of years and I had taken the opportunity to see her as often as possible. We had reached a peaceful place of acceptance and completion in our relationship. I felt deep sadness when she passed, but it was not unexpected and I felt relieved that she was no longer suffering. She had been set free.
The greater loss during this experience was much more disconcerting and upsetting. My cousin (my Aunt’s daughter) had asked my sister and me to stay with her and help her through her mother’s funeral. Out of the blue in the middle of our stay, she verbally blasted us with a wall of hatred that completely bowled us over. Her rage, disrespect, and out-of-control behavior were totally shocking and unacceptable. It is hard to explain how difficult and painful it was to set the necessary boundary. Tough love in the face of abuse creates a myriad of emotions. We left without saying goodbye, knowing we would most likely never talk again. This was a wrenching loss. She made the entire celebration of my Aunt’s life and death a total loss.
Lily was the next to go. She was the old American Bobtail cat that ruled the place where I am living. She had such a strong presence I never even considered what it would be like if she wasn’t here. Sure enough though, she disappeared. I still expect her to be by the back door when I go out or come sauntering around the house for a good head scratch.
Recently I received a frantic call from a college roommate. Her 90-year-old mother was very ill. I have done my best to support her long distance. When I was back East a few weeks ago I spent time with them in the hospital. What was difficult for me was watching my roomie desperately trying to keep her mother alive. I don’t know when her mother’s time of passing will be, but I am certain it will be a devastating event for my roommate.
These are just some of the experiences recently that have brought up grief for me. They have given me pause for some thoughtful musing about loss. Surprisingly, loss gives me something when it takes something away. I think it is loss that makes me stop and appreciate the preciousness of life and every thing in it. Loss brings me up close to what is truly important. It gives me the gift of really knowing the value of living and shows me how to love with an open heart. It reveals to me just how deeply I can love.
Grief makes me examine my beliefs. When I have a particular belief about life and death, loss seems to weave its threads together around those beliefs. If no beliefs are in place, loss chews my grief process into tiny, unmanageable pieces. This is where Spirit comes into play. If I am looking at loss strictly from a third dimension perspective, nothing can sooth my grief.
Grief that I don’t deal with accumulates so the next loss and the one after that add up and become enormous. No matter how much my heart aches, dealing with the feelings of each loss makes the next one much more manageable. Otherwise, denial builds up an entire overwhelming mountain of grief that seems insurmountable.
Tonight I am waiting for a call from my sister to hear if her cat (that I love dearly) is able to come home from the animal hospital to spend the last couple weeks of his young life at home. He has congestive heart failure. When I asked my sister how she was feeling she said emphatically, “I’m pissed!”
I am angry, too, at all the losses. I don’t like it when I feel lost and disoriented, troubled and despairing. Grief snatches me in its grip and the only thing that brings any relief is opening my heart and letting the feelings come. The way I see it, I can gradually, over time, move through the grief or get caught in its insidious grasp and not take advantage of the opportunities being offered. Either way, loss hurts. Either way, grief offers the opportunity to be a patient and tender teacher.
Grief can teach me to be in the moment. It insists that I learn to let go. To go through the grief process I must search deeply within myself. This has the potential to show me many things about myself that I might not have known. It helps me grow and become more aware, more appreciative, and more open-hearted.
When I am going through grief, my feelings change rapidly. My knee-jerk reaction is to contract, pull in, close up, and shut down. When I have the courage to soften at these times, my feelings flow through me like messages and the pain softens. Gradually, my heart opens up again and I feel like a totally different person.
My mind wants me to avoid grief. It wants me to not acknowledge all these different experiences that individually, in my denial, seem somewhat distanced from me and not a big deal. I know though, life is full of loss. I have made a commitment to myself not to ignore it any more. I am going to look grief right in the eye and not turn away. It is challenging to feel all the feelings and move through the losses. Still, I don’t want to miss one moment of this amazing chance to learn and grow.
