Revisiting Grief
I am knee deep in boxes in my art space. I am working hard to get it all set up so I can get down to the business of creating, but I am also neck deep in disenfranchised grief. Yeah, that was a new one for me too. I am learning a great deal about it this week, because that shit is bowling me over and causing panic attacks in the middle of the book store and today at the grocery store.
You all do remember I cuss right? I mean I cuss A LOT and there are actual studies coming out that link cussing to intelligence and emotional well-being. I should have been immune to panic attacks based on my cussing level and that last one, but oh fucking well! Grief does not work like a clock because it has it's own schedule and plan for implementing that schedule. It seems Grief likes to show up at the most inopportune time, sneak up behind you and shake you to your core.
I have written about grief on my previous blog. It has interrupted my life before, too many times. I am not a stranger to death by any stretch of the imagination. I have held the hands of the dying more than I want to admit, both in my professional life and in my personal universe. It is never easy. Each death, whether you knew the person or not leaves and hand print on your heart. Others, leave a full body imprint on your soul.
The part that is inescapable is that grief often goes with love, which is another complicated part of the human experience. Love and grief are co-joined by the nature of how our minds work. We all have experienced disappointments which can also involve grief, but love is the one that grief clings to when it knocks the breath out of us.
One of the things that came across my desk today as I was unpacking boxes was a collection of really old photographs. Some had the names of the people written on the back, others were numbered, and even more were just bank. The one thing they all had in common was they each showed people who were alive in the late 1800's and early 1900's who experienced grief in some form. Many of them most likely left loved ones behind who grieved for them when they died.
Even though we as a species have this common bond of grief, we as a society have expectations about grief that are unrealistic because a formula is applied that limits the grief process to a certain number of bereavement days and limits on which funerals we can attend based on the biological connection of the person who has died. How fucking ludicrous is that?
My first partner, Kate, died from breast cancer while I was serving in the Army before Don't Ask, Don't Tell. She died in our house, which was close to the Ft. Stewart base. My superiors refused to grant me leave to attend the funeral because I was not "related." It was her death that outed me and led to my discharge from the Army.
Little pieces of paper containing information that may or may not be true dictate our grief process. Birth certificates, marriage certificates, domestic partnership, legal power of attorneys, living wills, and final wills all outline the constraints by which we must grieve to fulfill our societal contracts related to death.
Don't talk about it. Don't express it. Don't let anyone know you are moving past grief into suffering because someone you loved is no longer here. Americans are messed up when it comes to grief, which is probably because of religion. You know, those promises that the person you loved, adored, relied on, and want here on earth living beside you was needed more by "God," because "He" works in mysterious ways?
Fuck that!
I have a long list of people who have died that I could really lean on right now. I miss them more than words can express and those platitudes of meaningless bullshit only serve one purpose, which is to stifle the grieving process because death is an uncomfortable topic. It is uncomfortable because we know we will some day be in the ground or in an urn on the fireplace mantle, or better yet in a cardboard box left unclaimed because everyone else we know and loved died before us.
That is the reality of our existence. What we do while we are here is what matters. Are we making the world a better place for the next generation and for those living next door? Are we showing up to protect those who have no voice or power to protect themselves? Are we creating? Are we being created and shaped by our experiences, including grief into a better version of ourselves?
The grief I am feeling is deeper than anything I have ever felt. It came in a Tsunami wave and carried me out to the deepest part of the ocean. I can't see land. I can't touch the bottom to get my feet under me. I feel like I am drowning some moments in my own tears and can no longer tell the difference when it comes to the salty taste in my mouth between them and the ocean water. It is that real and encompassing.
I did not want it to hit me. I thought I had dealt with it. I was wrong so I am dealing with it now in the best way I can. The problem is my shoulders are sagging from the weight of other things happening in my life and Grief showing up now is fucking outrageously unfair!
But, it is what it is so I am swimming as fast as I can, hoping the next wave is far enough away to allow me to take a deep breath. I also know I have no say when the waves show up, how big they will be, or how far they will drag me back out to sea. All I can control is my mind and the way I frame my grief and my behaviors around it.
Grief kept me out of this space I am sitting in right now. It robbed me of a passion and snuffed the flame of creativity for me. I need this space and I need my art space to fill the parts of me that get depleted. I can allow Grief to visit, knowing it may show up in bursts and overstay its welcome. I have learned my lesson in trying to lock Grief out by locking the door and windows to my heart and adding reinforced bars and plywood to stop the flood waters. It doesn't work.
Nope, I am standing in the middle of my space, middle finger raised in a salute to societal norms and I am going to invite Grief in and allow it to wander around my soul and heart as it rips the plaster down and exposes the rough spots hiding behind it. I am going to look in the mirror and search my eyes for a glimpse of Grief as it passes by those windows searching my mind for the memories I have tucked away in locked boxes. Grief is good at picking locks and choosing the ones that will make you cry as your heart clenches and feels like it will stop.
