Return to Peace

I'm thinking maybe this article could heal a little hurt. Many times in our lives we inevitably tend to get hit with something we call grief. Time and time again, as I process it myself and see others around me dealing with the same circumstance, it occurs to me that the process of handling our grief takes many different forms. I'm sure many of you are familiar with the typically accepted five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Some suggest there are seven, and others even say there are twelve. The truth is, there is no right or wrong way to process grief; it is a fully personal experience, and only you are able to determine what is best for you. However, that doesn't mean that another person's perspective cannot be helpful. So, here I sit in an attempt to explain how it affects me on a personal level, and how the death of a loved one ultimately transmutes into a form of comfort on a deep level.. eventually.

My concrete goal for anything that disturbs my peace is to find some way back to love, appreciation, and peace, even if it has to start with something very small. For me, it's never so difficult to accept the death of a loved one. I'll also say here that I've never lost a member of my immediate family, but I do have a deep love for my extended family. The point here is that much of my extended family is more immediate than one might think. However, I don't want to imply that my grief is equivalent or that it should even be compared to that of the grief experienced at the loss of an immediate family member. Remember, it's individual; all comparison should be set aside. The basis of processing my grief encompasses a strong belief of afterlife, and, without defining what sort of afterlife anyone should experience, I just mean that the spirit of the deceased never actually ceases.

One of my grandmothers passed on many years ago; it's the earliest memory that comes to mind when I think about loss and grief. About all I can remember of her is that she always made me feel loved. We shared simple happy moments of just comfortable existing in one another's presence. The most prevalent memory I have of our time together was eating Bugles, sticking them on our fingertips, trying out different eerie voices, pretending we were casting magic, and laughing about it all. She engaged and encouraged my imagination, and I cherished those times together. I can still remember being pulled out of school early one fateful day, rushing four hours, two states away to say our goodbyes before it was too late, but it was too late. I was but a stranger, then, to what it meant for someone to die, especially someone I loved. There was no shortage of love, but I missed her. Anytime I began to feel I was missing her, I would remember those Bugles and the best of how she made me feel. Several years of wishes were made over the candles of my birthday cakes.

Little me blowing out candles on my happy birthdays would think, "I wish grandma would come back to life."

At some point, I told myself that she could never come back to life because, even though she was gone, she never left. All those years wishing for something impossible led me to rethink the reality of death. Not the "one" reality, my reality. My reality indicated that she could not come back to life because she never left my life. As I write now, she is still a part of my life and always will be. This, as I see it, is not some delusion; it is accepting that so long as I choose to hold her in the memory of my heart, she is still alive, and her heart beats within mine as her spirit lives within me.

So, when I want to feel especially close to my grandma, I get some Bugles, I attach them to all my fingers, and I remember the best times. I smile, I laugh a little, and I feel her presence as the emotion of love. In this, she is here. In this, she is with me. And in her infinite attention, there is nothing more pressing than sharing that moment with me.

That used to be only something I could do when I would visit her, but now it's anytime. I'm not distracting her from anything. I don't have to ask. I just do it, and she's there. In death, she is always available. Her spirit is unbound and unlimited. I can never be a distraction or a nuisance, not that she ever made me feel that way. She always has time to spare when I have a question. She can always point me in the right direction. She is part of my inner guidance.

Her passing is the first significant memory I can recall of deaths in the family, and many years have gone by since that time. Things are a bit different now: when a loved one goes from this world, I accept it. I don't deny the terrible news, I don't get angry with the world or anyone in it, I don't bargain for change, wish for return, or think about how life could've been without the tragedy, and I don't fall into depression because of the life that was lost. Simply put, none of that serves me or anyone else or any purpose other than to dampen the experience of my life. I honor their passing by letting the memory of them lead me to feel better and feel that I was lucky and fortunate to ever share a moment with them in the world of physical things.

As an example, the most recent loss, a cousin of mine, far too young, happened during my vacation. My life love and I had just finished picking up party favors after church for our daughter's third birthday party, and my oldest brother called just as we were getting into the car from the parking lot. My phone was connected to my car speakers as he was unwittingly delivering the news to us both in a broken-spirited manner. It was quite the awkward first greeting for him and her, as I mentioned she was with me. I couldn't really say much other than, "wow . . . that's crazy . . . I don't even know what to say," because there was no question of the seriousness of the news which was quite unexpected. It was a short conversation. I thanked him for calling me to let me know. After we hung up, I didn't really say anything immediately. My love compassionately asked whether I'd still be present at the birthday party, and I calmly said, "Yes, but just give me a moment to process. I'm not ready to drive anywhere just yet."

"Okay," she replied, with a nervous quietness. I took a few minutes of silence and stillness to observe and process my internal reaction to the news, and accept this new reality. I was looking forward to seeing my cousin on this vacation, and due to some Facebook post she had tagged me in a few weeks prior, I owed her some macaroni and cheese, which I fully intended to deliver. My trip home was now going to include a viewing, but I would get to see much more of my family than I expected. I looked at the timing as fortunate because I was already on track to be home for the service. That is not at all to say that her passing was fortunate, only that my personal circumstances allowed me to be present for my family during a difficult time. Those are a few of the more prevalent thoughts that crossed my mind, but I resolved to check for any unsurfaced feelings before bed when circumstances would prove to be more fitting for private introspection. I feel that, in the event of my own death, I would not want it to keep anyone from being able to enjoy their day, much less their life. So, we proceeded to the party, and I did have a very enjoyable day.

I simply do not grieve normally, I suppose. Objectively, I may seem unbothered. It's something with which I actually struggled for some time because, even to me, in comparison to others, I seemed relatively okay with it. It used to make me feel guilty knowing I seemed so much less disturbed by grief. I have a habit of just observing my thoughts and feelings before acting them out, and with this practice I choose whether I'm going to feel the hits of grief that present themselves or turn to my love for the presence that has only lost physical form. Our perception of the entire world lives within the mind, and so long as my deceased loved ones live in my mind they live in my world, no matter whether they are still breathing. I deal with it in a way that works for me. There's no "one" way to handle such a personal experience, but my way works for me.

The most difficult situation for me, is empathetically feeling all of the grief present at funerals and wakes. My saving grace is that I also get to feel all of the love. Despite what I've said so far, I have moments where I am an absolute wreck in these situations. Having absorbed massive amounts of grief, I'm sometimes overtaken before I can process it, choose love, and let it pass quietly, as opposed to letting it out. I always feel like I'm most helpful to others there when I feel what they have, add as much love as I possibly can, and just.. hug. No words. Only silent comfort. It's the most I feel I can offer in the face of their seemingly insurmountable emotional distraught. The most difficult situations can always be overcome by accepting what is and appreciating everything that you can right now regardless of what seems to be wrong or missing. In this, you may find a way back to love, and return to the peace that awaits.

Every time I have macaroni and cheese, now, I will have company. She will be with me. I love you, cousin.