Some of us make our own light… despite the harsh electric lights around us, or the hot light of the sun, or the white light of the moon, we are always in darkness. The heavy cloak of grief that I have been living under has a way of blocking everything else out. To be honest, I really have no interest in living in the typical light of the world right now. It’s too bright, it’s insensitive, and it hurts. I do not want to focus on being grateful. I do not want to count my blessings. I do not want to do yoga under the sun while the first autumn leaves fall to the ground around us. But I also acknowledge that I am not meant to be someone who lives completely in darkness… so what am I to do? I have to make my own light.
The light that I make, it may seem odd to many people – it is not a bright, happy light. It is multicolored light interwoven with strands of pain and sadness. It changes color, depending on the day; this week it’s been quite blue and grey, but the few weeks prior it had actually been quite bold and bright – maybe yellows and greens with some oranges and reds. The only light I can live in right now is the light I generate myself, that acknowledges and makes room for my grief.
My light looks like an afternoon spent looking at our wedding album, or George’s pregnancy album. My light looks like a combination of tears and doggo snuggles. My light looks like the very slow tending to things around the house, that may take longer than they “should” but which I am proud to get done. My light looks like a 1:1 lunch with a friend, where I’m allowed to acknowledge how hard things feel. My light looks like these words, flowing onto the screen as my fingers strike the keyboard in front of me.
To my friends, my loved ones – all of the above said, please don’t give up on me. Just because I’m living in my own strange light right now and am always carrying my grief around doesn’t mean that I want to be cut off from everyone else’s reality. I want to hear your good news, or have the opportunity to be a shoulder if you’re struggling. I promise I will tell you if I can’t handle something. (For example, I declined a pre-covid baby shower for some dear friends because it was held within days of George’s due date.)
I may not be the same person I was before, but I still love you all and am still trying to figure things out. Covid hasn’t helped – it has clearly cut down on the natural opportunities I would’ve had during the not-immediate aftermath to start integrating my new self into my social network. Life shut down only 4 1/2 months after Sara died, right when I was starting to reach out and visit with people more…. since then life has been pretty isolating.
I mentioned on Facebook the other day that I struggle with small talk and hearing about everyone’s family happenings, but I’ve realized that it is really only in contexts that disallow my grief are those things hard. (Ex. a virtual work social hour.) When I’m with a friend who understands and makes room for me, I want that exchange – I want to know what is going on, and it can actually feel energizing or comforting.
So – how to end this post? I guess I would just say that I need to be allowed to live in my own light right now – I am not looking to be fixed or healed, and my grief is still taking up a lot of my energy. But living in my own light doesn’t equate to needing to be left alone. I actually suspect that if this pandemic hadn’t happened, time spent physically with friends would have become a frequent and critical component of my life the last 6 months… but we’re all making do the best we can, and that will have to be good enough.