Grief is welcome here because preventing it from revisiting only serves to deny me love for myself. I am no longer willing to do that to myself or to the memory of the one I love.
You all do remember I cuss right? I mean I cuss A LOT and there are actual studies coming out that link cussing to intelligence and emotional well-being. I should have been immune to panic attacks based on my cussing level and that last one, but oh fucking well! Grief does not work like a clock because it has it's own schedule and plan for implementing that schedule. It seems Grief likes to show up at the most inopportune time, sneak up behind you and shake you to your core.
I have written about grief on my previous blog. It has interrupted my life before, too many times. I am not a stranger to death by any stretch of the imagination. I have held the hands of the dying more than I want to admit, both in my professional life and in my personal universe. It is never easy. Each death, whether you knew the person or not leaves and hand print on your heart. Others, leave a full body imprint on your soul.
The part that is inescapable is that grief often goes with love, which is another complicated part of the human experience. Love and grief are co-joined by the nature of how our minds work. We all have experienced disappointments which can also involve grief, but love is the one that grief clings to when it knocks the breath out of us.
One of the things that came across my desk today as I was unpacking boxes was a collection of really old photographs. Some had the names of the people written on the back, others were numbered, and even more were just bank. The one thing they all had in common was they each showed people who were alive in the late 1800's and early 1900's who experienced grief in some form. Many of them most likely left loved ones behind who grieved for them when they died.Even though we as a species have this common bond of grief, we as a society have expectations about grief that are unrealistic because a formula is applied that limits the grief process to a certain number of bereavement days and limits on which funerals we can attend based on the biological connection of the person who has died. How fucking ludicrous is that?
My first partner, Kate, died from breast cancer while I was serving in the Army before Don't Ask, Don't Tell. She died in our house, which was close to the Ft. Stewart base. My superiors refused to grant me leave to attend the funeral because I was not "related." It was her death that outed me and led to my discharge from the Army.
Little pieces of paper containing information that may or may not be true dictate our grief process. Birth certificates, marriage certificates, domestic partnership, legal power of attorneys, living wills, and final wills all outline the constraints by which we must grieve to fulfill our societal contracts related to death.
Don't talk about it. Don't express it. Don't let anyone know you are moving past grief into suffering because someone you loved is no longer here. Americans are messed up when it comes to grief, which is probably because of religion. You know, those promises that the person you loved, adored, relied on, and want here on earth living beside you was needed more by "God," because "He" works in mysterious ways?
Fuck that!
I have a long list of people who have died that I could really lean on right now. I miss them more than words can express and those platitudes of meaningless bullshit only serve one purpose, which is to stifle the grieving process because death is an uncomfortable topic. It is uncomfortable because we know we will some day be in the ground or in an urn on the fireplace mantle, or better yet in a cardboard box left unclaimed because everyone else we know and loved died before us.
That is the reality of our existence. What we do while we are here is what matters. Are we making the world a better place for the next generation and for those living next door? Are we showing up to protect those who have no voice or power to protect themselves? Are we creating? Are we being created and shaped by our experiences, including grief into a better version of ourselves?
The grief I am feeling is deeper than anything I have ever felt. It came in a Tsunami wave and carried me out to the deepest part of the ocean. I can't see land. I can't touch the bottom to get my feet under me. I feel like I am drowning some moments in my own tears and can no longer tell the difference when it comes to the salty taste in my mouth between them and the ocean water. It is that real and encompassing.
I did not want it to hit me. I thought I had dealt with it. I was wrong so I am dealing with it now in the best way I can. The problem is my shoulders are sagging from the weight of other things happening in my life and Grief showing up now is fucking outrageously unfair!
But, it is what it is so I am swimming as fast as I can, hoping the next wave is far enough away to allow me to take a deep breath. I also know I have no say when the waves show up, how big they will be, or how far they will drag me back out to sea. All I can control is my mind and the way I frame my grief and my behaviors around it.
Grief kept me out of this space I am sitting in right now. It robbed me of a passion and snuffed the flame of creativity for me. I need this space and I need my art space to fill the parts of me that get depleted. I can allow Grief to visit, knowing it may show up in bursts and overstay its welcome. I have learned my lesson in trying to lock Grief out by locking the door and windows to my heart and adding reinforced bars and plywood to stop the flood waters. It doesn't work.
Nope, I am standing in the middle of my space, middle finger raised in a salute to societal norms and I am going to invite Grief in and allow it to wander around my soul and heart as it rips the plaster down and exposes the rough spots hiding behind it. I am going to look in the mirror and search my eyes for a glimpse of Grief as it passes by those windows searching my mind for the memories I have tucked away in locked boxes. Grief is good at picking locks and choosing the ones that will make you cry as your heart clenches and feels like it will stop.
Grief is welcome here because preventing it from revisiting only serves to deny me love for myself. I am no longer willing to do that to myself or to the memory of the one I love.
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