Shortly after Sara died, I posted a link on my facebook page to the music video for the song “The Bones” by Maren Morris. To summarize my earlier thoughts on the song, it was one that brought me great comfort after George’s death and during Sara’s illness, connecting with my belief that my relationship with Sara was strong enough to withstand anything. I never truly believed that Sara would die. After she did, that song turned into a reminder that sometimes even the strongest houses fall. I said: “I know I’m going to have to rebuild somehow, eventually, but right now I’m just standing in the wreckage grieving and that’s where I’m going to have to stay for a while.”
Now, 11 weeks after Sara’s death, I’m still surrounded by wreckage – the smoldering ache of loss is still burning strong inside of me. Our society tells us to turn away from pain like this, to do everything we can to make ourselves feel better, to find a way to be happy again, to count our blessings – be glad about the time I had with family, and move on with life. Grief is acceptable at the funeral, for a few days after… but 11 weeks? Although many of my friends have expressed support for how I am expressing my grief, I can guarantee that there are some people out there who think that I’m going overboard or am dwelling too much in what I’ve lost, or should be keeping my grief to myself at this point.
Some days, I have to just focus on breathing from inside the wreckage. Breathe in for 4 seconds, hold for 4 seconds, breathe out for 4 seconds, and hold for 4 seconds – over and over until I am grounded and present. This looks like me staying in bed all day or me not having the energy to reach out to friends that I said I would reach out to. It’s coming home from work and being able to do little more than scrounge up some dinner, cry, and watch tv. It’s going back to the facebook posts from the days around Sara’s death and allowing myself to cry for hours. These days are not wasted or problematic. They’re necessary to my grief process, to my healing. I am healing from serious trauma – just because it is emotional doesn’t mean it is any less valid than physical trauma.
Some days I need to just BE, and for me sometimes that involves diving headfirst into the sadness and just feeling it.
Other days, I actually have capacity to look around and assess the damage, make plans for reconstruction, and even start picking up & organizing what is around me. These are days when I’m actively making plans with friends, taking the dogs out for walks. Days when I go to work and feel like I actually have the energy and capacity to do more than just what I have to do to keep things going. Days when I start to wonder about what the next few years of my life will look like, without it feeling like a knife has been thrust into my chest. These are days when it’s a little easier to pay attention to the beautiful sunrise or the interesting sights on my commute.
I do not accept society’s timeline for my grief. I believe that the only way to truly integrate these profound losses into my life is to face them openly. To continue sharing about Sara and George and the grief that I feel; even thought it stirs the pain, it also reinforces my love for my family. Right now, grief and love are so incredibly wound together. My hope is that by embracing my grief, softening into the loss, and finding compassion for myself, balance will shift and eventually I will be able to regularly tap into the love for my family with only a little of the hurt tagging along.
Note: this was written based on a writing prompt provided to me through a paid course I am taking. I am not including the prompt, because the daily prompts are a critical component of that course.